A Temporary Truce

Chapter 43: A Temporary Truce

The glow of the city lights flickered through the large glass windows of Dante's penthouse, casting long shadows across the luxurious space. Isla sat on the velvet chaise, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of a half-filled wine glass, her thoughts clouded by the heavy decision she had just made.

She had agreed to stay.

Not because she trusted Dante. Not because she forgave him. But because she had no other choice.

Her heart pounded in her chest, a mix of frustration and confusion swirling inside her. Dante was a force of nature—obsessive, controlling, and relentless. He was a man who refused to let go, a man whose love was as dangerous as his wrath.

And yet, despite everything, she wasn't ready to walk away.

The door creaked open behind her, and the familiar weight of his presence filled the room. Isla inhaled sharply, gripping the stem of her glass a little tighter. She didn't need to look up to know he was watching her, his gaze piercing and unreadable.

"You've been avoiding me," Dante's deep voice broke the silence, sending a shiver down her spine.

Isla exhaled slowly before finally turning to face him. He was leaning against the doorway, his broad frame blocking the exit, his dark eyes locked onto her like a predator stalking its prey. He was still dressed in his black shirt and slacks from earlier, the top buttons undone, revealing a hint of his sculpted chest.

"I've been thinking," she said evenly, meeting his gaze.

Dante stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate. "About what?"

She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "About us. About what this is."

His expression darkened, and he tilted his head slightly. "And what conclusion did you come to?"

Isla set the wine glass down on the table beside her and stood up, closing the distance between them but keeping just enough space to breathe. "That your obsession with me will ruin us both."

A muscle in Dante's jaw twitched, but he didn't break eye contact. "You think I don't already know that?" he said, his voice quieter now, laced with something almost dangerous. "You think I don't feel it every time I look at you?"

She swallowed hard. "Then why do you keep doing this?"

His lips curled into a bitter smirk as he stepped even closer, his warmth seeping into her skin despite the small space between them. "Because I can't stop," he admitted, his voice rough, raw. "And neither can you."

She clenched her fists, trying to ignore the way her body betrayed her, the way her heart pounded against her ribs. "I can," she whispered. "And I will. I'll stay, Dante. I'll be under your rule, under your protection, but I will never love you the way you want me to."

For the first time, something flickered in Dante's eyes—something dangerously close to vulnerability. But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by his usual impenetrable stare.

"You say that now, Isla," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "But we both know you're lying to yourself."

She shook her head. "You don't own my heart, Dante. You never will."

Dante let out a low chuckle, but there was no humor in it. "You think love is a choice?" He took another step, forcing her back until she was pressed against the cool glass window. "You think you get to decide whether or not you're mine?"

Isla's breath hitched as his hands came up, trapping her between his body and the glass. His fingers grazed her jaw, tilting her face up to meet his.

"Love isn't about control, Dante," she whispered, trying to steady her voice. "It's not about possession. It's not about obsession."

His eyes darkened. "Then tell me what it is, Isla. Because I'm done pretending I don't want you more than anything in this damn world."

She exhaled sharply, forcing herself to remain strong. "Love is freedom. And you'll never give me that."

Dante's grip tightened just slightly, his frustration evident. "I gave you a choice," he murmured. "I told you to stand beside me or walk away. You stayed. That means something."

Isla met his gaze, her voice steady despite the rapid beating of her heart. "It means I want to survive. It means I know that leaving isn't an option—not yet. But that doesn't mean I love you."

His fingers slid from her jaw to her throat, resting there with just enough pressure to remind her of his dominance. "You don't have to love me," he said darkly. "I'll make sure you never want to leave."

She closed her eyes for a moment, swallowing the lump in her throat. "And that's exactly why this is dangerous, Dante. Because you're not trying to love me—you're trying to control me."

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his expression before he pulled back slightly, giving her just enough space to breathe.

"You think I don't know that?" His voice was quieter now, almost… broken. "You think I don't feel this war inside me every damn day?"

For a moment, Isla saw past the ruthless mafia boss—the man who had killed, who had destroyed, who had taken whatever he wanted without question. For a moment, she saw the man beneath the monster.

And that terrified her more than anything.

She reached up, her fingers brushing against his cheek for just a second before she pulled away. "This isn't love, Dante," she whispered. "Not yet. Not like this."

A heavy silence hung between them before Dante finally stepped back, his jaw clenched, his breathing uneven. "Then tell me what this is, Isla. Because I'm tired of playing this game."

She hesitated, then took a deep breath. "It's a truce. A temporary one. I'll stay. I'll follow your rules. But I won't pretend this is something it's not."

Dante stared at her for a long moment before finally nodding. "Fine," he said, his voice rough. "But don't think for a second that I'll stop wanting all of you."

Isla met his gaze one last time before turning away, her heart pounding in her chest.

She had won this battle.

But the war between them was far from over.