Six Months Contract With The Mafia God

POV: DANTE

The call came through at 3:47 PM.

Dante was in his office in Rome, sitting behind the mahogany desk that had belonged to his brother before Dimitri Valentino decided Salvatore wasn’t worth keeping alive. The view from his window overlooked the Tiber, and the afternoon light was turning the water gold.

”Boss,” his man said on the other end. His name was Carmine, and he was one of the few people Dante actually trusted. ”We have movement. Valentino just left Manhattan. Private jet. Filing a route toward the Atlantic.”

Dante leaned back in his chair. So the Devil was finally leaving his territory. Finally coming out into the open where a man could get to him.

”Track it,” Dante said. ”I want to know where he lands. I want to know every stop, every route he takes, everything.”

”Boss, I....” Carmine hesitated. That hesitation cost him. ”Following Valentino off his home turf is suicide. The man has enemies everywhere, but he also has protection. Networks. If he finds out we’re following him....”

”Then don’t let him find out,” Dante said quietly. And the quiet was worse than if he’d shouted. ”Do your job, Carmine, or I’ll find someone else to do it. And you won’t like what happens to people who stop being useful to me.”

The silence on the other end was heavy. Carmine was smart enough to understand that this wasn’t a negotiation.

”Yes, boss,” he finally said.

”Good. Report in every four hours. And Carmine? If you lose him, you’re dead. We clear?”

”Crystal clear.”

Dante hung up without another word.

He stood and walked to the window, looking out at Rome spread below him like a kingdom he’d inherited whether he wanted it or not. Salvatore had been the favorite. Salvatore had been the one groomed to run the family business. Salvatore had been the one with ambition and vision and the kind of ruthlessness that made men fear you.

Dante had been the elder brother who run things from the shadow.

Until Dimitri Valentino killed him and left Dante holding the bag.

And now, finally, after months of waiting and planning and building back what his brother had lost, Dante had found his opening. Valentino was leaving his territory. Leaving his security blanket. Getting on a plane with that woman....that Eve who everyone said was his weakness.

Perfect.

Dante pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts. Found the one he wanted.

Isabella answered on the third ring, which meant she wasn’t there. Or she was ignoring him. Both were problems.

He let it ring. Let it go to voicemail. Didn’t bother leaving a message.

Instead, he opened the app on his phone that connected to the CCTV camera in Isabella’s bedroom. The feed was live, high-definition, crystal clear. He’d had the best tech team money could buy install it weeks ago. She had no idea. No idea that every time she undressed, every time she showered, every time she lay on her bed crying or touching herself, he was watching.

There she was.

Curled up on the bed, still fully clothed, her face turned away from the camera. Her dark hair spread across the pillow like she’d been lying there for hours. The room was dark, curtains drawn, and the only light was coming from her phone screen....which she was staring at but not answering.

Dante’s jaw clenched.

He opened another app. This one contained audio files....recordings of every conversation in her apartment. He scrolled through the timestamps until he found it. The one from nights ago. The one where Enzo had shown up and blown everything apart.

He pressed play.

Her voice came through the speaker, confused but hopeful: ”Enzo. What are you doing here? I wasn’t expecting....”

Enzo’s voice, colder than ice: ”I know you weren’t.”

Dante listened to the whole thing. Every word. Every moment where Enzo had revealed what Dante was. Every moment where Isabella had realized she’d been played.

And then he heard it. Her repeating his name.

”His name is Dante,” Enzo said. ”Dante Romano.”

And Isabella had gone silent. Then small. Then broken.

Dante played it again. Just to hear that moment. Just to hear the exact second when she understood.

His cock was hard. Painfully hard. The kind of hard that made thinking straight impossible.

Because the thing was, Isabella was one of the few women who could handle how he fucked. Most women wanted tenderness. Wanted to be treated like delicate flowers. Wanted romance and softness and all that bullshit that made men weak.

Not Isabella.

She’d come to him desperate. Broken over that mafia prince who’d thrown her away. And Dante had given her exactly what she needed....brutal, degrading, dirty. The kind of fucking that made you forget about everything else. The kind of fucking where a man could use a woman’s body like his own personal toy and she’d come back for more.

He’d fucked her in ways he’d never fucked another woman. Not because he cared about her pleasure, though she’d definitely gotten off, screaming his name in that dark apartment, but because he was using her. Using her body to work out his rage at Dimitri. Using her as a tool to gather intelligence on his enemy. Using her the way he had taught his brother to use people before Dimitri Valentino had put a hole in his head.

And she’d loved it.

Even when he was rough. Even when he left marks. Even when he bent her into positions that bordered on painful and fucked her like he owned her....which, let’s be honest, he did. He owned her pussy. He owned her body. He owned every orgasm she had.

She’d kept coming back.

She’d kept opening her legs for him. Kept letting him do whatever he wanted. Kept accepting the degradation like it was exactly what she deserved.

And now she knew who he was.

Now she knew that every kiss, every touch, every time he’d buried his cock inside her had been calculated. A means to an end. Leverage against Dimitri.

Dante’s hand moved to his pants. He unzipped them and pulled out his cock, already leaking with pre-cum. The thing was throbbing. Demanding attention.