Page 64 of Made for Sinners

He walked further inside, his hands in his pockets, like he was giving me time to take it all in. “It’s a house.”

I let out a humorless laugh. “No shit.Whosehouse?”

Dante turned to face me, his dark eyes steady, unreadable. "Ours," he said simply.

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

He took a slow step toward me, his presence filling the space between us. "This house. It’s ours."

I let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. "Ours? Since when?"

"Since I bought it."

I stared at him, my arms tightening around myself. "You bought a house?"

Dante’s lips curled slightly. "I buy a lot of things, Emilia."

I exhaled, shaking my head. "Why?"

"I bought it because I see the future here. With you."

I stared at him, my pulse thudding in my ears. The words hung between us, heavy and unshakable.

With me.

Dante wasn’t the kind of man who said things he didn’t mean. Every word was deliberate, every action calculated. And yet, hearing him say it—seeing the certainty in his dark eyes—made something twist deep in my chest.

And then he kissed me.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was a battle, a war of teeth and tongues and unspoken words. His hands gripped my waist, pulling me against him, and I let him, my fingers tangling in his shirt, holding on like he was the only solid thing in my world.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was warm against my lips. "This house is ours," he murmured. "And whether you fight me or not, you’re staying."

I stared at him, my heart pounding. "You don’t get to decide that."

His smirk deepened. "I already did."

"What if I hate it?"

"Then I'll sell it and we'll find another."

He was serious as he stepped away from me. "Here, let me show you the parts I like before you make your decision."

Dante led me through the house with the same quiet confidence he carried everywhere, his steps measured, his presence filling every room before I even stepped inside.

“This house has six bedrooms,” he said, his voice calm, matter-of-fact. “Each with its own en-suite bathroom.”

I arched a brow. “Planning on housing an army?”

Dante smirked, glancing at me over his shoulder. “You never know.”

I rolled my eyes, but I followed him anyway.

The master bedroom was massive, its floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lake, the bed positioned perfectly to catch the sunrise. The space was sleek, modern—dark woods, neutral tones, clean lines. It was beautiful, but it didn’t feel likeme.

Dante watched me as I took it in, his hands in his pockets. “What do you think?”

I hesitated. “It’s… nice.”

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