Chapter 2 - The Gravity of a ShadowThe warmth of Dante Russo’s hand through the thin fabric of Ellie’s burgundy bridesmaid dress was the only thing keeping her upright. Around them, the grand ballroom of the Drake Hotel seemed to tilt on its axis. The laughter, the clinking of crystal, the soft swell of the jazz band—all of it faded into a dull, distant hum, replaced by the heavy, rhythmic thud of her own pulse.
"What are you doing?" Ellie whispered, her voice barely carrying over the music as they neared the edge of the polished marble dance floor.
Dante didn’t answer immediately. He guided her with an effortless, authoritative grace that felt less like a request and more like a law of nature. When they reached the center of the floor, he turned to face her. His dark eyes, deeper and more dangerous than she had anticipated from the headlines, locked onto hers.
"I am saving you from a very public, very cheap execution, tesoro," Dante murmured.
Without waiting for her consent, he slid his right hand fully around her waist, pulling her just close enough for her to feel the solid, unyielding heat of his chest. His left hand clasped hers, his long, scarred fingers wrapping around her smaller ones with a grip that was surprisingly gentle yet entirely non-negotiable.
Ellie’s breath hitched. She placed her free hand on his shoulder, feeling the expensive, heavy wool of his tailored suit. Up close, he smelled of cedarwood, expensive tobacco, and rain.
"I don't even know you," she whispered, her gray eyes searching his severe, handsome face for some sign of a joke, some hint of the monster the newspapers warned Chicago about. "And I am definitely not your wife."
"Details," Dante said smoothly, his feet moving in a slow, perfect box step that forced her to follow him or risk tripping over her own heels. "Tonight, the details do not matter. What matters is that the woman who was trying to bleed you in public is currently calling her brother to tell him that his ex-fiancée just married the man who owns the building she is standing in."
Ellie glanced over his shoulder. Vanessa Carter was indeed standing near the exit, her face pale, her phone pressed hard to her ear while her date, the confused doctor, stood three paces away looking like an extra in a play he hadn't auditioned for.
"Why?" Ellie asked, looking back up at him. "Why would you do this for a stranger? People like you don't do favors for waitresses from Logan Square."
A faint, dangerous smile touched the corner of Dante’s mouth, though his eyes remained entirely serious. "Perhaps I dislike bullies. Or perhaps I simply wanted a dance with the only woman in this room who wasn't looking at my hands to see if there was blood on them."
"Are there?" Ellie blurted out, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Dante’s gaze dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second before returning to her eyes. "Only when necessary, Ellie. Only when necessary."
The dance floor seemed to shrink around them. Ellie could feel the weight of a hundred stares pressing against her back. Her family—the Sullivans and the Rossis—were gathered near the head table, their mouths open, their forks suspended in mid-air. Her aunt Martha looked as though she might require her heart medication.
"They're going to ask questions," Ellie said, panic finally beginning to break through her shock. "My cousin Sophia... my aunt... they know I was single yesterday. They know Daniel left me three months ago."
"Then let them ask," Dante said. He spun her gently, the fabric of her burgundy dress flaring against his black trousers. "If anyone asks, we married in secret. A quiet ceremony in Cabo last month. I am a private man, Ellie. The city knows this. They will believe whatever lie keeps them safe from my temper."
"And what happens tomorrow?" she demanded. "When the wedding is over? When the lie runs out?"
Dante’s grip on her waist tightened just a fraction, pulling her closer still, until her chest brushed his. The raw power radiating from him was intoxicating, terrifying, and utterly addictive.
"Tomorrow is a long way off," Dante whispered, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that sent a shiver straight down her spine. "For tonight, Ellie, you are a Russo. Act like it."
Before she could answer, the music swelled to a close. Dante didn't release her immediately. He held her for a beat longer than necessary, his dark eyes holding hers captive under the brilliant, cold light of the chandeliers.
Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he lifted her hand and pressed his lips to the back of her knuckles. His gaze never left hers.
May you like
"Enjoy your dinner, moglie mia," he murmured.
He turned and walked away, his two shadow-like guards falling into step behind him as the crowd parted like the Red Sea. Ellie stood alone on the polished marble, her hand still tingling where his lips had touched, while the rest of Table 19 stared at her as if she had just returned from the dead.
