The sound of the last gunshot was still ringing in the air of the concrete basement. Leo was breathing hard, his small hands still gripping the silver pistol. Dante was right behind him, his large chest pressed against Leo's back, his heat radiating through their clothes.
"You're a fast learner, Leo," Dante whispered, his voice vibrating against Leo's neck. "But you're still too tense. You need to relax your body."
Dante's hands moved from Leo's arms down to his waist. He pulled Leo backward, forcing him away from the shooting table. He didn't take Leo to the bedroom. Instead, he pushed Leo against the cold, hard concrete wall of the shooting range. The contrast between the cold wall and Dante's hot skin made Leo gasp.
"Dante... not here," Leo whispered, his eyes wide as he looked at the cameras in the corner of the room.
"I turned the cameras off ten minutes ago," Dante growled. He didn't wait for another word. He crashed his lips against Leo's, his kiss tasting like gunpowder and raw hunger.
Right there, in the middle of the basement, Dante claimed him for the first time. It was rough and fast. Dante didn't use a bed; he used his strength to pin Leo against the wall. Leo's legs felt like they were breaking as Dante pushed him to his limit. The pain was sharp, but the pleasure was even sharper. Leo cried out, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. He had never felt power like this before. Dante was like a storm, destroying everything in his path, and Leo was caught in the middle of it.
By the time the first round was over, Leo's legs were shaking so hard he couldn't stand. He started to cry—not because he was sad, but because the physical intensity was too much for his body to handle. The Mafia Boss had been too rough, too strong.
"It hurts..." Leo sobbed, his head hanging low. "Dante, it hurts."
Dante's expression softened for a split second, but his eyes were still dark with possession. He saw the tears on Leo's face and felt a surge of protectiveness. He reached down and scooped Leo up into his arms, lifting him like a small child. Leo buried his face in Dante's neck, his small hands clutching Dante's black shirt.
"I told you," Dante whispered as he walked toward the elevator. "I am a monster, Leo. I don't know how to be gentle with things I want to keep."
Dante carried him all the way through the mansion. The guards in the hallway looked away, not daring to stare at the Boss carrying his crying doctor. Dante kicked open the bedroom door and laid Leo down on the black silk sheets.
Leo tried to move, but he let out a whimper of pain. His body felt "broken." The way Dante had handled him in the basement had left him sore and weak. He couldn't even sit up.
"Stay still," Dante commanded. He sat on the edge of the bed and began to undress Leo properly this time. He looked at the red marks on Leo's pale skin—marks from the concrete wall and marks from Dante's own hands.
Dante's body was a heavy weight against the sheets. He was much more careful now, his large hands stroking Leo's hair as Leo continued to cry softly into the pillow. Dante didn't want to see him cry, but he was the one who had caused it.
"Don't cry, Leo," Dante whispered, kissing the tears away. "You wanted to know who I really am. Now you know. You belong to the Devil now."
Leo looked up at him through wet eyelashes. He was sore, he was exhausted, and he knew he wouldn't be able to walk properly the next morning. But as Dante held him tight, Leo realized he didn't want to be anywhere else.
"I'm yours," Leo whispered, his voice cracking. "Even if you break me... I'm yours."
Dante pulled the covers over them, holding his prize close as the moon rose over France. The surgeon was marked, claimed, and completely ruined by the Boss.