Married to the Wrong CEO

Chapter 15: A warning!

At first neither of them spoke. Dante simply went on scribbling across the papers spread before him, his gaze shifting back and forth between the glowing screen on the table and the neat lines of writing.

He acted as though Tiberio were not even in the room, ignoring him with such totality that it was almost insulting.

The indifference made Tiberio’s temper rise in slow, simmering waves, but he contained it, holding himself still, refusing to show even the smallest crack in his composure. Only when he could no longer keep silent did he open his mouth and begin to speak.

"You took something of mine," he said, his voice low, direct. He saw no point in circling the issue. Earlier, he had been shocked enough to send his men ahead of schedule, far sooner than he had promised, to ensure nothing went wrong, only to find the house empty.

He had been looking forward to a wild night of pleasure, anticipating it with a hunger that had built for days, only to discover that not only was his prey gone, but it had already been taken from him.

"I want it back," he went on, his eyes fixed on Dante, whose hand never stopped moving, pen gliding steadily over paper in a deliberate rhythm that made it obvious he was barely listening. The casual dismissal only sharpened Tiberio’s anger. He fumed inside, but on the surface he clung to a steady calm, trying and failing to disguise how deeply the slight affected him.

The air between them thickened. Silence stretched out like a wire drawn taut, tension rising with each passing heartbeat. Dante let it hang there, unbroken, for long moments. Finally, at last, he raised his head, and met Tiberio’s stare.

"I took something from you? That’s hard to believe." Dante’s voice was cool as he spoke. He tossed the pen onto the table with a flick of his wrist, then folded his hands together and leaned back, one leg crossing lazily over the other. His posture was a picture of ease, but the ease was deliberate, controlled, like a cat lounging while ready to strike.

"If it was truly yours," Dante went on, a cold glint sparking in his eyes, "it wouldn’t have climbed right into my bed."

Tiberio’s knuckles tightened around the gold handle of his cane, the metal biting against his skin. His anger trembled just beneath the surface, threatening to spill over, but still he forced himself to hold it in.

"Dante." He said the name without even a shred of respect, spitting it out like a challenge as he glared at him. The civility he had worn like a mask was gone. "You’re a businessman. You should know when something will not get you a profit."

"Take the loss," he said sharply, his tone cutting though his volume remained low, the quiet exchange underscoring the weight of the moment. Neither man had any intention of raising his voice.

But Dante only shook his head, the faintest curve of a smile appearing on his lips. It was not a pleasant smile. It was the smile of a man who already knew the outcome. His gaze held Tiberio’s with steady, almost arrogant composure.

"You’re not a businessman, Tiberio. You shouldn’t make bets you’re going to lose."

And with that, Tiberio had his answer. Slowly, with controlled precision, he rose from his seat, eyes never leaving Dante’s face. Dante remained seated, staring back, unwavering. fгeewebnovёl.com

"You must have a great deal of confidence in whosoever is backing you," Tiberio said, his voice heavy with meaning.

Instead of replying, Dante simply lifted his shoulders in a small, careless shrug, his silence more eloquent than any words. Tiberio exhaled, a sharp sound of frustration, then turned away. He huffed under his breath as he strode for the door, his entourage of guards falling into step behind him. But even as he left, he spoke again, his words quiet yet clear enough for Dante to hear.

"You’ll regret this," he swore, a promise in his tone as the door closed behind him.

When the last of Tiberio’s guards had gone, Dante was alone with Fabio. Fabio moved to the door and closed it fully, then turned back to Dante, finally allowing himself to speak.

"You really think she’s worth going against him? You can get any woman you want," Fabio said, his voice careful but edged with concern. It was as much a warning as a question, a reminder of exactly who Tiberio was.

"He’s a cruel man. Right now you’re trying to appear clean," Fabio added, his tone respectful but firm.

Dante exhaled a quiet sigh, lowering his head back to the work Tiberio had interrupted, his pen moving again with deliberate calm.

"Yes, but she’s perfect for my plans. Having to find someone to replace her would be a hassle," Dante said simply, making his position plain.

At that, Fabio let the matter drop. Dante had spoken; there was nothing more to argue. He lingered a little longer before leaving to see to other tasks—matters not urgent enough to require Dante’s personal attention but still needing to be done.

It was not until evening that Dante finished his work and prepared to go home. He entered the underground car park of the company building, his stride measured, Fabio at his side. Together they settled into the backseat of a sleek car, a bodyguard seated in front. Around them, an entourage of vehicles waited, one ahead, another behind, ready to move as a unit.

Fabio balanced a digital pad on his knee, scrolling through a list of tasks and checking them off with an electronic pen.

"How soon would you like the wedding?" he asked, eyes still on the screen.

"A month. The sooner, the better," Dante replied, massaging his forehead with a slow, deliberate motion. His expression was a mix of mild annoyance and iron command, his body angled slightly against the car door.

"Your entire family will be—" Fabio began, but Dante cut across him without hesitation.

"They should all be there," he said, his voice decisive. He went on before Fabio could respond. "All of this is for them, isn’t it?"

A cruel smile lit his face as he turned to the window, watching the city’s lights streak by.

Then, without warning, a loud explosion erupted behind them.

The blast was powerful enough to jolt Fabio, who instinctively lunged forward, trying to shield Dante, but Dante’s hand stopped him in mid-motion. The car swerved sharply to the right as the driver accelerated, his eyes wide with alarm. A gun appeared in the bodyguard’s hand, and another in Fabio’s, both men turning swiftly to look back at the source of the blast.

The vehicle directly behind them had been blown apart, shattered into flaming debris. The destruction left no doubt that no one inside had survived.

No one spoke, but the message was unmistakable.

It was a warning—deliberate, unmistakable, and meant to be loud enough to force Dante to reconsider. Tiberio did not like to be crossed.