Chapter 167: Revenge was going to taste so fucking sweet

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.

Would send him photos. Videos. Proof that his betrothed, the woman he’d been engaged to for fourteen years, was screaming another man’s name every night.

Not just any man.

A Romano.

The family Dimitri had tried to destroy.

Dante smiled around his cigarette.

Revenge was going to taste so fucking sweet.

Behind him, he heard movement.

Turned to see Isabella stirring, her hand reaching across the bed, searching for him.

Dante crushed out his cigarette and walked back inside.

***

POV: ISABELLA

Isabella woke slowly, every muscle in her body screaming.

She was sore everywhere. Between her legs especially....a deep, throbbing ache that reminded her exactly what she’d done.

Who she’d done it with.

Again.

The man....she didn’t even know his name, had never asked, had been even better tonight than last time.

Bigger. Rougher. More brutal.

Exactly what she needed to forget that Dimitri didn’t want her.

Isabella opened her eyes, saw the empty bed beside her, and felt a flash of panic.

He’d left.

They always left eventually.

But then she heard footsteps, and he appeared in the doorway.

Naked. Magnificent. Backlit by the Rome skyline.

And God, he looked so much like Dimitri it hurt.

Same height. Same build. Same dark hair falling across his forehead.

If she squinted. If she didn’t look too closely at his face.

She could pretend.

The man walked to the bed, no words, no explanation and climbed back on.

His hands gripped her ankles.

Spread her legs wide.

Isabella gasped...still sensitive, still sore but didn’t protest.

She wanted this.

Needed this.

Needed to feel wanted even if it was fake.

He positioned himself at her entrance, looked down at her with eyes that were dark and unreadable.

And slammed home in one brutal thrust.

Isabella cried out....pain and pleasure mixing, and her body automatically curled around him.

Legs wrapping around his waist. Arms reaching for his shoulders. Trying to pull him closer.

He allowed it.

Leaned down so their faces were inches apart.

His hair fell forward, shadowing his features, and in the dim light....

He was Dimitri.

Isabella’s breath caught.

She knew it wasn’t real. Knew this was some stranger she’d picked up at a club three weeks ago.

But when he moved inside her like this, when he looked at her like this....

She could pretend.

Could pretend Dimitri had changed his mind. Had come back for her. Had chosen her instead of that American whore.

The man’s lips curved into something that might have been a smile.

"You want him so badly," he whispered, his accent different from Dimitri’s but close enough. "You’d do anything to have him, wouldn’t you?"

"Yes," Isabella gasped as he thrust deeper. "Yes...anything...."

"Even this? Even letting a stranger fuck you because he looks like the man you can’t have?"

The words should have hurt.

Should have made her angry.

But they were true.

And somehow, the truth was what made her desperate.

"Yes," she sobbed. "Yes....please....don’t stop...."

He didn’t stop.

Fucked her slow and deep, making her feel every inch, making her body remember exactly who was inside her.

Not Dimitri.

Never Dimitri.

Just this nameless man who gave her what Dimitri never would.

Isabella came quietly, shaking apart beneath him, tears sliding down her temples.

The man followed soon after, spilling inside her again, marking her again.

Then he collapsed beside her, one arm thrown over her waist possessively.

"Stay," Isabella whispered, her voice small. "Stay the night. Please."

He was silent for so long she thought he’d say no.

Then: "Okay."

Relief flooded through her.

She curled into his side, her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow.

And pretended just for tonight that she wasn’t alone.

That Dimitri had finally chosen her.

That this was real.

Even though she knew deep down where truth lived, that she was lying to herself.

That this man wasn’t Dimitri.

That he never would be.

And that she was so pathetically desperate for scraps of affection that she’d take them from anyone who looked close enough.

But tomorrow, she could face that truth.

Tonight, she just wanted to sleep in someone’s arms and pretend she was loved.

***

POV: DANTE

Dante held Isabella as she fell asleep, felt her breathing even out, felt her body relax completely.

Trusting.

Vulnerable.

Stupid.

If she knew who he really was, if she knew that the hands stroking her hair had also loaded the guns that killed six of Dimitri’s soldiers....

Would she still curl into him like this?

Would she still beg him to stay?

Probably.

Because Isabella Russo was broken in ways she didn’t even understand.

Broken by fourteen years of waiting for a man who would never love her.

Broken by a system that had groomed her from childhood to be a wife, a possession, a tool for family alliance.

Broken by rejection from the only man she’d ever been allowed to want.

And Dante...Dante was going to use every crack, every weakness, every desperate need.

Was going to take this broken woman and turn her into a weapon against Dimitri Valentino.

Starting tomorrow.

Starting with a text to his people: I have Dimitri’s betrothed. Start surveillance. I want photos. Video. Everything.

Dante closed his eyes, let Isabella’s warmth lull him toward sleep.

Phase one complete.

Phase two would be even better.

And by the time he was done?

Dimitri Valentino would know exactly what it felt like to lose everything.

Just like Dante had.