CHAPTER 1: The Pull of Fate

**Dahlia**

The rain poured down in relentless sheets, soaking through my clothes. It was almost painful the way the raindrops pounded and hit the parts of my exposed skin that were not covered by my light blue blouse and Straight-cut black long pants. Both of which now clung heavily to every curve of my body. But I didn't care about the rain or how intense the surrounding storm was. I needed to find him. 

I frantically walked the streets for what seemed like hours. Each minute that passed felt like an eternity. My heart felt nearly ready to explode, but when I finally saw him, it probably did shatter. He was sitting on the wet ground; his suit drenched and looking as if an invisible anchor rested entirely on his shoulders. He looked so broken like this, so unlike the man I had come to know. The man I shouldn't know. 

The man I was forbidden to know in the way I did.

The street was mercifully quiet and empty, and anyone who passed gave him a wide berth as if they instinctively sensed how dangerous he was, even without knowing his name. Even in this broken state, he exuded power, his dark, intense aura making most people shrink away in fear.

CRACK! 

Lightning slashed angry veins across the sky, its brilliance illuminating the storm for a fleeting moment. Thunder followed with a deep, menacing rumble, rolling through the air like the growl of some unseen beast.

His head turned toward me, the motion heavy but unhurried, as if the storm itself were his herald, announcing my presence. My breath hitched, caught somewhere between fear and something deeper, as his bloodshot eyes—red-rimmed and glassy—met mine. They moved slowly, trailing up from the puddle-laden ground where he sat to the spot where I stood, mere steps away, before locking onto my blue-grey gaze with unnerving precision.

While most people shrank back from him, I felt irresistibly drawn in, as if an invisible rope was always tied around my waist, pulling me toward him with a force that left no room to breathe or think. Step by step, I closed the short distance between us, the rain creating ripples in the puddles beneath my heels. His dark eyes stayed locked on mine, unwavering. His usually slicked-back hair was now plastered to his head, and his once-pristine suit clung to his broad frame, drenched and disheveled, yet somehow still commanding. 

His hand moved up, fingers diving into his wet hair as he pushed it back, revealing a glimpse of the tattoos curling out from under his soaked sleeves. Without a second thought, I lowered myself onto the wet pavement beside him; my clothes were already drenched, so a little dirt and wrinkles didn't bother me either. The cold was now really starting to seep through me, but I didn't care and forced myself to ignore it. I also forced myself to ignore the fully loaded pistol lying discarded but ominously within reach next to him.

None of that mattered. All I knew was that I needed to be here. Something deep inside told me this moment was inevitable, even as the weight of my own grief and sorrow threatened to pull me under.

Neither of us spoke. The only sounds between us were the steady rhythm of the rain and the occasional deep rumble of the storm above. Words felt unnecessary. I could feel his sorrow, heavy and unyielding, and it mirrored my own. We had both lost today and in that, there was an unspoken connection in the quiet chaos.

We stayed that way for a long time, unmoving, silent. Our quiet tears mingled with the raindrops, indistinguishable but deeply felt. In that shared stillness, there was only understanding, a fragile and unexpected sense of comfort. We hadn't said a word, hadn't consoled each other in any tangible way, but in that moment, it didn't matter. For us, this was enough.

As the rain softened and the thunder retreated into the distance, I rose, my movements slow and heavy with the weight of what was to come. Without a word, I turned and walked away, the storm's lingering chaos mirrored in the promise of the chaos now brewing just beyond our brief moment of quiet grief.

~ 1 year prior - 22 October 2023~ 

I stepped into the warmly lit Italian restaurant, Da Vinci's, and immediately questioned why the fuck I had agreed to this blind date. Blind dates were messy—too many unknowns, too much room for shit to go sideways. But Val had insisted, and I wasn't about to endure one of his brutal MMA training sessions on Monday as punishment for bailing. So, here I was, dressed up and uncomfortable, instead of comfortably home with a glass of wine and Netflix on my only night off.

