32

Dante tapped the hilt of the blade, his gaze not leaving Jayden. "Take it."

Jayden's brows furrowed. What would the man have him do with this wicked-looking knife now? Marcel was the only other person in the room. Surely he wouldn't order him to kill him with it.

He tried to think of other reasons Dante would have him hold it, but none other came to mind. The last time that he had handed him a dangerous weapon, it was used to kill someone.

He finally gripped the handle and lifted it off the desk.

Dante leaned back, a slow smile spreading across his lips. "Now cut yourself."

Jayden blinked in surprise. “What?” He wasn't sure he heard him well because what he said didn't make sense.

Dante raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure I did not stutter."

"Oh, you didn't," Jayden admitted, "but I just need to be clear on what you asked me to do."

"Don't be so dense," Dante said, heaving a frustrated sigh. "All you have to do is make a clean cut across your palm."

The blood pulsed in Jayden's ears. He had been shot at, beaten, nearly killed in the past few days, but this—this was just plain wickedness.

Dante had already made him spill someone else's blood. He'd done it because he felt he had no choice. But to spill his own...

"why?" His voice was steady, but his grasp on the blade wavered.

"To show your obedience and loyalty to me," Dante said simply.

Jayden swallowed hard. He had exerted himself so much yesterday and was still healing. One more injury could push him past his limit. Surely Dante knew that. Why couldn't he at least wait a week before making him do this?

"Is this hesitation I see?" Dante asked, fixing his icy stare on him. "Hesitating only proves that you are not willing to follow orders, even when it's not convenient for you."

"And if I have to force you," he continued, "then you might as well be on your way out of here, because all your progress will be lost."

Jayden's jaw clenched. He had come this far. Perhaps a cut wouldn't hurt as much as he suspected, and now that he was in Dante's quarters, he knew this would be the last test.

Without another word, he turned his hand upward and held the knife over it. He took in a deep breath and held it. Then he sliced.

Pain flared instantly. The blade cut deep, skin splitting beneath the sharp steel. Blood welled up fast, warm and thick, dripping onto the tiled floor.

Jayden let out a whimper and then bit his lip hard to keep from screaming. The pain is nothing, he told himself. The pain is just a price.

Dante studied him for a moment before nodding. "Very good. You will heal," he said dismissively.

He gestured towards Marcel. "Get that wrapped up."

On cue, Marcel stepped forward and handed Jayden a strip of bandage. Jayden took it wordlessly and wrapped it around his palm, ignoring the way his hand trembled. "Are the tests over?" he asked, looking straight into Dante's eyes, wishing he could cause Dante as much pain as he had caused him.

"Precisely," Dante said with a smile. "Welcome to the gang. You are to deliver every bit of information you have to Marcel in exchange for your protection in my quarters. I think that's fair enough."

Jayden nodded stiffly and turned to go.

——

Kaela walked through the hallway, her guard for today walking silently behind her.

She was heading to the garden, one of the places Dante permitted her to go. It had shocked the boredom out of her yesterday when the guard stepped in and told her the news.

She wasn't fooled, though. She knew she was still a prisoner, but being able to step outside made a world of difference.

"Why the sudden change of heart?" she wondered yet again today. Dante still hadn't spoken to her since today. Thinking about what the catch of his sudden generosity was was wearing her down. But she couldn't accept that it was just an act of kindness because that was against Dante's nature.

Still, she took what she could get. Yesterday, she had spent hours walking through the garden, admiring the lush greenery and the delicate flowers. For once, her mind had been at peace.

She turned a corner—and froze. Marcel was walking toward her from the opposite side of the hallway, speaking to someone at his side. She lit up at the sight of him. She had missed Marcel; his presence had been a comfort, and seeing him now was a pleasant surprise.

"Marcel, where have you been?" she began to ask when her gaze landed on the man beside him, and her voice trailed off.

Amber eyes. Shorter hair, a rougher look, a stiffer posture... It was enough to leave most people confused, but there was no mistaking it. This was Rylan—her brother.

She suddenly felt unsteady on her feet. What the hell was he doing here, talking to Marcel, no less? She thought that he said he had nothing to do with the mafia. Was he lying about that too?