POV: Lily Ashford
The door closes behind Dante with a soft click, leaving me alone in his office.
My hand is still on my cheek where his thumb touched my skin. I can't believe I actually felt it. Can't believe this man—this crime lord who bought me like merchandise—is starting to feel like something other than a monster.
That's dangerous.
I know it is.
But knowing doesn't stop my heart from racing.
I move around his office, examining it more carefully now that he's gone. Everything is expensive and controlled. Nothing personal. No photographs. No evidence that he has a life outside of this desk and these calculations.
It's the office of someone who's learned that attachment is weakness.
I'm studying the books on his shelves—mostly business and strategy—when Sofia appears.
"The office is off-limits when Mr. Morelli isn't here," she says gently. It's not a threat. Just a fact.
I step away from the shelves immediately. "I wasn't—"
"I know, dear." Sofia's sad smile appears. "Come. I've prepared dinner for you in your room. You need to eat."
The meal is waiting on my suite's small dining table. Real food. Chicken, vegetables, fresh bread. The kind of meal I couldn't afford to make for myself.
I eat mechanically, my mind somewhere else.
Dante's words keep echoing: I don't want you to be easy to control.
What does that mean? What does he want from me if not control?
I spend the evening in the library, losing myself in books. Anything to stop thinking about his hand on my face. Anything to stop imagining what might have happened if that door hadn't opened.
At midnight, I'm attempting to sleep when my door opens.
I bolt upright, heart hammering.
Dante stands in the doorway, still in his clothes from earlier, looking like he hasn't slept. His expression is dark. Dangerous.
"Don't scream," he says, and it's not a request.
"I wasn't planning to," I reply.
He closes the door behind him and moves to the chair by my window. He sits like he owns the room—because he does. Everything here is his. Including me.
"Vincent is gone," Dante says without preamble. "Completely gone. His accounts drained, his connections severed, his reputation destroyed. He's a ghost now. A ghost with nothing and no one."
I don't feel anything. No satisfaction. No guilt. Just emptiness.
"That's what you wanted, right?" Dante asks. "For him to suffer?"
"I wanted him to lose everything," I say quietly. "The way he made me lose everything."
Dante's expression shifts. It's almost like he's seeing me differently. Like I've confirmed something he suspected.
"I watched the footage," he continues. "You mapping the estate. Testing locks. Planning. For three days, you were calculating how to escape. How to survive."
My stomach tightens. "You were watching me?"
"Always." He doesn't apologize. "You're too valuable to lose."
"I'm not a thing, Dante."
"No," he agrees. "You're not."
He stands and moves to the window, looking out at the dark grounds. From up here, I can see the guards, the walls, the world that's designed to keep people like me trapped.
"My parents were killed when I was eight," Dante says suddenly. "Not murdered by enemies. Executed by the man I now replaced."
I don't interrupt. Something tells me he needs to say this.
"My father tried to steal from him. Stupid. Desperate. Cowardly." Dante's voice is steady, but there's something underneath it. Something raw. "The boss gave my father a choice: die or become property. My father chose to steal instead."
He turns to face me.
"They shot both my parents in front of me. And then the boss looked at me—eight years old, covered in their blood—and asked if I wanted to live."
"What did you say?" I whisper.
"I said yes." His black eyes are distant, like he's reliving it. "Not because I was brave. Because I was a coward. Because dying sounded harder than surviving."
He moves closer. "But I survived. And I learned something: betrayal isn't always a tragedy. Sometimes it's a gift."
"How is betrayal a gift?"
"Because it teaches you the truth about people," Dante says. "It strips away the lies you tell yourself. Your parents sold you because they valued drugs more than you. That's not your failure—it's theirs."
I feel tears gathering, but I refuse to let them fall. "So what am I supposed to do with that information?"
"Whatever you want." Dante sits on the edge of my bed. "You have power here, Lily. More than you realize. You have my attention. You've made me feel something I haven't felt in fifteen years."
"What?"
"Uncertainty," he says. "You make me uncertain. And I don't like it."
"Then let me go," I say.
"No."
"Then what?"
"Then figure out what you want," Dante says. "Because I'm starting to think keeping you here might be for both of us. Not just for me."
The air between us changes. Becomes charged. Electric.
He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture is gentle. Intimate. Everything he shouldn't be.
"Don't fall in love with me, Lily," he says quietly. "I won't know what to do with it. I'll probably hurt you."
"Too late," I whisper.
The words escape before I can catch them. Before I can think about what I'm admitting.
Dante's hand stills. His eyes search mine like he's looking for lies.
"You don't even know me," he says.
"I know you bought me like property and then gave me a choice about Vincent's fate," I reply. "I know you watch me from windows and remember my name. I know you're dangerous and broken and probably incapable of being what anyone needs. And I know I don't care."
"You should care."
"I know that too."
He leans closer, and I think he's going to kiss me. My heart is pounding so hard it might break my ribs. His hand moves to my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone.
"If I touch you," Dante says, "I won't be able to stop."
"Then don't," I breathe.
His lips are inches from mine when alarms suddenly blare throughout the estate.
Red lights flash in my room. Sirens wail.
Dante pulls back like I've burned him, already moving toward the door.
"What's happening?" I ask.
"Antonio Bianchi's men," Dante says grimly. "They're not just surveilling anymore. They're attacking the perimeter."
He looks back at me once. Just once. And in that look, I see everything he won't say. Everything he's terrified to feel.
"Stay in your room," he commands. "Don't leave. Don't open this door for anyone but Sofia or Roman. Understand?"
"Yes—"
But he's already gone.
The alarms continue screaming. Distant sounds of gunfire echo through the estate. I move to the window and see men running, weapons drawn. Security lights illuminate the grounds in harsh white.
I'm trapped again. Literally this time.
But as I watch Dante move through the courtyard—commanding, controlled, deadly—I realize I'm not afraid.
I'm terrified of what that means.
Because for the first time since my parents sold me, I have something to lose.
I have someone I don't want to see hurt.
And that's infinitely more dangerous than any captivity.