Darkness pressed against my eyelids before I even opened them. A slow, suffocating fog clung to my head, my body heavy, my mouth dry. My throat burned when I swallowed, the taste of fear and stale air making me cough. My wrists ached, and when I tried to move, panic tore through me.
I was bound.
Cold leather straps bit into my wrists, holding them tight against the arms of a chair. My ankles, too — bound, spread just enough that the sense of helplessness pulsed hot in my veins. The chair itself was hard wood, unforgiving, the kind of seat meant not for comfort but for control. My breathing quickened, and the room seemed to sharpen around me.
Concrete walls. A single hanging bulb above. Shadows clinging to corners like monsters.
Not a ballroom. Not my father’s house. Not safety.
The last thing I remembered was Dante’s voice, low and certain. Going somewhere, Isabella?
And now… here.
I tried to steady my breathing. “Hello?” My voice cracked, sounding small in the cavernous room. “Is anyone there?”
Silence answered first. Then footsteps.
Slow. Heavy. Measured. The sound of boots against the concrete floor echoed like a countdown. Each step pulled my heart higher into my throat until it was choking me.
Then he emerged from the shadows.
Dante.
He looked even more dangerous in the stark light than he had at the gala. The black suit jacket was gone, leaving only his white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His forearms flexed as he adjusted the cuffs, veins standing out like lines of power beneath his skin. A dark watch gleamed at his wrist. The shirt stretched across broad shoulders, the kind of build that wasn’t just for show but carved from years of violence and survival. His face was sharper in this light — all hard planes and shadows, eyes cold steel.
But what made me shiver wasn’t the way he looked. It was the way he looked at me.
Like I wasn’t just tied to a chair. Like I was already his.
I jerked against the restraints, my voice snapping through the thick silence. “Let me go.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. Not a smile, not even amusement. Something darker. “You’re awake sooner than I expected.”
“Let me go,” I repeated, louder this time. “Do you know who my father is? He’ll—”
“Senator Romano.” He cut me off like a blade, his tone flat but dripping with something dangerous. “Yes. I know exactly who he is. That’s why you’re here.”
The air fled my lungs. I stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. He didn’t just know. He had planned this.
“You—” My voice faltered, and I forced strength into it. “You won’t get away with this. My father has security everywhere. You think you can just snatch me from under his nose and—”
“And what?” Dante stepped closer, slow, deliberate. The shadows followed him, clinging to his body like a crown. “You think your father will storm the gates of hell to save his daughter? No, bella. He’ll bargain. He’ll sacrifice. He’ll bleed if I ask him to.”
Bella. The word slid off his tongue like smoke, curling around me, foreign and intimate all at once. Beautiful. My stomach twisted, betraying me, because the sound of it in his voice sent heat rushing through my chest.
I swallowed hard, glaring at him. “You don’t know him.”
Dante stopped in front of me, close enough that I could see the faint scar cutting across his jawline, the flecks of darker gray in his irises. His presence consumed the air, his scent wrapping around me — smoke, leather, something sinful. He leaned down, bracing a hand on the arm of the chair beside my wrist.
“Oh, Isabella,” he murmured, his voice low, intimate, lethal. “I know your father better than you ever could.”
His words scraped across my nerves, chilling and burning all at once.
“What do you want from me?” My voice was tight, trembling despite my best efforts.
He tilted his head, studying me like I was a puzzle only he had the right to solve. “Answers. Truth. Leverage.” His lips brushed close to my ear, his breath warm against my skin. “And maybe…” His gaze dropped to my mouth for a split second before he pulled back, his expression hard again. “Maybe something more.”
Heat exploded across my cheeks. I hated it — hated how my body reacted, hated the flutter low in my stomach that had no place here. I twisted in my chair, desperate to break free, to reclaim control.
“You’re insane.”
He straightened, his jaw tightening. For a moment, silence stretched between us, thick and heavy. Then he pulled a chair from the corner, dragged it across the floor with a screech that made my teeth ache, and sat across from me. He leaned back, legs spread, arms resting casually on the chair’s arms — a king on his throne.
“Tell me, Isabella,” he said. “What secrets does your father keep in that golden cage you call home?”
I froze, confusion threading through the fear. “Secrets?”
“You expect me to believe you don’t know?” His voice was sharp now, slicing through me. “Every deal he makes. Every bribe. Every body that disappears when it’s convenient. Don’t play the innocent daughter.”
“I am innocent,” I snapped, anger boiling beneath my fear. “Do you think he tells me anything? I’m nothing to him but a doll to parade in front of cameras!”
The words ripped out of me before I could stop them, raw and jagged. My chest heaved, and for the first time, Dante didn’t look cold. For the briefest second, his eyes softened, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them.
Then it was gone.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his gaze pinning me in place. “If that’s true, then prove it. Tell me everything. What you’ve seen. What you’ve overheard. Every whispered phone call. Every late-night meeting.”
“I told you, I don’t—”
His hand shot out, gripping the arm of my chair beside my hip. The sudden movement made me flinch, my breath catching as his face hovered inches from mine. His voice dropped, low and lethal. “Don’t lie to me, Isabella. I don’t have patience for liars.”
Fear surged through me, my pulse hammering in my ears. But beneath it, shamefully, treacherously, something else throbbed. The closeness of him. The power in his voice. The heat in his gaze that wasn’t just fury — it was hunger.
I hated myself for noticing.
I forced my chin up, though my voice shook. “Kill me, then. Because I don’t know what you want.”
His eyes narrowed. For a long moment, he just stared at me, the silence stretching taut. Then, slowly, his lips curved — not in amusement, but in something darker. Admiration.
“You’ve got fire, bella.” His thumb brushed the edge of the chair, dangerously close to my thigh. “I wonder how long it will last.”
He stood, towering over me again. His shadow fell across me, his presence crushing, consuming.
“I’ll give you time to think,” he said, stepping back toward the door. “But know this — every second you waste, your father bleeds a little more. His empire crumbles a little faster. And when he falls…” He paused, his gaze searing into mine. “You’ll have no one left but me.”
The door creaked open, light spilling in. He stepped halfway through it, then glanced back one last time.
“Oh, and Isabella?” His voice was calm, almost casual. “Don’t bother hoping for rescue. Your father already knows you’re gone.”
My heart stuttered. Relief flared — he knew. He would come for me. But then Dante’s lips curved into that cold, merciless almost-smile.
“And he hasn’t lifted a finger.”
The door slammed shut, plunging me back into darkness.