Val, my MMA instructor and the owner of the Iron Blood training gym, had been relentless in setting this up. We'd become friends over the past few months, and he claimed this guy was worth my time. I wasn't convinced.

I scanned the room, searching for a man who fit the description Val had given me. A smile tugged at my lips as I remembered his words, still vivid even though he and I had been so drunk we barely stayed on our bar stools.

"He'll pick a table near the emergency exit; knowing him, he always likes a quick way out. And he'll have a scowl on his face like he'd rather watch paint dry than be there. The prick likes to dress sharp, too. Think suit, Rolex, the works. Dark hair, tattoos, you won't miss him. His name's Antonio, not that he won't fucking make sure you know that."

I could still hear Val slurring his way through the pitch, his grin mischievous as he tried to sell me on this date. I shook my head at the memory, fighting the urge to grin.

And then I saw him.

Val hadn't lied. He was sitting at the table nearest the emergency exit, posture rigid, and that scowl was firmly in place. What Val hadn't mentioned, though, was just how devastatingly sexy Antonio was. The man was a sight to behold, scowl be damned.

I swallowed hard. It had been a long time since my heart had flipped in its cage the way it did now, but I was determined to write it off as nerves. No way was I going to let myself act like some infatuated schoolgirl. I was thirty-one, for Christ's sake.

Squaring my shoulders, I smoothed down the sleek, form-fitting black midi dress that hugged every curve, its high neckline and long sleeves lending me the quiet confidence I didn't feel right now. My Black leather stiletto ankle boots clicked on the restaurant's wooden floor as I weaved past tables and fast-moving waiters. The burgundy trench coat draped over my shoulders felt like armor, but it did little to steady the flutter in my chest when his dark eyes slid up from the menu and locked onto me.

Fuck, I was no good on dates, let alone dealing with attractive people in a personal capacity.

But you know what they say: fake it till you make it. 

Plastering a confident smile on my face, I closed the distance between us. As I reached the table, he stood immediately, rising to his full, imposing height, 1.95 meters, easy. His eyes roamed over me for a moment, dark and unreadable, but at least he wasn't scowling anymore.

I extended my hand toward him, steady despite the lump forming in my throat. My almond-shaped nails painted a deep burgundy, caught the restaurant's dim light. His gaze snapped to my outstretched hand, sharp and deliberate. I resisted the urge to visibly swallow.

"Dahlia Fel. A pleasure to meet you," I said, my voice calm and measured, and not at all reflecting how I truly felt.

He took my offered hand, his large, calloused palm engulfing my slender fingers. But instead of shaking it, he bowed slightly, his movements smooth and measured. He brought my hand to his full, well-defined lips and pressed a kiss to my knuckles. There was something about the gesture, so controlled yet intimate, that told me this man didn't bend even slightly to anyone. The thought sent my heart racing all over again, and a warm, heady heat unfurled in my stomach.

"Antonio Corenzo," he said, his voice low and rich, with just enough gravel to make it devastatingly intimate. "And the pleasure is all mine, Tesoro, it seems."

The way his words curled around me,wanton and smooth, sent a tremor through me. I barely managed to stay upright. 

Where was the confident chief of police I prided myself on being? I didn't recognize this trembling, vulnerable version of myself. But something about Antonio Corenzo told me he was about to redefine everything I thought I was. The realization terrified me, yet it ignited a dark thrill deep within—a part of me I hadn't even known existed until now.

~ 1 Year Prior - 22 October 2023 ~

**Antonio**

I leaned back in the plush booth at Da Vinci's, the warm glow of the restaurant enveloping me while the scent of rich tomato sauce and fresh basil filled the air. As I glanced around, the ambient sounds of clinking glasses and muted conversations offered a comforting backdrop, yet my focus lingered on the emergency exit—Val's insistence that I sit nearby justified by a nagging anticipation.

