Page 69 of Made for Sinners

I blinked. “What?”

His smirk deepened, but his voice was softer this time. “Dinner. With me. No games, no demands.” He tilted his head slightly. “Just us.”

I stared at him, waiting for the catch.

But there wasn’t one.

He was asking.

Not demanding.

Not ordering.

Asking.

I exhaled slowly, my fingers still curled around the dress. “Okay.”

Dante’s smirk softened into something else—something I couldn’t quite place.

“Good,” he murmured.

And then he was gone, leaving me standing in the middle of the bedroom, surrounded by the evidence of just how much he was willing to give me.

The rooftop was breathtaking.

I stepped out onto the terrace, my heels clicking softly against the stone floor, and inhaled sharply. The entire space was transformed. Twinkling fairy lights hung overhead, casting a warm, golden glow over the intimate dining setup. A round table, draped in crisp white linen, sat in the center, adorned with flickering candles and a bouquet of deep red roses.

But it was the flowers—hundreds of them—that stole my breath.

They lined the perimeter of the rooftop, spilling over in a riot of color. Roses, peonies, lilies—blooms in every shade of red, pink, and white. The scent was intoxicating, wrapping around me like a dream.

I turned to Dante, my pulse unsteady. “You did all this?”

He smirked, stepping closer. “You sound surprised.”

I was.

Dante wasn’t the type for grand romantic gestures. He was calculated, controlled, always three steps ahead. This? This felt like something else entirely.

“I—” I shook my head, at a loss for words.

Dante took my hand, guiding me toward the table. He pulled out my chair, waiting until I sat before pouring me a glass of wine. The deep red liquid swirled in the crystal goblet, catching the candlelight.

He took the seat beside me, his hand resting casually on my thigh, his touch warm and possessive.

Dinner arrived—perfectly plated dishes of something decadent, something expensive. Dante had ordered for me, but I wasn’t surprised. He always did. And, annoyingly, he always got it right.

I took a sip of wine, letting the warmth settle in my chest. The city stretched out before us, glittering in the night, but I barely noticed it. My focus was on the man beside me—the way he watched me, the way his fingers never stopped moving againstmy thigh, the way he made me feel like I was teetering on the edge of something dangerous.

I was lost in my thoughts when Dante’s voice cut through them.

“I need to tell you something.”

His tone was different. Lower. More serious.

I turned to him, my heart stuttering. “What is it?”

Dante didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against my cheek as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. The touch was soft, almost reverent. His gaze traced my face, lingering on my lips before flicking back to my eyes.

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