Impure Love (Dark Mafia Duet #2)

25. Aliyah

25

ALIYAH

I swipe on the last bit of mascara, careful not to smudge the liner. The red lipstick glides smoothly, its vibrant hue popping against my skin. Dante loves red. I step back, taking in the reflection staring back at me. Loose ringlets frame my face, cascading over my shoulders in a way that seems both effortless and deliberate.

"Damn," I mutter, inspecting every angle. I look... different. More confident, maybe? Or just more resigned to this new reality.

"Aliyah, you ready?" Dante's voice booms from the other side of the door, snapping me out of my thoughts. My heart does that annoying flutter thing it does whenever he’s nearby.

"Almost," I call back, trying to steady my breath. It's been weeks since that first encounter, and yet, here I am, getting ready for another party, another night of playing his perfect doll.

I step out of the bathroom and find Dante leaning against the doorframe, looking as imposing as ever in his tailored suit. His eyes scan me, lingering on the red lipstick. Satisfaction flickers across his face.

"Nice choice," he comments, his voice low and approving. "Red suits you."

I shrug, trying to act nonchalant. "Figured you’d like it."

He steps closer, his presence enveloping me. "You’re learning." His fingers trace my jawline, sending shivers down my spine. "Keep that up."

We head out to the car, and I can’t help but reflect on how my life has twisted into this strange new shape. I think about the freedom he’s given me around the mansion since I told him what I overheard at the last party. It feels like a leash, loosened but still very much there.

"Dante, do you ever wonder if we’re being watched?" I ask, more to fill the silence than anything else.

He chuckles, a dark sound that makes my skin prickle. "We’re always being watched, Aliyah. It's the nature of the game."

The drive to the Vitale estate is silent but charged. My thoughts whirl around the upcoming evening. The Vitales... allies, yet always a potential threat. The memory of Don Carlo Vitale’s eyes lingering on me last time sends a wave of unease through me. Dante noticed too, and his possessive grip on me tightened that night.

"You remember the rules?" Dante's voice breaks through my reverie.

"Eyes down, don’t speak unless spoken to, and stay close to you," I recite, my voice steady. He’s drilled it into me enough times.

"Good." He nods, satisfied. "But tonight, keep your ears open too. I want to know everything."

I nod, as fear and excitement churn in my stomach. This is my life now—dancing on the edge of danger, under the watchful eyes of a man who’s both my captor and protector. And despite everything, I can’t deny the thrill it brings.

As we pull up to the Vitale mansion, Dante leans over, his lips brushing my ear. "Remember who owns you."

His words send a shiver down my spine, and I nod, swallowing hard. "I know."

We step out, and the night air is thick with tension. My heart races as we walk toward the entrance, hand in hand. This is my life now, and I’m slowly learning to navigate its treacherous waters.

Dante's eyes roam over me, starting at my heels and slowly making their way up. I can feel the heat of his gaze, like a physical touch. He takes in the shimmering green gown that clings to my curves, the slit revealing just enough leg to be provocative but not obscene. When his eyes finally meet mine, there’s a spark of something dangerous, something electric that sends a thrill through me.

"You're stunning," he murmurs, stepping closer. The scent of his cologne, a mix of cedar and something darker, wraps around me. He’s dressed in all black, exuding an aura of danger and power that’s both terrifying and intoxicating.

"You don't look too bad yourself," I reply, my voice more breathless than I’d like. His presence is overwhelming, and I hate how much I crave it.

His hand lands on my lower back, a possessive gesture that sends shivers down my spine. "Let's go," he says, clearing his throat gruffly. We walk inside together, and the room seems to hush for a moment as we enter. All eyes are on us, or rather, on him. Dante Russo, the infamous don, and his latest acquisition.

He leans down, whispering in my ear, "Remember the rules, Aliyah."

I nod, feeling the weight of his words. "I remember."

With that, he releases me into the throng of guests, but not before giving me a look that says he’ll be watching. I mingle, my smile polite, my laughter at the right volume. All the while, my eyes never leave him. He moves through the room with a dangerous grace, shaking hands, exchanging words that seem to carry hidden threats.

