The air in the room was electric, vibrating with the question Dante had just whispered. He was hovering over Leo, his eyes dark with a hunger that would have terrified a lesser man. "Leo... I want you. Can I?"
Leo looked at him, his gaze sharp and unimpressed. Despite the heat of Dante's body against his, Leo didn't melt. Instead, he placed his hands firmly on Dante's chest and pushed—not hard enough to move him, but enough to signal a stop.
"No," Leo said clearly.
Dante froze. He looked like he had just been splashed with ice water. In his world, no one said no to him. He was the man who took what he wanted, yet here was Leo, the one person he truly desired, shutting him down with a single word.
"No?" Dante echoed, his voice dropping an octave, filled with disbelief. "Why?"
Leo scoffed, a cold smile touching his lips. "Why? You're asking me why? You really are a stubborn, arrogant man, Dante. Did you think you could just drag me up here after that stunt downstairs and expect me to fall into your arms?"
Dante's brow furrowed. "I was protecting you. My men needed to see—"
"Your men needed to see you treat me like a possession!" Leo interrupted, his voice rising with a decade of frustration. "You embarrassed me in front of your entire crew. You made a scene, acted like a dictator, and then you expect me to be in the mood?"
Leo sat up, forcing Dante to shift back. The surgeon straightened his shirt, his movements precise and clinical. "To be honest, Dante, I was actually planning on giving myself to you tonight. I had decided it was time. But then you opened your mouth downstairs and ruined it."
Dante looked like he had been punched in the gut. The realization that he had been this close to getting everything he wanted, only to lose it because of his own ego, was a special kind of torture.
"So that's it?" Dante asked, his voice low and dangerous, though there was a hint of desperation underneath. "I'm not getting anything from you tonight?"
"Not a single thing," Leo replied, crossing his arms and leaning back against the headboard. He looked every bit the thirty-five-year-old in control, watching the twenty-five-year-old king struggle with his own temper.
Dante stood up and paced the length of the room, his hands running through his dark hair. He looked like a caged predator. He finally stopped at the foot of the bed, his dark eyes fixed on Leo.
"What can I do to make it up to you?" Dante asked, his pride warring with his desire. "What do I have to do to have you tonight? Do you want an apology? Do you want me to fire the guards?"
Leo tilted his head, watching the "White Lion" scramble. It was a beautiful sight. He wanted to see just how far this mafia king would go for him.
"Neither," Leo said calmly.
Dante stepped closer, his shadow falling over Leo. "Then tell me. Anything."
Leo met his gaze with a look of pure challenge. A daring, wicked thought crossed his mind. He wanted to break the Lion's pride completely.
"Kneel," Leo whispered.
Dante blinked, his jaw tightening. "What?"
"You heard me. If you want me tonight, if you want me to forget how you acted downstairs... then you need to show me that you aren't the boss in this room." Leo leaned forward, his voice a silky thread of silk and steel. "Beg me, Dante."
The silence that followed was deafening. To ask a mafia don, a man who ruled the city with blood and fear, to beg was a death wish for anyone else. But Leo knew he was the only person in the world who could say those words and live.
Dante stared at him, his chest heaving. The power dynamic in the room shifted so violently it was almost physical. He looked at the bed, then at Leo's defiant expression, and finally, he let out a long, shaky breath.
Slowly, the most feared man in the city lowered himself. His knees hit the carpet with a soft thud at the edge of the bed. He looked up at Leo, his pride shattered, replaced by a devotion that was almost frightening.
"Please, Leo," Dante murmured, his voice thick and raw. "I'm begging you. Don't punish me like this. I was an idiot, I was arrogant... but I can't breathe when you're angry with me."
He reached out, resting his forehead against Leo's knee, his hands gripping the sheets. "Please... let me stay. I'll do anything. Just don't shut me out."
Leo felt a surge of heat and victory. He reached down, his fingers gently tracing the back of Dante's neck. He had won. The Lion was tamed, not by a whip, but by the heart of the man he loved.
"Better," Leo whispered, a soft, forgiving smile finally appearing. "Much better."