Bullets and Temptation

Chapter 6: Bullets and Temptation

The second gunshot shattered the silence, closer this time.

Dante reacted instantly, grabbing Elijah and shoving him toward the floor behind the couch just as another bullet whizzed past. The glass windows behind them cracked but didn't shatter.

"Elijah, stay down," Dante ordered, his voice sharp.

Elijah scoffed, straightening his cuffs like he wasn't currently ducking from gunfire. "You're not the boss of me, Moretti."

Dante shot him a look, unimpressed. "We're literally under attack, tesoro. Maybe save the attitude for later?"

Before Elijah could retort, Dante fired back toward the intruders, his movements fluid and precise. The sharp, controlled way he handled a gun sent a jolt through Elijah's stomach—dangerous, efficient, and annoyingly hot.

Elijah reached into his own jacket, pulling out his compact pistol.

Dante caught the movement and quirked a brow. "You carry?"

Elijah smirked. "What kind of businessman doesn't?"

Dante chuckled low, clearly pleased, but they had no time for distractions. Footsteps echoed in the hall outside, and then—

BOOM!

The door to Elijah's penthouse blasted open, sending debris flying.

Dante grabbed Elijah by the waist and yanked him down just in time to avoid the impact. Their bodies collided, Dante's firm grip pressing Elijah against him.

Elijah felt a sharp rush of heat coil low in his stomach. "If you wanted me this close, Moretti, you could've just asked."

Dante exhaled a low growl, his breath warm against Elijah's ear. "You're insufferable."

Elijah grinned. "And yet, you still can't keep your hands off me."

Before Dante could bite back, the first intruder stepped through the smoke. A tall, heavily armed man—one of Romano's.

Dante moved like a shadow, swift and merciless. Two shots—one to the chest, one to the head. The man dropped.

Elijah arched a brow. "Efficient."

Dante shot him a smirk. "Impressed?"

Elijah rolled his eyes. "Moderately."

More men stormed in. Dante and Elijah moved in sync, ducking behind furniture, returning fire. The room filled with the acrid scent of gunpowder, the sharp sounds of bullets hitting walls.

One of the men lunged at Elijah. He twisted, catching the attacker's arm and slamming an elbow into his ribs before driving a bullet into his shoulder. The man collapsed with a grunt.

Dante whistled. "Not bad, Sinclair."

Elijah smirked. "What, expecting me to be a damsel in distress?"

Dante's brown eyes gleamed. "No. But I was hoping you'd be this fun."

The last attacker dropped with a thud, and then—silence.

Elijah stood, brushing dust off his suit while Dante surveyed the damage.

"Well," Elijah sighed. "There goes my security deposit."

Dante laughed, shaking his head. "You're ridiculous."

Elijah turned to face him, pulse still racing, a mix of adrenaline and something far more dangerous. "And yet, you still won't leave me alone."

Dante smirked. "What can I say? You're entertaining."

Elijah stepped closer, the tension between them thick, electric. "And what now, Moretti?" His voice dropped slightly. "Are you going to keep protecting me?"

Dante's gaze darkened. "I told you, tesoro. You're mine now."

Elijah tilted his head, lips curling in amusement. "That so?"

Dante moved fast—one hand wrapping around Elijah's tie, yanking him forward until their faces were just inches apart.

"Yes," Dante murmured, his voice low and thick. "And I always take care of what's mine."

The heat between them snapped, and this time, neither of them moved away.

Dante's lips brushed against Elijah's, barely there, teasing. Testing.

Elijah's breath hitched. He hated how much he wanted this—hated how Dante always had the upper hand.

So, he decided to even the playing field.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Elijah reached up, gripping Dante's tie in return. Then, with one sharp tug—

He kissed him.

Dante groaned, deep and satisfied, as he immediately took control. His hand tangled in Elijah's hair, his lips claiming, devouring. It was rough, hot, and dangerously addictive.

Elijah gasped against his mouth, fingers tightening around Dante's suit. He should stop—he should push away—

But he didn't.

Instead, he let himself drown.

Because, for the first time in a long time…

Losing control felt too damn good.

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