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“You ever try to leash me, I’ll fucking strangle you with it.”
“You’re not going to walk through life, Amara,” he uttered roughly, each word a vow that cemented itself in her heart. “You’ll dance through it. And I’ll fucking remove anyone who tries to break your rhythm. I promise you.”
‘Fate is always weaving its threads, Dante. We just don’t see them until our eyes open.’
“I will kiss you and brand myself upon your heart, Amara,” he told her quietly. “Just make sure you’re ready for me to.”
“You’re the beat to my heart, Amara,” he whispered against her mouth, pressing his forehead to hers, and something that had been wilted inside Amara unfurled, opening, soaking, blooming in the emotion she could see in his eyes. She was the beat to his heart and he was the beat to hers, both of them pulsing together. Maybe, they were both the same beats. Maybe, theirs was the same heart.
“We’re not a love story. We’re a tragedy in the making. There’s no happy ending for us. I feel that you have a better future ahead of you, and you should take it.”
“That ‘common little whore’ is going to be the mother of my children one day, father,” Dante smiled at the man. “Your grandchildren. The future Maronis.”
It wasn’t time yet. But one day, it would be. And that day, Dante would smoke a fucking cigarette as he watched him bleed, and he would come home to fuck the woman he loved.
“You’re in my blood, beating in my fucking heart. The only way you go is when the heart stops.”
“One day, I’m going to put my ring on that finger, Amara,” he grit out, pushing up another inch into her. “One day, I’m going to put my babies inside you. Just wait for me, baby. Please wait for me.”
“You” thrust “are” thrust “mine”.
“You’re the queen on the board, Amara. You’re my most powerful piece, but my most vulnerable. They get you, they get me, and the game is over. So, I’ll do whatever I need to make sure they never get you. Even if that means hiding you like my dirty little secret for the time being.”
“I’ll follow you and make a heaven out of hell, and I’ll die by your hand, which I love so well.” William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream
“This hell is my kingdom now, Amara,” he told her, his eyes solemn. “As long as I’m alive, it won’t touch you. And I intend to live a very long, very happy life with you.”
“Marry me, Amara.”
“Be my wife, be my dirty girl, be mine,”
“You’re a romantic,”
“Give me your dreams and your nightmares, your pleasure and your pain, your fantasies and your fears. Give me everything. Be my queen outside, and my filthy girl inside,” he hammered his hips into hers, his words coming out rough, gritty, raw. “And make me fucking yours, so everyone who looks at my ring knows I have you finally. Say yes, Amara.”
“Promise me something, Amara.”
“If I ever lose my way, lose my soul to this place-” he told her, his eyes fierce “-and become toxic to you or our children, promise me that you’ll end me.” “Dante-” “Promise me.” Her mouth trembled. “You won’t. I won’t let you.”
