Forced To Be The Mafia King's Bride (by Oma Green) novel Chapter 152

Gianna's POV

She raised her glass high.

"To Dad and Gianna. May you have many years of happiness together."

"That better be apple juice?" Dante called out, his voice carrying across the room.

Arielle grinned. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"Arielle."

"Fine, yes, it's apple juice. I'm fourteen, Dad. I know the rules."

Everyone laughed, and warmth spread through my chest as I watched them together. This was a side of Dante I'd caught glimpses of, but hearing his daughter speak about him with such affection made it real in a way nothing else could.

He's a good father. Devoted. Present. Everything I never had.

The applause faded, and music began playing again, slow and romantic.

Arielle bounded over to us, her face flushed with excitement.

"Dad, dance with me?"

She held out her hand.

Dante stood without hesitation, taking her hand in his.

"Of course, principessa."

I watched as they moved to the center of the dance floor. Dante held his daughter with gentleness, with care. She rested her head against his chest, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"You did good up there," I heard him say. "Even if you did embarrass me."

"That was the point," Arielle replied, giggling.

"Just remember, payback is coming. When you get married someday, I'm giving a speech about every embarrassing thing you've ever done."

"That's decades away, Dad. You'll forget by then."

"I forget nothing." He paused, his voice softening. "You really like her? Gianna?"

Arielle pulled back slightly to look up at him.

"I do. She's good for you. You smile more now."

Dante glanced over at me, and our eyes met across the room. Warmth passed between us.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I suppose I do."

After a few more moments, the song changed to something more upbeat, and Dante led Arielle back to our table. Then he extended his hand to me.

"May I have this dance, wife?"

"You may, husband."

I placed my hand in his.

He led me to the dance floor, and the room seemed to fade. The music slowed again, something soft and intimate.

Dante pulled me close, one hand on my waist, the other holding mine. We began to move, swaying gently.

"You look beautiful," he murmured, his grey eyes locked on mine. "Have I told you that today?"

"Several times," I said, smiling. "But I don't mind hearing it again."

"Beautiful." He leaned down until his forehead touched mine. "My wife. My queen."

"Your prisoner," I added, teasing.

"Willing participant now," he corrected. "You said yes, remember?"

"I did," I admitted softly. "And I meant it."

His hand tightened on my waist, pulling me closer.

"I know I'm not the easiest person to be married to," he said quietly. "I'm damaged. Dangerous. I've done things that would horrify you if you knew the details."

"Dante..."

"But I swear to you, Gianna, I will protect you with everything I have. I will give you everything you could ever want. And I will never let anyone hurt you. Not even myself."

I looked up at him, seeing the honesty in his eyes, the vulnerability he rarely showed.

This complicated, dangerous man meant every word.

"I don't need easy." I reached up, letting my hands trace the line of his sharp jaw. "I just need you."

His eyes darkened, burning with something raw. "You have me," he said, pressing me closer. "All of me. The good, the bad, the terrifying, it's all yours."

We swayed together, bodies pressed close, moving in perfect rhythm. The music wrapped around us like silk, but I barely heard it.

All I could focus on was Dante, his heat, his scent, the way his hands held me like I was something precious and dangerous all at once.

His breath was warm against my ear as he leaned down, lips barely brushing the sensitive skin there.

"Blood rushes straight to my cock knowing you chose this dress," he murmured, voice low and rough. "The memories it holds..."

I shivered at the sensation, my body responding instantly to that tone.

God, he can't just say things like that. Not when we're surrounded by people. Not when I'm already this wet for him.

"Maybe," I breathed. "Maybe I remember a little."

"A little?" His thumb stroked the inside of my thigh in slow circles. "Tell me what you remember."

This is torture. Sweet, delicious torture.

"You... you came up behind me."

"And?"

"You put your hands on my waist."

"And then?" His voice was rough with desire. "What did I do then, bella?"

"You slid them lower," I whispered. My face was burning, but I couldn't stop now. "You found the slit in the dress."

"Just like I'm doing now." His fingers traced the path again, up and down, making me shiver.

"What else?"

I'm going to melt. Right here in front of everyone. I'm going to dissolve into a puddle of need.

"Your hand went underneath."

"Where?" He was relentless. "Tell me exactly where my hand went."

He's going to make me say it. Right here, in front of everyone. And God help me, I want to say it.

"Between my legs," I whispered.

"And what did I find there?" His lips brushed against my ear, his voice dropping even lower.

"What was waiting for me?"

"Dante..." I was trembling now.

Say it. He wants to hear you say it.

"Say it."

"I was wet for you."

Just like I am right now. Soaked. Aching. Desperate.

"You were more than wet." His fingers traced higher, so close to where I desperately needed him. “You were dripping down your thighs. So ready for me I could've fucked you right there against that mirror. And then what did I do?"

"You touched me," I breathed.

"How?" He was demanding every detail, drawing it out. "How did I touch you, Gianna?"