Elena POV：
Matteo remained motionless.
He surveyed me from his height, looking at me as if I was a stain on his expensive carpet.
"A Vitiello." The name tasted like poison on his tongue. "In my territory."
He crouched down, bringing his face level with mine.
The cold barrel of his gun touched my chin, forcing my head up. The metal was ice against my burning skin.
"Did Dante lose you in a card game?" he asked.
"Dante is dead to me," I whispered.
My body betrayed me. I leaned into the touch of the gun, desperate for any sensation to ground me in reality.
Matteo's eyes narrowed. He saw the unnatural flush on my chest. He saw the dilated pupils.
"Drugged," he stated. It wasn't a question.
"Help me," I begged, the words rasping in my throat.
"Why should I?" He stood up, the warmth of his presence vanishing as he pulled away from me. "Your father and I are at war. Returning you would be a gesture of goodwill. Keeping you invites a bloodbath."
"He won't fight for me," I said. "He sold me for a trade route."
Matteo took a sip of his whiskey, watching me writhe on the floor with clinical detachment.
"Get up."
I tried. My legs were liquid. I clawed at the doorframe, dragging myself upright with trembling limbs.
"I need sanctuary," I said, my voice breaking. "I can give you the Genovese family."
That got his attention.
He paused, scrutinizing me for a heartbeat. Then he stepped back, opening the door wider.
"Inside."
I stumbled past him into the penthouse.
The space was dark, sleek, and heavy with the scent of leather and whiskey.
The city skyline glittered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, indifferent to my suffering.
Matteo locked the door behind us.
The sound was heavy. Final.
"Talk," he commanded.
"Dante is weak," I said, the words spilling out fast before my mind could cloud over again. "He's skimming from the Commission. He's planning to move on your ports next month using a shell company."
Matteo walked to the bar and poured a glass of water. He didn't offer it to me.
"Old news," he said. "I know about the shell company."
I felt a spike of panic. I needed to offer him something he didn't have.
"I know where he keeps the ledger," I said. "The real one. Not the one he shows the IRS or his father."
Matteo paused.
He turned to face me slowly.
"And why would you give me that?"
"Because I want him ruined," I said. "I want him to have nothing."
The heat in my body flared again, a sharp cramp that made me double over. A whimper escaped my throat.
Matteo watched me without pity.
"You're in no condition to negotiate."
"I'm not negotiating," I gasped. "I'm trading."
I looked at him. Really looked at him.
He was terrifying. A predator in a tailored suit. But in my past life, I had heard the whispers. Matteo Moretti was brutal, but he followed the Old Laws. He didn't hurt women. He didn't hurt children.
He was the opposite of Dante.
"Take me," I said.
Matteo's eyebrows lifted slightly.
"You're offering yourself as payment?"
"I'm offering you the ultimate insult to the Genovese name," I said. "If you take me tonight... Dante can never claim me. I become spoiled goods. The alliance breaks."
He walked toward me.
The air in the room shifted. It became heavy, charged with violence and anticipation.
He stopped inches from me.
He reached out and traced the line of my jaw with his thumb. His skin was rough, calloused from violence.
"You are asking me to start a war, Elena."
"I'm asking you to win it," I whispered.
He stared into my eyes, searching for the lie. He wouldn't find one. I had already died once. I had nothing left to fear.
He set his glass down on the side table.
His hand moved to the back of my neck, his grip firm, possessive.
"If I do this," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl, "there is no going back. You belong to the Outfit. You belong to me."
"I know."
"You will be mine to protect," he said. "And mine to use."
"Yes."
He didn't kiss me gently.
He claimed me.
His mouth crashed onto mine, demanding and hard. It wasn't romance. It was a seal on a contract written in ash and ruin.
And for the first time since I woke up, the fire in my veins didn't feel like death.
It felt like power.
