Chapter 7

DANTE'S POV

She was asleep. Finally.

I watched her breathe. Watched her guard drop in unconsciousness.

She'd stood up to me tonight. In front of my entire organization. In front of Isabella and Luca and everyone who mattered.

She'd called me out for treating her like property.

And she'd been right.

I was treating her like a means to an end. Because that was safer than admitting the truth.

That somewhere between the wedding and tonight, she'd stopped being a stranger.

Started being... something else.

Something I couldn't afford.

My phone buzzed. A text from Marco:

Isabella left early. Didn't say where. Want me to follow?

I typed back: Yes. And check her phone records. All of them.

If Luca was right, if Isabella was the traitor…

I'd kill her myself.

Another text. This one from Luca:

She's beautiful when she's angry. Be careful, brother. You're starting to care. And in our world, that's a death sentence.

I deleted it. Blocked his number.

He was right. I was starting to care.

Which meant I needed to stop. Immediately.

Before caring about her destroyed us both.

I looked at my left wrist. At the small birthmark I'd had since birth.

The one Luca had too. In the exact same spot.

Because we were identical. In every way.

Even the birthmark.

And if Mia didn't know that...

If she thought the birthmark would tell her which twin she was with...

She was in more danger than she realized.

I pulled out my phone. Called Marco.

"I need you to run a test. On my brother. DNA, fingerprints, everything."

"Sir? You're identical twins. The results will be—"

"I know. Do it anyway. I need to know if there's ANY way to tell us apart. Any biological marker. Anything."

"Yes, sir. But may I ask why?"

I looked at Mia. Sleeping. Trusting me to keep her safe.

"Because," I said quietly, "if I can't prove I'm me, then neither can Luca. And that's a weapon he'll use."

I hung up.

Tomorrow, I'd tell her about the birthmark. About the fact that Luca's note was either a lie or a trap.

Tomorrow, I'd start treating her like the partner she demanded to be.

Tomorrow.

But tonight, I let myself watch her sleep and pretend—just for a moment—that this was real.

That she was mine because she chose to be.

Not because I'd forced her.