Chapter 6

THE ENFORCER & THE HEIR

The basement level of the Moretti compound was a vast, subterranean fortress of concrete, polished steel, and high-performance equipment.

Down here, thirty feet beneath the estate's manicured gardens, the ambient hum of industrial climate control muffled the outside world into total nonexistence.

It was 02:00 AM.

Dante Hayes stood in the center of the private sparring ring, his upper body bare, glistening with sweat under the fluorescent floodlights. His breath came in steady, measured exhales as he landed a brutal sequence of sharp, heavy strikes into a heavy leather punching bag-jab, cross, left hook, low kick.

The thudding impact echoed rhythmically off the reinforced walls.

Dante worked out at night for a simple reason: darkness brought quiet. It was the only time when the compound was still, free from the endless parade of family guards, visiting syndicate heads, and the suffocating presence of Antonio Moretti.

A sharp metallic click echoed from the glass observation deck above, followed by the heavy thud of the steel security door unlatching.

Dante didn't stop his rhythm. Jab, cross, hook.

Slow, deliberate footsteps descended the spiral staircase. The intruder didn't move like an enforcer or a guard; the steps were light, fluid, and laced with an unmistakable, arrogant leisure.

"You're going to tear the leather off that bag, Dante," a voice purred through the humid air.

Dante caught the heavy bag with both arms, bringing its momentum to a dead halt. He wiped a streak of sweat from his forehead with his forearm before slowly turning around.

Valentine Moretti stood at the edge of the mat.

He had discarded his tailored suit jacket, wearing only a black silk shirt with the top three buttons undone, exposing his collarbones. In his right hand, he held a tumbler filled with amber scotch and two clinking ice cubes. His dark hair was slightly tousled, his lips curved into that familiar, dangerous half-smirk that had terrified half of St. Jude Academy.

"Master Valentine," Dante said, his voice flat, neutral, and clipped.

He reached for a white hand towel resting on the rope corner. "The lower training wing is restricted after midnight. If you require security personnel for an errand, the night team is posted at the main gate."

"I don't need the night team, Dante," Valentine murmured, taking a slow step onto the mat. He swirled his scotch, the ice clinking against the glass. "And don't call me 'Master Valentine' when we're alone down here. It sounds so absurdly formal coming from you."

Dante didn't answer. He wrapped the towel around his neck, keeping his posture rigid, his dark eyes fixed straight ahead on the wall behind Valentine. "Is there something you need, sir?"

"You," Valentine said cleanly.

The word hung in the humid air between them, sharp and heavy as a blade.

Dante's eyes didn't flicker, but the muscles along his jaw tightened imperceptibly. "You are intoxicated, sir. I recommend returning to your quarters. Mr. Antonio has your scheduled briefings set for eight o'clock."

At the mention of his father's name, Valentine's smile darkened into something bitter and razor-sharp. He walked closer, stopping just a foot away from Dante. Up close, the heat radiating off Dante's bare shoulders was palpable, mixing with the sharp scent of cedarwood, sweat, and leather.

Valentine set his tumbler down on the corner post of the ring.

"My father," Valentine rasped softly, his gaze dropping to the deep, faint scar running along Dante's collarbone. "He thinks he owns you, doesn't he? He looks at you like a prized loyal hound he rescued from the mud."

"Mr. Antonio gave me a life and a purpose when I had neither," Dante replied, his tone low and immovable as stone. "My life belongs to the Moretti family."

"No," Valentine whispered, taking another half-step forward until his chest almost brushed against Dante's. He reached up, his long, slender fingers hovering just millimeters above the heavy muscle of Dante's chest before lightly resting on the warm skin. "Your duty belongs to the family. Your loyalty belongs to my father."

Valentine's fingertips traced slowly down the center of Dante's sternum, a slow, possessive stroke that felt like hot iron against Dante's disciplined restraint.

"But your eyes, Dante..." Valentine murmured, his dark gaze snapping up to lock onto Dante's stoic face. "Whenever I walk into a room, whenever I touch a gun, whenever I bleed-your eyes are on me. Not him. Me."

Dante didn't pull back. To pull back would acknowledge the effect Valentine was trying to create. Instead, he stood like an iron pillar, taking the possessive touch without a single flinch.

"You are the heir, Valentine," Dante said, using his name for the first time that night-his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "It is my job to watch you."

"Liar," Valentine whispered, a sudden spike of wild, unhinged obsession flaring behind his dark eyes. He gripped the fabric of Dante's hand towel, yanking it downward to force Dante to lean down into his space. "You don't watch me because of job duty. You watch me because I'm the only thing in this godforsaken house that frightens you."

Valentine leaned in closer, his breath fanning across Dante's lips-warm, smelling of expensive scotch and dangerous intent.

"My father wants to keep you in a cage," Valentine hissed softly against his mouth. "He wants you tame. But I know what you are, Dante. I know how lethal you are. And one day... I'm going to rip that leash out of his hand and take you for myself."

The silence in the subterranean gym was suffocating, broken only by the quiet hum of the lights above.

Dante didn't move a muscle. He slowly reached up, his large, calloused hand wrapping around Valentine's wrist. His grip was firm, steady, and unyielding-not aggressive, but an undeniable wall of physical authority.

He slowly pulled Valentine's hand away from his chest.

"You should go to sleep, Valentine," Dante said calmly, releasing his wrist and stepping backward, putting two paces of clear distance between them. "Before Mr. Antonio's private guards review the security camera footage from the upper corridor."

Valentine looked down at his freed wrist, a quiet, dark laugh escaping his throat. The playboy mask slid back into place, smooth and terrifyingly instantaneous.

He picked up his glass of scotch from the corner post, taking a slow sip as he backed toward the spiral stairs.

"Enjoy your workout, Dante," Valentine drawled softly, his eyes lingering on Dante's chest one last time before turning toward the door. "We have a long way to go."

Dante stood alone in the center of the ring, watching the heavy steel door click shut above.

Only when the lock engaged did Dante let out a long, heavy breath

, his hand coming up to touch the faint heat left behind on his chest.