He suspected betrayal.
He suspected an enemy’s plan.
He suspected that someone had paid her to humiliate him.
But as the minutes passed, he began to recognise something far more confusing.
She wasn’t trying to kill him.
She wasn’t demanding money.
She wasn’t asking him to reveal secrets.
She was simply enjoying the fact that the most feared man in Palermo couldn’t order her around.
And, against his better judgement, Dante began playing along.
He didn’t tell her that he had started to understand her little game.
Instead, he watched her with the same cold expression he used on his enemies.
Whenever she changed his dressing, her eyes inevitably wandered towards his abs.
And whenever she reached out to check the area around his wound, he caught her hand.
“Looking again?”
“I’m checking your stitches.”
“Your eyes seem to have a different opinion.”
She snatched her hand away.
“Keep dreaming, Don.”
“I’m not the one staring.”
She hit his arm.
He caught her wrist.
For a brief moment, their eyes met.
The teasing disappeared.
Something unfamiliar settled between them.
Dante released her hand first.
“Finish the dressing.”
Isabella lowered her eyes and continued, pretending that her heart wasn’t beating faster than usual.
She had no idea when her teasing had begun to feel different.
Dante had no idea when his irritation had started turning into something dangerously close to affection.
Neither of them was ready to name it.
And neither understood how much trouble that would eventually cause.