Chapter 3: Dante And Valentina

Dante’s POV

Walking back into the Marino mansion felt like stepping into a cage. The walls, the chandeliers, the gilded mirrors—they all radiated the same cold opulence that had suffocated me for years. But it wasn’t just the place; it was the man standing in the center of it all.

My father.

He barely glanced at me as I strode through the room, his dark gaze assessing me like I was an item on a checklist. His expression hardened when his eyes landed on my motorcycle boots, the worn leather jacket slung over my shoulder, and the tattoos peeking out from under the rolled-up sleeves of my shirt.

“Still dressing like a drifter, I see,” he said, his voice low and disdainful.

I shrugged, unbothered. “Still trying to dress like a king?”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he straightened his already perfect tie and gestured toward the two women standing a few feet away.

“Your stepmother and stepsister,” he said, his tone perfunctory.

I already knew who they were. Of course I did. I’d read the files. I’d seen their photos and combed through every detail my contacts had gathered. But the papers hadn’t prepared me for the reality.

Isabella, my stepmother, looked exactly like I expected—poised, elegant, and faintly nervous. She clung to my father’s side like a lifeline, her emerald-green eyes flicking between us like she was bracing for a fight.

And then there was her.

Valentina.

She stood a step behind her mother, her arms crossed and her hazel eyes narrowed. Her ash-blonde hair shimmered under the chandelier’s light, and the tight jeans she wore clung to her like a second skin. The black leather jacket draped over her shoulders was an obvious statement—defiance wrapped in dark rebellion.

The file had called her beautiful, but it hadn’t done her justice. She wasn’t just beautiful. She was magnetic. A contradiction of hard edges and soft curves, all wrapped in an air of quiet fury.

And her eyes…

For a split second, they met mine, and I caught something unexpected—fear. It was fleeting, quickly masked by a glare, but it was enough to stir something primal inside me.

Hatred. Desire. They burned together, feeding off each other in a way I couldn’t quite control.

I stepped closer, offering her a smile that was more predator than charm. “You must be Valentina,” I said, my voice low.

“And you must be Dante,” she replied, her tone sharp enough to cut.

I reached for her hand, keeping my eyes locked on hers as I brought it to my lips. But instead of brushing a kiss against her knuckles like decorum demanded, I turned her hand slightly and sucked gently on the tips of her fingers.

Her breath hitched, and the room fell into a stunned silence.

“Welcome to the family,” I murmured, letting her fingers slip from my lips.

Her cheeks flushed red, her expression a mix of shock and fury.

“Dante,” my father snapped, his voice cold and dangerous.

I straightened, throwing him a mocking smile. “Just being polite.”

Valentina yanked her hand back, her glare sharp enough to slice through steel. Without a word, she turned on her heel and walked away, her head held high despite the heat I knew she must have felt.

My father’s gaze burned into me as the tension in the room thickened. I could feel his anger simmering just below the surface, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t here to play the obedient son.

—

Valentina’s POV

Heat crawled up my neck and settled on my cheeks as I strode away from him, my heels clicking against the polished floor. My fingers tingled where his lips had touched them, and I clenched them into fists, willing the sensation away.

Who the hell did he think he was?

I grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing server, downing it in one go. The bubbles fizzed on my tongue, but they did little to extinguish the fire raging in my chest. My stepbrother—Dante—was everything I’d expected and worse.

Arrogant. Reckless. Infuriatingly confident.

And yet…

No. I wouldn’t let myself go there.

I turned back toward the room, forcing myself to focus on the larger picture. This banquet wasn’t just about introductions or familial reunions. Lorenzo—my stepfather—had been meticulously planning this evening for weeks. It was about power, alliances, and expansion.

As if on cue, Lorenzo cleared his throat, the subtle sound commanding the attention of everyone in the room. He stood at the head of the long dining table, his imposing figure radiating authority.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his deep voice cutting through the murmur of conversations. “Tonight is not just a celebration of family but of the future.”

The word hung in the air like a challenge.

“My son,” Lorenzo continued, gesturing toward Dante, “has returned to us after years of forging his own path. His accomplishments speak for themselves—a vast network, a reputation for loyalty, and a strategic mind that rivals even my own.”

I glanced at Dante, who stood near the door, his posture casual but his jaw tight. His gray eyes burned with something dark as he listened to his father’s words.

“With Dante’s expertise,” Lorenzo continued, “we will expand our operations beyond what we once thought possible. The Marino name will not just recover its former glory; it will surpass it.”

The room erupted in polite applause, but the tension between Dante and Lorenzo was palpable.

Dante’s expression remained stoic, but his knuckles whitened as he gripped the back of a chair. When Lorenzo finally finished speaking, Dante’s lips curved into a tight, forced smile.

“Nice speech,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I especially liked the part where you made decisions about my life without asking me.”

The room fell silent again, the awkwardness palpable.

“Dante,” Lorenzo said, his voice low and warning.

But Dante wasn’t done.

“You think you can parade me around like some trophy?” he continued, his tone sharp. “Use me to prop up your crumbling empire? I’m not a pawn in your game.”

Without waiting for a response, Dante turned on his heel and stormed out of the room.

I watched him go, my emotions a tangle of irritation, curiosity, and something I couldn’t quite name. He was unpredictable, dangerous—and whether I liked it or not, I couldn’t ignore the way my heart raced whenever he was near.

But I wouldn’t let him get under my skin.

He wasn’t my ally. He wasn’t my enemy.

Not yet.