Dante hadn't said a word since they left the cinema. His silence wasn't comfortable—it was coiled, restrained. Dangerous.
Avery could feel the storm in him as he drove with one hand gripped around the wheel like it owed him something. She sat quietly, still trying to catch her breath after the horror movie… and the awkward moment with that forty-something man who wouldn't stop flirting.
"I wasn't flirting back," she finally said, breaking the silence.
His eyes didn't leave the road. "Didn't look like it."
"I was being polite."
He scoffed. "Politeness doesn't include smiling at a man who wanted to undress you with his eyes."
She turned to him, defiant. "You're not jealous, are you?"
He gave her a slow, amused glance. "You think the devil gets jealous of maggots?"
Her breath caught. There was something in the way he said it—mocking, yet laced with something darker, something burning.
"You sure you're not just angry because I paid someone else attention for a second?"
Dante pulled over. In one smooth, dangerous motion, he turned toward her, one hand braced on her seat, his voice a dark whisper.
"You think I care who you talk to, Avery? You're mine. And next time someone tries to get between what's mine—he won't walk away with just a look."
Her pulse thundered.
Avery couldn't stop glancing at him from the passenger seat, her fingers twitching in her lap. The ride home was silent, but not cold — just charged, like the calm before lightning strikes. Dante's hand was firm on the wheel, his jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the road ahead. But she saw it — the storm brewing beneath.
"Are you really not going to say anything?" she asked finally, biting her bottom lip.
"I'm trying not to say something I'll regret," Dante muttered, voice low, taut.
Avery exhaled, then dared a smirk. "Because of that man?"
His eyes snapped toward her, and that single glance said yes. But he returned his gaze to the road like he was reigning in a beast.
"He was harmless," she teased.
Dante didn't blink. "I don't tolerate pests."
She turned her body to face him fully. "You're mad he talked to me. Not because of what he said—but because I responded."
His jaw ticked.
"You're jealous."
"I don't get jealous," he snapped.
She tilted her head, eyes glittering. "Oh? Then what was that? You looked ready to rip his throat out."
Dante smirked darkly. "If I'd wanted to, he'd already be dead."
There it was. That was her devil.
She leaned closer, voice daring. "You were jealous. Just admit it."
He finally parked in front of the mansion, cut the engine, and looked directly at her. "Do not test me, Avery."
"You brought me to a horror movie without telling me," she challenged. "You started it."
He stepped out, walked around, and opened her door. "And you finished it. By clinging to me like your life depended on it."
"Maybe it did," she shrugged, stepping out. "You didn't seem to mind."
"I minded that he looked at you like he could ever touch you."
Her pulse skipped.
Dante took a step closer, backing her against the side of the car, eyes dark as obsidian. "You're mine. And I don't share."
Avery swallowed. She should've been afraid, but she wasn't. Not with him. Instead, she softened.
"Then let me make it up to you," she said quietly.
His brow arched, curious. "And how do you plan on doing that?"
"I could… cook for you?" she offered, a little unsure.
A silence fell. Then—
Dante burst out laughing. Not the cold smirk. Not the devil's chuckle. A real, rich, low laugh that rumbled from his chest.
"You? In my kitchen?" he said. "That sounds more dangerous than that horror movie."
Avery narrowed her eyes. "I can cook. A little."
He gave her that arrogant grin. "Tell you what, Red. If you don't burn my house down, maybe I'll let you sit on my lap next time someone flirts with you."
She blushed furiously. "Dante—!"
He was already walking toward the house, calling over his shoulder, "Surprise me. But if I die of food poisoning, I'm haunting you."
Avery stood frozen for a second, heartbeat wild. Then a smile crept across her face.
So he was jealous. And somehow, she loved it.
But this wasn't over. She'd make him fall for her on his knees — one dish at a time.