Chapter 7 - Whispers in the DarkThe rain beat a steady, hypnotic rhythm against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Valente penthouse master suite.
Inside, the room was cast in shadows, illuminated only by the faint, pulsing glow of the city lights below.
Sloan lay propped up against a mountain of goose-down pillows, a velvet duvet pulled up to her waist, scrolling through a final batch of encrypted financial reports on her tablet.
The bathroom door clicked open.
Dante stepped out, wearing only a pair of dark cotton sleep pants, his broad chest and shoulders gleaming faintly in the dim light. He ran a hand through his damp dark hair, walking over to the bed.
He reached down, gently lifting the tablet out of her hands and setting it on the nightstand.
“The market is closed, CEO Valente-Hayes,” Dante murmured, sliding under the covers beside her and pulling her flush against his warm, solid body.
Sloan let out a soft sigh of surrender, resting her head against his chest, listening to the rhythmic, steady thrum of his heartbeat.
“I’m just tying up the last loose threads of the Bellamy acquisition,” she murmured, tracing a light pattern against his collarbone. “Carter’s father is trying to hide three commercial properties in New Jersey under a church charity tax exemption.”
“Let him try,” Dante whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. “My legal team will eat him alive by Tuesday.”
Sloan shifted slightly, looking up at him in the dim light. Her dark eyes searched his face, catching the faint, rugged scar across his jawline.
“Dante?”
“Hmm?”
“When you first walked into that wedding... when you looked at me standing there in that ridiculous seafoam bridesmaid dress holding a glass of warm champagne...” Sloan hesitated, a rare note of vulnerability creeping into her voice. “Did you actually think I’d say yes?”
Dante looked down at her, a slow, devastatingly tender smile spreading across his lips. He reached up, his warm calloused fingers tracing the curve of her cheekbone down to her chin.
“I didn't think you’d say yes, cara,” Dante whispered, his voice thick with a fierce, quiet devotion. “I knew it. Because I spent two years watching the smartest woman in New York pretend to be invisible while waiting for the right moment to burn down her cage. I just wanted to be the one holding the matches.”
Sloan’s breath caught. She smiled, a small, genuine expression of utter peace.
May you like
She reached up, tangling her fingers in his dark hair, pulling him down to her lips.
The rain continued to lash against the glass outside, washing away the remnants of the past, leaving only the quiet, unbreakable fortress they had built together in the dark.
