He took another drag, watched the smoke curl into the night sky.
The irony was beautiful.
Isabella thought she was using him to forget Dimitri.
Didn't realize Dante had spent weeks researching her. Knew she went to the same clubs every Thursday. Knew she had a type. Knew she was vulnerable and angry and desperate.
All he'd had to do was position himself in the right place, look the right way, say the right things.
And she'd fallen into his bed like fruit from a tree.
Now she was addicted.
To his size. His strength. The way he fucked her like he hated her.
She'd be back tomorrow. Or the next day. Texting him. Begging him to come over.
And Dante would come.
Would fuck her until she couldn't walk. Would whisper poison in her ear about Dimitri's rejection. Would slowly, carefully, turn her desperation into obsession.
And when the time was right?
He'd make sure Dimitri Valentino knew.
