Impure Love (Dark Mafia Duet #2)

22. Aliyah

22

ALIYAH

I can't pinpoint the exact moment when my resistance began to erode, but here I am, in Dante's world, accepting my place. It's a twisted reality, but somehow, I've grown accustomed to it. Maybe Stockholm syndrome has wrapped its insidious tendrils around me. I glance at the ornate mirror in the bedroom, seeing a woman I barely recognize. My hair is meticulously styled, and the dress I'm wearing—another one of Dante's expensive gifts—clings to my body in all the right places.

"Aliyah," Dante's voice pulls me from my thoughts. He's standing by the door, watching me with those dark, unreadable eyes.

"Yes?" I respond, turning to face him. My voice is steady, despite the flutter in my chest.

"Come here," he commands.

I walk over, my heels clicking softly against the polished floor. As I reach him, he grabs my wrist, pulling me close. His touch sends a jolt through me—fear, yes, but something else too.

"You look... acceptable," he murmurs, his eyes scanning me from head to toe. "Tonight, we're attending another meeting. You know the rules."

"Yes," I reply, keeping my gaze down. "Eyes down, no talking unless you say so."

He tilts my chin up, forcing me to look at him. "You're learning."

A part of me hates how his approval makes me feel. Another part is desperate for it.

As he releases me, I step back, trying to steady my breathing. My thoughts drift to Sophia. I haven't spoken to her in weeks, ignoring her calls and texts. The guilt gnaws at me, but what choice do I have? In Dante's world, there's no room for anyone else.

"Let's go," he says, turning on his heel and striding towards the door. I follow, my heart heavy with conflicting emotions.

As we walk through the mansion, I can't help but wonder how I ended up here. Every step feels like a step further from the life I knew, and yet, there's a strange comfort in the certainty of Dante's world.

In Dante's office, I glance around at the opulent decor—the dark wood paneling, the antique books lining the shelves, the subtle scent of leather and expensive cologne. I

Dante sits behind his massive oak desk, reviewing some documents. His presence fills the room, a constant reminder of the power he wields. I watch him, noting the slight furrow in his brow as he reads.

"What's bothering you?" I ask, breaking the silence. It's a bold move, but I've learned that showing a bit of initiative can be useful.

He looks up, surprised. "Nothing that concerns you."

I lean forward, resting my elbows on the desk. "Try me. You might be surprised."

His eyes narrow, but he slides a file across the desk. "It's the deal with the Vitale family. Something doesn't add up."

I flip through the pages, scanning the figures and contracts. "The Vitale family... They're the ones you're suspicious of, right?"

"Correct." He leans back in his chair, studying me.

"Well," I say, tapping a finger on one of the documents, "this clause here about the import taxes seems off. They're underreporting their shipments. That's a red flag."

Dante’s eyebrows lift genuinely impressed. "Go on."

I continue, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction. "If they're skimming on import taxes, they're probably hiding something else. It might be worth investigating their supply chain. Follow the money, see where it leads."

He nods slowly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "You have a sharp eye, Aliyah. Maybe I should involve you in more of these dealings."

I shrug, trying to hide my pleasure at his praise. "I just call it like I see it."

Dante stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. Before I can process what's happening, he pulls me to him, his grip firm on my nape. His lips crash against mine with a roughness that steals my breath. For a moment, I forget everything—the danger, the fear. There's only the heat of his kiss and the pounding of my heart.

When we break apart, we're both breathing heavily. My heart flutters with confusing emotions. The attraction I feel for him is starting to outweigh my hesitancy, and that scares me more than anything.

"You're mine," he murmurs, his voice a low growl.

I swallow hard, my pulse racing. "You say that a lot, is that supposed to be reassuring?"

He smirks, a dark glint in his eyes. "It's a fact."

Before I can respond, he grips my hand and leads me out of the office. His stride is purposeful, and I have to quicken my pace to keep up.

"Where are we going?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

"To get you ready for tonight's party," he replies, not looking back.

An hour later, we arrive at the grandiose mansion, the site of tonight’s meeting. The opulence is overwhelming—crystal chandeliers, marble floors, and an air thick with the scent of expensive cologne and cigars. Dante keeps a firm grip on my arm, guiding me through the throng of guests.

“Remember the rules,” he whispers, his breath warm against my ear.

