Chapter 7 The Knife That Wouldn’t Fall
Isabella POV
My heart slammed against my ribs. “You’re… going to do it?”
Dante paused with his hand on the doorknob and looked back at me, those sharp blue eyes unreadable. “I already told you, Isabella. It doesn’t matter that I respect you. It doesn’t matter that I’m attracted to you.” His voice was calm too calm. “This is bigger than both of us. I will kill you. And I won’t lose sleep over it.”
When the door opened again, he stood in the same clothes, his presence darker than before.
I stayed on the bed, unable to move.
“We can do this the easy way,” he said flatly, “or the hard way.”
A tremor rolled through me. My time was up. No rescue. No miracle. My family didn’t even know I was missing. My mother would break. My father… I’d never seen him cry, but he would.
I wanted to beg not for my life, but to spare them the pain.
“How?” My throat tightened. “How are you going to do it?”
He stepped inside the room, gaze empty. “You’re better off not knowing.”
My breath grew faster. My stomach twisted. I curled my knees to my chest, but it didn’t bring any comfort.
Dante walked toward me towering, unstoppable, twice my size. I had tried to fight him from the moment he’d taken me, and every attempt had failed.
He leaned down and slipped his arms beneath me.
And I let him.
He carried me easily, one arm under my knees, the other supporting my back. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed my face into his shoulder, shutting out everything else.
I clung to the man who intended to kill me.
It was insane. But fear makes you reach for anything that feels warm.
He brought me downstairs, into a room laid out with blue plastic sheets. A camera stood in the corner. A body bag waited to the side.
My shaking worsened.
He set me on my feet and lifted my shirt over my head.
I didn’t resist.
He unhooked my bra, eyes lingering on my bare chest, taking in my olive skin like he was memorizing every inch. His gaze moved down my neck, collarbone, stomach before he unbuttoned my jeans.
He knelt as he pulled them off my legs.
He lingered.
His hands gripped my hips. His face rested against my stomach. Heat radiated off him in waves. He pressed a slow kiss to the bottom of my belly, then stripped my thong down my legs, kissing my thighs until the lace hit my ankles.
This is how I would die.
Naked. Alone. Terrified.
I deserved better than this.
Dante kept the panties and pocketed them something he intended to keep once I was gone.
“On your knees.” His voice hardened void of the strange tenderness from seconds ago.
I stayed standing.
His eyes darkened. “Don’t make me ask again.”
Swallowing hard, I slowly went to my knees.
He circled behind me and cinched cable ties around my wrists. In seconds I was bound, exposed, kneeling on the plastic sheet laid out to catch my blood.
He moved to the camera.
I forced myself to find strength one last attempt. “Take me instead.” My voice shook but I pushed through. “I know you want me, Dante. Keep me. Don’t kill me.”
He froze but didn’t turn around.
He had kissed my stomach. My thighs. He kept my panties. He wanted me. He wanted me.
“That would buy you a night. Maybe.” His voice was low. “But you strike me as the kind of woman who’d rather die untouched than trade your body for a few more hours.”
When survival was on the line, pride didn’t matter. “Once you have me,” I whispered, “you won’t want to let me go. Not after one night. Not ever.”
Silence.
He was thinking about it.
And then he switched on the camera.
My stomach dropped.
He opened a suitcase and pulled out a knife long, cold, designed for slow deaths.
My heart plummeted.
This wasn’t a nightmare.
It was real.
He walked behind me, fist tightening in my hair as he yanked my head back, exposing my throat. The blade pressed to my skin, kissing my pulse.
“Anything you want to say to your family?”
My heartbeat pounded under the knife. This was it.
I steadied my breath.
“Mama… Father…” Tears burned behind my eyes, but I held them back. “I know you’ll want revenge, but please don’t. Let this war die with me. Live your lives. Drink wine in the evenings and toast to my memory. Don’t spill more blood for mine. He wants you to come for him. Don’t give him what he wants. I love you both. Goodbye.”
I closed my eyes and braced for the fatal slice.
But it never came.
The blade stayed at my skin… unmoving.
Seconds passed.
Then a minute.
My eyes opened.
He hadn’t done it.
“Fuck.” Dante jerked his hand back and cut the cable ties instead.
He stormed to the camera not to turn it off, but to destroy it. He slammed it to the floor and stabbed it over and over, metal and glass exploding across the plastic.
I froze bare, stunned, trembling as he ripped apart everything in the room. His muscles bulged with every violent movement, veins throbbing in his neck, his fury filling every inch of the space.
He hurled the knife into the wall, embedding it so deep the handle vibrated.
Then he turned.
His fury snapped toward me.
For a moment, I thought he might kill me with his bare hands.
Then he lunged not with violence but raw desire.
He grabbed me, pushed me onto my back, crushed his mouth against mine. The kiss was aggressive, consuming, hotter than the first.
And I kissed him back.
My fear evaporated into adrenaline pure survival.
I wasn’t dying today.
Maybe another day. Maybe soon. But not now.
My hands slid under his shirt, dragging it up and over his head. His body was all muscle and heat, a weapon sculpted into a man.
If wanting me was the only thing keeping me alive…
I’d let him have every inch he craved.
Long enough for me to survive.
Long enough to find a way out.