A man approaches me, a glass of champagne in hand. "You must be Aliyah," he says, his tone too familiar. "Dante's been talking about you."

"Has he?" I reply, taking the glass but not drinking. "What did he say?"

"That you're off-limits," the man says with a smirk, looking me up and down. "But you don’t look like the type to follow rules."

I force a laugh, feeling the weight of Dante’s gaze from across the room. "I'm not, but in this case, I make an exception."

The man laughs, a low, amused sound. "Smart girl."

I excuse myself, moving away from him and closer to the safety of a group of women chatting about something inconsequential. My eyes flick back to Dante. He’s watching me, a small, approving smile playing on his lips. He catches my eye and raises an eyebrow, a silent question.

I nod, and he returns his attention to the man he’s talking to, some big shot from another family. My heart races, but I keep my face composed. I can do this. I can play this game.

As the night wears on, I continue to mingle, smiling and laughing at the right times, always aware of Dante’s presence. His dangerous charm works the room, drawing people to him like moths to a flame. And I can’t help but be one of them, my eyes tracking his every move, captivated by the man who holds my fate in his hands.

I plaster on a smile and let out a polite laugh at some inane comment about the weather. My eyes scan the room, darting from face to face, never settling for too long. The last thing I need is someone getting too comfortable, too familiar. Dante expects me to mingle, and I’m doing just that, though my nerves are frayed.

A shiver runs through me, a reminder that even if I can’t see him, Dante always has eyes on me. I lost sight of him a bit ago, but I know better than to think he’s not watching. He’s like a phantom, always lurking just out of sight, his presence a constant shadow.

I glide through the crowd, making small talk, never staying in one spot for too long. The men here, they’re predators, their eyes trailing over me with barely concealed hunger. I keep my distance, moving before anyone can get too close.

Suddenly, I feel it—a prickling on the back of my neck. My eyes snap up, and there he is. Dante, parting the crowd with the ease of a king among his subjects. He gives off an air of danger, a lethal calm that makes people step aside without a word.

Our eyes lock, and my breath catches. He’s looking at me oddly, something unreadable in his gaze. I can’t help but be drawn to him, like a moth to a flame. Slowly, I start to move toward him, the world narrowing to just the space between us.

Dante’s hand clamps around my arm, the other pressing firmly against my hip. His grip is like iron, unyielding and commanding. He steers me through the crowd with ease, people parting before us like a sea before a storm.

My heart races, a mix of fear and excitement flooding my veins. Each step feels like a leap into the unknown, my breath catching in my throat as I struggle to keep up with his relentless pace. His touch is electrifying, sending shivers down my spine giving me a strange, unwanted thrill at his dominance. The world around us blurs into a haze, leaving only the intense awareness of his presence beside me.

"Dante, where are we—" I start, but he cuts me off with a growl, his grip tightening around my arm. His eyes remain fixed ahead, never once glancing down at me.

"Quiet," he commands, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down my spine. I bite my lip, swallowing my words, and try to keep up with his swift pace. My heart pounds in my chest, curiosity gnawing at me. Where is he taking me? And why does a part of me want to find out?

He pushes open a door, leading us into a dimly lit room. The moment we’re inside, he slams the door shut and locks it. I barely have time to process before his hands are on me, tearing at my clothes with a fierce urgency.

"Dante, what are you—" My words dissolve into a gasp as he rips my dress over my head, the popping sound of seams fills the room, leaving me exposed and vulnerable.

"You drive me fucking insane." His hands are everywhere—urgent, demanding—as if he’s been holding back for too long and now there’s no stopping him.

And I don’t want him to.

His hands are everywhere, sliding over my skin, pulling, tugging. My breath catches as he yanks my dress over my head, leaving me exposed. His eyes darken, a dangerous hunger burning in them as his fingers hook into the waistband of my panties, tearing them away leaving me exposed and panting.