“Eyes down, no talking unless you say so,” I recite, feeling a strange combination of pride and submission.

He nods approvingly, and I catch a glimpse of the dangerous smile that’s both terrifying and magnetic. As we make our way to the main hall, I spot members of the Vitale family mingling with other mafia elites. The air buzzes with hushed conversations and clinking glasses.

A plan forms in my mind. Dante never asked me to gather information, but maybe if I did, he’d see me as more than just a pretty accessory. I steel myself, deciding to keep an ear out for anything that might help him.

Holy shit, I think, shocked at the realization that slams into me. This isn’t just about survival anymore; part of me wants to please him.

Dante stops to greet Don Carlo Vitale.

Carlo Vitale's gaze sweeps over me, lingering a moment too long. I’m prepared for it this time, knowing exactly how he’ll look at me like I’m some prized possession on display. But it’s the murderous glare Dante shoots him that sends a thrill through me. The intensity in Dante's eyes, the way his jaw tightens—there’s a raw, dangerous beauty in his anger.

“You’re looking well, Dante,” Carlo says, his voice smooth and insincere.

“And you’re still breathing, Carlo. Miracles do happen,” Dante replies, his tone icy but polite.

I can't help but stare at Dante, admiration creeping into my thoughts. When did this happen? When did I start seeing him as more than my captor? The danger he carries within him is magnetic, pulling me closer even as my rational mind screams to stay away.

“Your... companion is lovely as ever,” Carlo says, his eyes flicking to me again.

Dante’s grip on my arm tightens. “Keep your eyes to yourself, Vitale. Or I’ll remove them for you.”

Carlo chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. “Always so protective. I wonder, does she even know what she’s gotten herself into?”

“She knows exactly what she needs to,” Dante snaps. His hand moves to my lower back, a possessive gesture that’s both comforting and unsettling.

I glance up at Dante, catching the briefest flicker of a smirk before he slips back into his cold, calculating demeanor. He turns his attention to another guest, dismissing Carlo without another word. I stay close to his side, the tension in the room palpable.

As we move around the party, my mind spins with conflicting thoughts. The glitz and glamour, the raw power radiating from Dante, the danger lurking beneath every polite smile—it all swirls together in a heady mix. I don’t miss my old life. How could I? It’s like comparing a black-and-white sketch to a vivid, electrifying painting. Sure, my life was safer, but it was also painfully mundane.

A voice breaks through my reverie, sharp and insistent. “Dante’s losing his edge,” someone mutters. My ears perk up, and I subtly angle myself closer to the conversation.

“Yeah, heard he’s getting soft.” another voice chimes in.

Anger surges through me, hot and undeniable. How dare they question Dante? I hang onto every word, my fists clenching at my sides.

“I give it six months before someone takes him out,” the first voice says, dripping with contempt.

My vision narrows, focusing on the two men. I don’t recognize them, but their smug faces are seared into my memory now. I store this information away, feeling an unexpected surge of loyalty to Dante.

“Aliyah,” Dante’s voice pulls me back. His hand on my lower back, guiding me away from the conversation. “What’s got you so worked up?”

“Nothing,” I say, forcing a smile. “Just… absorbing everything.”

He gives me a look that says he doesn’t believe me, but he lets it go. For now.

When we finally get home, the mansion feels eerily quiet after the party's chaos. Dante loosens his tie, his eyes on me.

“You’ve been distracted all night. What’s going on?” he demands.

I take a deep breath, steadying myself. “I overheard something. Two men were talking about you. They said you’re losing your edge.”

His eyes darken, a dangerous glint flashing through them. “Who?”

“I don’t know their names, but I can describe them. One had a scar above his left eyebrow, and the other had a tattoo on his neck.”

Dante’s jaw tightens, but there’s a flicker of something else—approval, maybe? “Good. You did well.”

I swallow, feeling a strange mix of pride and fear. “I just… I thought you should know.”

He steps closer, his hand cupping my chin. “You’re more than just a pretty accessory on my arm, Aliyah. Don’t you fucking forget that.”

I nod, feeling a strange sense of accomplishment. As I head to our bedroom, I realize something profound. I’m not just surviving in Dante’s world. I’m becoming a part of it. And that’s a terrifying, exhilarating thought.