Valentino had insisted on this blind date and rambled on about how I needed to branch out and experience something beyond the shadows of my world. "You need a woman, Antonio. Someone who'll challenge you, who can hold her own." It wasn't like me to follow his advice, but I obliged, primarily for familial obligation. Still, the thought of navigating a date, especially a blind one, felt absurd.

Then she walked in.

The moment Dahlia entered, time seemed to still, swallowed by the intensity of her presence. She wore a sleek black dress that hugged her curves, tracing the outlines of her figure with an alluring elegance. The warmth of the restaurant drew me to her, but it was the electricity emanating from her that wrapped around me like a vice. Each step was confident, purposeful, yet I could sense the undercurrent of anxiety beneath that facade of poise.

As her eyes moved across the room, searching, I felt drawn into her gaze—those Grey-blue eyes were a storm waiting to break, swirling with emotions I dared to fathom. When our eyes finally locked, the world around us faded into a distant hum.

She approached, heels clicking against the wooden floor, creating a rhythm that matched the pounding of my heart. When she extended her hand, I caught the subtle tremor in her fingers and a rush of primal desire shot through me. Whatever it was I had anticipated, it dulled in comparison to the urgency coursing through my veins.

"Dahlia Fel. A pleasure to meet you," she said, her voice steadier than I expected, holding a vulnerability just beneath the surface.

"Antonio Corenzo," I replied, allowing my voice to drop—rich, low, and laced with an intimacy that felt like a promise. I took her hand in mine, noting the warmth and softness of her skin against my calloused palm. Instead of the expected handshake, I leaned forward, brushing my lips against her knuckles, savoring the moment. The faint scent of her perfume—a blend of jasmine and something intoxicatingly sweet—wrapped around me, igniting a hunger I hadn't acknowledged in a long time. I wanted to press my lips against her skin again, feeling that heat ignites in every part of my body.

"...And the pleasure is all mine, Tesoro, it seems."

Her breath stuttered, and I relished the way her body seemed to respond to me, a subtle shift that hinted at intrigue and desire. This was more than just a meeting; it was a magnetic connection tethering us in the charged air between us.

As I took in the sight of her—how the dress clung to her body, accentuating every curve—I felt a stirring within me that was more than mere attraction. This was a primal urge, a need that thrummed through my veins, daring to unleash a raw intensity that had been dormant for far too long. I couldn't help but imagine how it would feel to press her against me, to lose myself in the warmth of her body, to explore every inch of her with unabashed lust.

I studied the playful color of her nail polish against the shadow of my dark suit—a stark contrast to the storm brewing in her eyes. There was strength in her, an undercurrent of raw power, but I could see the layers of conflict tracing her features. This wasn't just any woman; she was a force, somehow both eerily familiar and delightfully foreign.

"Tell me," I said, my voice dropping as I leaned in slightly, allowing the distance between us to shrink even further. "Do you always make an entrance this captivating, or is it just for me tonight?"

A flicker of amusement danced in her eyes, and I caught the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, with a slight glimmer of a red blush emanating from the corners of her cheeks. But there was something else—an apprehension mixed with an undeniable spark of interest. For a moment, I sensed my own intrigue mirrored back at me. The vulnerability in the way she held herself, the shift in her gaze between curiosity and fear, was intoxicating. I could almost taste the tension—an electrifying promise of what could unfold between us.

Suddenly aware of the weight of my past pressing down, I fought against the shadows lurking at the edges of my mind—memories of loss and betrayal that haunted my every thought. Yet, in contrast, there was something fiercely promising about Dahlia—a possibility of something untamed and exhilarating.

As she prepared to respond, I couldn't help but feel that this moment would redefine everything I knew about desire. There was a thrilling danger in her presence, an unspoken challenge that urged me to push the boundaries of our worlds. It was a dance on the edge of something chaotic and beautiful—a connection so profound that it made my heart pound with a fervor I hadn't felt in years.

I couldn't wait to see how deep the rabbit hole went. Figuratively and literally.