Chapter 28 Chapter 28 – Hidden Wires and Craving
Chapter 28 Chapter 28 – Hidden Wires and Craving
Mya
Thirty-six hours.
That’s the length of the leash Dante has given me. Thirty-six hours until I have to crawl to him, offer myself up on the altar of his ego, and initiate the very act that has become both my personal hell and my body’s sick craving.
If I don’t, my father dies. Piece by piece.
It’s a simple, brutal equation. The kind Dante specializes in. A perfectly balanced ledger of pain and submission.
Two clocks are ticking inside me. One is the cold, methodical countdown to my father’s execution. The other is a hot, ragged timer wired directly to my cunt, measuring the minutes since Dante last touched me, last filled me, last reminded my traitorous body who it belongs to.
The ache is a constant, low thrum between my legs. It’s a phantom limb, a memory of pleasure so sharp and violent it feels more like a wound. I wake up with it, a dull, humiliating heat that proves he’s already won the war for my flesh.
I walk around with it all day, a secret furnace that flares every time I see him, every time I hear his voice, every time my mind conjures the image of his storm-blue eyes darkening with lust. It’s a physical manifestation of my failure, a constant, throbbing reminder that even when my mind screams defiance, my body whisper-screams for him.
Of course he knows. He engineered this. The denial, the edging, the constant, torturous proximity. It wasn’t just a game. It was a strategy. He managed to rewire me, turning my own biology into a weapon against me.
I’m a lab rat, and he’s found the lever that delivers both the food pellet and the electric shock. He just sits back and waits for me to press it myself.
But my mind is still mine. For now.
Borealis Shipping. Dubai. Code D-18-ALPHA. Shell: Cerberus Holdings.
The data I memorized at the tower is the only thing keeping me from shattering completely. It’s my armor. My real weapon.
The information is useless as long as it’s trapped in my head, a string of abstract names and numbers that will eventually start to fade. I need to someone in the real world to share it with. I have to establish a paper trail, something tangible that can be referred back to later and tracked.
To do that, I need to get out of this house.
The thought is both terrifying and electrifying. The last time I tried, Nico caught me before I even touched the doorknob. A spontaneous, foolish attempt. This time needs to be different. It needs to be planned. Calculated. I can’t just run. I need a temporary pass to the outside world.
I need a reason Dante can’t refuse. A Trojan horse built from his own arrogance. My mind races, sorting through his weaknesses. Pride. Control. His obsession with appearances. The way he paraded me at the Falcone’s party, a living testament to his power. That’s it. That’s the crack in his armor.
I find him in his study, the one place in this mausoleum that feels like the true seat of his power. He’s on the phone, his back to the door, his voice a low, lethal murmur that sends a shiver down my spine even from here.
He ends the call and turns, his eyes landing on me. There’s no surprise, just a cool, assessing stillness. As if he was expecting me. As if my desperation has its own scent and he’s been tracking it all morning.
“You’re staring, Mya,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “Do you need something, or are you just admiring the view?”
I force my shoulders back, stepping into the room. The air is thick with the scent of him. “I need to go shopping.”
His brows lift a fraction of an inch, the only sign of his amusement. “Shopping.” He repeats the word as if it’s a foreign concept, a ridiculous frivolity.
“Yes.” I keep my tone flat, business-like, mimicking the cold precision he uses.
“You paraded me around that cocktail party like a prized mare. You made it very clear that my appearance is a reflection of your status. My current wardrobe, the one you so generously supplied, is not to my taste. I’d feel more comfortable wearing clothes I choose for myself.”
I let the word hang, a carefully chosen piece of bait. “If I’m to be Mrs. Cardello, I need to look the part and be confident in the image I’m projecting.”
He watches me, his gaze sharp enough to peel my skin back. He’s searching for the lie, for the angle. He’s dissecting my motives with the precision of a surgeon. I give him nothing but cool, manufactured logic. I meet his stare, channeling all my hate and desperation into a mask of bored indifference.
“You want me to be a queen,” I continue, walking closer to his massive desk, deliberately invading his space. “Queens make their own choices.”
His mouth curves into that slow, predatory smile. “A very clever argument, Mrs. Cardello. You’re using my own pride against me.” He leans back in his chair, the picture of relaxed power. “I approve. But you won’t be going alone.”
“I assumed as much,” I say, trying to hide the leap in my pulse. “Nico can play chaperone. I’m sure he’ll enjoy holding my bags.”
“He will,” Dante agrees, his smile widening. He knows exactly what I’m doing, and he’s enjoying the show.
“And he will also ensure you don’t make any unscheduled stops. No cafés. No friendly chats with strangers. No detours to a public library to use their computers.”
My blood runs cold at how effortlessly he sees right through me.
He stands, circling the desk until he’s standing in front of me, crowding my space, his heat and scent an immediate, suffocating reminder of the fact that he hasn’t fucked me today.
“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” he whispers, his hand coming up to cup my jaw, his thumb brushing my lower lip with agonizing slowness.
“You think I don’t see the gears turning in that beautiful, defiant head of yours? You’re looking for a crack in the armor, Mya. A way out.”
His thumb presses harder, forcing my lips to part slightly. “There is no way out. But I’ll let you have your field trip. It’s been dull around here lately. Your little schemes are entertaining.”
I jerk my head back, breaking the contact. “Then it’s settled. I’ll go tomorrow.”
“Today,” he corrects me smoothly. “You’ll go this afternoon. I’ll have Nico bring the car around in an hour. And Mya,” he adds, his voice dropping to a low, intimate growl that vibrates through my bones. “Don’t forget our other arrangement. The clock is still ticking.”
He turns and walks back to his desk, dismissing me as if I’m nothing more than a minor logistical detail in his day. I’m left standing there, my heart hammering against my ribs, a cocktail of terror and triumph fizzing in my veins.
He knows it’s a lie. He knows I’m plotting. And he’s letting me go anyway. It’s not freedom. It’s a longer leash. A bigger cage. He’s so confident in his power, so certain of his victory, that he’s willing to let me play my little game.
Fine. Let him be entertained. All I need is one opening. One unsecured terminal. One moment where Nico is distracted.
And I’ll burn his entire fucking kingdom to the ground.