The sunlight poured into the kitchen as Dante moved with practiced ease, cracking eggs into a pan and flipping them with precision. His broad shoulders flexed with every movement, his shirtless form a sight that could make anyone stop and stare. The faint hum of a melody escaped his lips, a rare, softer side of the devil himself.
From the staircase, Isabella descended quietly, her bare feet padding against the cool floor. She was dressed in nothing but one of Dante's oversized shirts, the hem brushing mid-thigh, and the sleeves nearly swallowing her petite frame. Her dark hair was tousled, a telltale sign of the night before, and there was a content smile on her face.
She leaned against the doorway, watching him, the sight of her husband cooking shirtless making her heart race all over again. "You're full of surprises, Il Diavolo."
Dante turned, a smirk tugging at his lips as his eyes swept over her. The shirt clung to her like a second skin, emphasizing her delicate frame, and his gaze darkened. "Good morning, micia. You're up early."
She walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind, resting her cheek against his warm back. *I smelled breakfast" she murmured. "You should cook shirtless more often. It's quite the view."
Dante chuckled, a deep, velvety sound that sent a shiver down her spine. "Careful, Isabella. Keep talking like that, and breakfast might have to wait."
Before she could respond, the sound of the conjoined door creaking open caught their attention. Clara waltzed in, her voice cheerful and loud. "Bell! I brought—"
She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes widening as she took in the scene. Isabella, in nothing but Dante's shirt, her legs bare, and Dante, standing shirtless at the stove, his sharp jawline and muscular torso looking like they belonged on a magazine cover.
Clara's mouth fell open, her hand dramatically clutching her chest. "Oh my God. Are you two filming a steamy breakfast commercial or something?"
Isabella flushed bright red, quickly pulling at the hem of the shirt as if it would magically make her more covered. "Clara! What are you doing here?"
"I came to check on you, but clearly, you're doing just fine" Clara said, her eyes still wide. She smirked, folding her arms. "I mean, wow, Bella. Look at you, all grown up and living the dream. And him! Does he even own shirts?"
Dante, entirely unfazed, turned back to the stove, flipping the eggs with a calm demeanor. "If I knew we had company, I would've put on a shirt" he said, though his tone suggested he didn't care at all.
Clara snorted. "Oh, please, don't bother on my account. This is quite the morning treat." She turned to Isabella, her smirk growing. "And you! Little angel walking around like that. When did you get so bold?"
"Clara, stop!" Isabella groaned, burying her face in her hands.
Clara leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially. "So, how was it? You're glowing. He doesn't seem the saint type."
Dante turned his head slightly, his sharp gaze locking onto Clara. "Should I be concerned about your influence on my wife?"
Clara waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, relax, Dante. I'm just making sure my best friend is being properly taken care of." She winked at Isabella. "And clearly, she is."
Dante raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "I assure you, Clara, Isabella is in excellent hands."
Clara rolled her eyes. "Oh, I'm sure. But let me tell you, Bella, you're my hero for taming this man. You deserve a medal."
Isabella couldn't help but laugh, the sound light and carefree. Despite her embarrassment, having Clara there with her playful antics felt comforting, a reminder that she was safe and happy.
Dante slid a plate of food in front of Isabella, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. "Eat, micia. You'll need your energy."
Clara raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Energy for what, exactly?"
Dante didn't answer, his smirk saying more than words ever could.
Isabella groaned again, burying her face in her hands. "I hate both of you."
Clara grinned. "Oh, you love me. And admit it, you love this too."
_
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_
The following weeks were a blend of bliss and chaos. Dante had always been a devil to the outside world—a ruthless, untouchable force. But at home, he was something else entirely: a man utterly bewitched by his wife. His hands seemed to have a mind of their own, constantly seeking her out. Whether they were on the couch, in the kitchen, or even when he was on an important call, his touch lingered—on her hand, her waist, or trailing softly down her back.
Isabella had quickly learned there was no escaping his affection. "Dante, you're on the phone" she'd hiss when he'd pull her into his lap mid-conversation with one of his men. He'd smirk, holding her securely as he continued his business, unfazed by her protests.
"Isabella" he'd say, his deep voice laced with amusement, "they know better than to question me."
Mirella, who had a front-row seat to this transformation, enjoyed every second of it. "Oh, Bella" she teased one afternoon, catching Isabella squirming as Dante wrapped an arm around her waist while reviewing paperwork. "You've done the impossible—turned sir into a love-struck fool."
Isabella's face burned. "I didn't do anything" she protested, trying to pull away from Dante's iron grip, but he only tightened his hold, placing a kiss on her temple.
"You existed" he murmured simply, earning a loud 'aww'from Mirella.
Poor Isabella didn't know whether to melt or die of embarrassment. Yet, despite her flustered state, everything felt perfect. Peaceful.
Until it wasn't.
One crisp morning, as the house basked in its usual serene routine, a sharp knock on the front door shattered the tranquility. Dante's men moved quickly, one retrieving the envelope left on the doorstep.
Dante sat at the dining table, his eyes narrowing as he took the note. His jaw tightened as he unfolded it, and the room seemed to grow colder.
The message was short and chilling.
The angel will be taken away.