From the outside, the Moretti estate was a fortress disguised as a palace.
High stone walls, crowned with cruel wrought-iron spikes, surrounded the property, while armed guards patrolled the manicured lawns.
Inside, the floors were gleaming imported white marble, and crystal chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings.
It was achingly beautiful.
And it was to be my cage.
Dante dragged me up the grand staircase, his grip a manacle on my arm, and shoved me into a massive bedroom.
The heavy oak door slammed shut behind us.
I stumbled, catching myself on the arm of a velvet sofa as he remained standing, a silhouette blocking the only exit.
The hard click of the lock echoed in the sudden stillness of the room.
I turned to face him, my heart hammering a panicked beat against my ribs.
He shrugged out of his suit jacket and tossed it over a chair.
With a methodical slowness, he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves, revealing forearms that were a tapestry of dark, intricate ink.
"You will not leave this room without my permission," he stated, his tone stripped of all inflection, as dry as weathered bone.
"You will not speak to my men. You will eat when you are told, and you will sleep when you are told."
A hot spark of anger flared in my chest, burning away the tattered edges of my fear.
I pulled my shoulders back, crossing my arms over my chest.
"I am a prisoner, then."
"You are a guest who needs to learn her place."
"I am not a dog you can train, Dante."
His dark eyes locked onto mine, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop.
He closed the distance between us in two long strides.
I stumbled backward until my shoulders hit the cold plaster of the wall.
He planted his hands on the wall on either side of my head, trapping me within the cage of his arms.
He leaned in, his hard chest brushing against mine.
My breath hitched somewhere in my throat.
"You are property, Sophia."
He spoke the words slowly, as if pressing each syllable like a brand into my skin.
"Your stepfather traded you for his life, and then he lost his life anyway. You have no one. You have nothing."
I glared up at him, refusing to let the hot tears gathering in my eyes fall.
"I have myself."
He let out a harsh, humorless laugh.
"Not anymore."
He reached up and grabbed a fistful of my hair, tugging my head back just enough to expose the pale column of my neck.
I gasped, my hands flying up instinctively to grip his tattooed wrists.
He leaned down and pressed his mouth against the sensitive skin just below my ear, his breath a furnace against my pulse.
"Every breath you take in this house is because I allow it."
He lingered there, his lips brushing my skin for a torturous second longer than necessary, before releasing me.
He stepped back, his expression smoothing into a blank mask once more.
"Dinner is at eight. Be ready."
He turned on his heel and walked out of the room, the heavy lock turning with a final thud as the guard secured it from the outside.
Left alone in the ringing silence, I slid down the wall until I hit the floor, pulling my knees to my chest as the first tear finally escaped.
An hour later, a soft, hesitant knock came at the door.
A moment later, I heard the lock being drawn back as the guard outside granted access.
Luca slipped inside, carrying a heavy tray of food.
He closed the door quietly behind him, his eyes searching the room until they found me.
"I brought you something to eat."
He carefully set the tray on a small table by the window.
I did not move from my huddle on the floor.
He crouched down in front of me, his warm brown eyes filled with a disquieting concern.
"You have to eat, Sophia. You need your strength if we are going to get you out of here."
I looked at him, desperately wanting to believe the brittle shard of hope he was offering.
"Why are you helping me?"
"Because you do not belong in this place."
He reached out, his fingers gently closing over my cold hand.
"Just play along for now. Do not fight Dante. It only makes him worse."
The door handle rattled.
Luca jumped up as if struck, stepping far away from me just as the heavy door swung open.
Dante stood in the doorway, a dark silhouette against the hall light.
His gaze, sharp as a blade, darted from Luca to me, measuring the distance between us.
His jaw clenched so hard I thought his teeth would crack.
"I told you to leave the food, Luca," he growled. "I did not tell you to socialize."
Luca bowed his head in deference.
"Apologies, Boss. I was just making sure she ate."
"Get out."
Luca did not hesitate, hurrying past him and out the door without a backward glance.
Dante stepped into the room, his dark gaze fixated on my hand—on the exact spot where Luca had just touched me.
He stalked over, grabbed my wrist in a punishing grip, and hauled me to my feet.
With his free hand, he pulled a crisp white handkerchief from his pocket and aggressively wiped the skin of my hand, as if trying to scrub away some invisible stain.
I tried to yank my arm away, but he held it frighteningly tight.
"What are you doing?" I cried out.
He threw the crumpled handkerchief to the floor in disgust.
"Do not let other men touch what is mine."
