43

The scent of gunpowder and blood still clung to the air.

Sophia’s body lay motionless on the floor, her eyes open, empty.

A life extinguished in an instant.

By Dante’s hands.

For me.

I should have felt something—relief, anger, grief.

But all I felt was numb.

Because this was always going to end one way.

And now, there was no escape.

Not from him.

Not from myself.

Dante’s hands were warm, steady, as they moved over me.

Checking for wounds. For damage.

His eyes scanned my skin, his jaw clenched tight.

"You're hurt," he murmured.

I swallowed, pressing my fingers against the cut at my neck.

"It’s nothing."

His jaw ticked.

"It’s not nothing."

His hands curled at his sides, and when he exhaled, it was sharp, uneven.

"I should have shot her the second she walked into that warehouse."

I flinched.

Not at his words.

But at the truth in them.

Because deep down, I agreed.

Luca arrived minutes later, his gaze sweeping the aftermath.

His expression stayed neutral, but his eyes flicked between me and the body.

Then to Dante.

"You did it," he muttered.

Dante didn’t reply.

Luca sighed. "So what now?"

Dante looked at me.

His dark eyes were unreadable.

But I felt it.

The decision he had already made.

Before I could process it, his fingers wrapped around my wrist.

And suddenly—I was being pulled away.

I didn’t know where we were going.

I didn’t ask.

Because deep down, I already knew.

Dante didn’t speak as he drove.

His grip was tight on the wheel, his shoulders tense, his expression locked in stone-cold silence.

He wasn’t angry.

No—this was something worse.

This was determination.

And that scared me more than his rage ever could.

The house was unfamiliar.

Not his mansion.

Not one of his usual safe houses.

Somewhere secluded.

Somewhere I couldn’t run from.

Dante led me inside, his hold gentle but unyielding.

I pulled back, heart hammering.

"Dante, what is this?"

His gaze was dark, controlled.

"Somewhere safe."

I swallowed hard. "Safe from who?"

His lips twitched.

"You."

My stomach dropped.

"You think I need to be locked away?"

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

"This isn’t about locking you away, Aurora."

"Then what the hell is it about?"

His eyes burned.

"Keeping you mine."

My breath hitched.

"Yours?" I whispered.

Dante stepped closer.

"You think I don’t know what’s going on inside that pretty head of yours?" His fingers traced my jaw, slow, deliberate.

"You’re questioning everything right now."

I clenched my jaw. "Of course I am. You just—"

"Saved you," he interrupted. "Again."

I swallowed hard.

"You killed my sister."

Dante exhaled sharply.

"Your sister was never going to let you go."

His thumb brushed over my lips.

"Just like I won’t."

I trembled, trapped between anger and something darker.

Something I wasn’t ready to name.

"You don’t get to decide that," I murmured.

His smirk was slow, knowing.

"Don’t I?"

His grip tightened, pulling me flush against him.

"You walked into my world, Aurora."

His voice was a whisper against my skin.

"And now you’re never leaving it."

I should have fought him.

Should have pushed him away.

But I didn’t.

Because the truth was...

Dante Moretti had already won.

And part of me wasn’t even sure I wanted to escape.

The next morning, I woke up alone.

The sheets were cold, the room silent.

But the door?

Locked.

I sat up, heart pounding, my mind racing.

He locked me in.

I rushed to the door, jiggling the handle.

Nothing.

Panic clawed at my chest.

This wasn’t love.

This was possession.

Dante returned hours later.

He found me waiting.

Sitting at the edge of the bed, my hands clasped, my pulse a steady drumbeat in my ears.

His expression gave nothing away.

"You locked me in," I said, voice even.

He didn’t deny it.

"You needed rest."

I let out a cold laugh.

"You’re insane."

Dante tilted his head, watching me.

"Am I?"

I stood, crossing the space between us.

"You can’t keep me here."

His fingers brushed my wrist, my pulse.

"I can do whatever the fuck I want, sweetheart."

My breath hitched.

"Then what, Dante? I stay here forever?"

His smirk was slow, dangerous.

"You stay until you stop pretending you want to leave."

I should have hated him.

Should have screamed.

But instead.

I whispered, "And what if I never stop pretending?"

Dante’s eyes darkened.

His fingers curled around my throat, tilting my chin up.

"You will," he murmured.

His lips brushed against mine.

"Because I know you, Aurora."

A slow, wicked smirk.

"And I know exactly what it takes to break you."

He kissed me then.

Slow. Commanding.

Like he was proving something.

Like he was claiming something.

And the worst part?

I let him.

I sank into him.

Because Dante Moretti didn’t just own my body.

He owned my soul.

And I was starting to think he always had.