After he left, I sat in that beautiful blue room and tried to process everything.
He was right about one thing I was attracted to him, and I hated myself for it. Dante Moretti was dangerous and cold and had literally bought me at an auction. But when he touched my throat, when his eyes softened for just a moment, I'd felt something other than fear.
I'd felt… safe. Protected. Desired in a way that had nothing to do with violence or degradation.
Which was insane. He was my captor, not my savior.
But as I looked around the luxurious room, thought about the rules he'd laid out, remembered the gentleness in his touch despite the hardness of his words, I couldn't help wondering:
What if Rosa was right? What if Dante Moretti was the lesser evil?
And more terrifying what if I started to want to stay?
I walked to the French doors and opened them, stepping out onto the balcony. The gardens below were beautiful roses and lavender and plants I couldn't name. A fountain sparkled in the morning sun.
Beyond the gardens, I could see the high walls that surrounded the estate.
My prison was beautiful. But it was still a prison.
I gripped the balcony railing, feeling tears threaten again. I'd cried enough, but God, this was impossible. How was I supposed to survive this? How was I supposed to live with a man who made me feel terrified and safe and inexplicably drawn to him all at once?
"Don't even think about jumping, dear."
Rosa's voice came from the bedroom. "It's only the second floor, but Mr. Moretti would be very displeased if you hurt yourself."
I turned to find her standing in the doorway with an armful of clothes.
"I wasn't thinking about jumping," I lied.
"Good." She set the clothes on the bed. "Because despite everything, you have a chance at a decent life here. Mr. Moretti isn't like other men in his world. He's brutal when he needs to be, but he's not cruel for cruelty's sake."
"You keep defending him."
"Because I've worked for him for ten years, and I've seen who he really is." Rosa began hanging clothes in the closet. "He saved me, you know. My husband owed money to bad people. They were going to kill him and take me and my daughter as payment. Mr. Moretti heard about it, paid the debt, and gave my husband a job in his organization. We've been safe ever since."
"So I'm supposed to be grateful he bought me?"
"I'm saying maybe keep an open mind."
Rosa finished with the clothes and turned to face me. "You could have ended up somewhere far worse, child. At least here, you have a chance."
A chance at what? I wanted to ask. A chance at falling for my captor? A chance at Stockholm syndrome?
But I said nothing as Rosa left, closing the door softly behind her.
I spent the rest of the day exploring the mansion. It was as beautiful inside as it looked from outside all luxury and elegance and wealth beyond imagination. But it was also empty. No family photos. No personal touches. Just expensive furniture and art that looked more like investments than decorations.
It was the home of a man who had everything money could buy but nothing that mattered.
At seven PM exactly, I made my way to the dining room, wearing one of the dresses Rosa had brought a simple navy blue that was still probably more expensive than anything I'd owned in my previous life.
Dante was already there, sitting at the head of a long table. He'd changed into a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing muscular forearms and a glimpse of what looked like tattoos.
He looked up when I entered, and something flashed in his eyes. Appreciation? Hunger?
"Isabella." He stood, gesturing to the chair beside him. Not at the other end of the long table, but right next to him. "You look beautiful."
"Don't," I said, taking the seat he'd indicated. "Don't pretend this is a date or something normal. You bought me. At least have the decency to be honest about what this is."
"And what is this?" He poured wine into my glass.
"I'm your property. Your possession. Whatever pretty words you use doesn't change that."
"You're right." He raised his glass. "You are mine. But that doesn't mean I can't appreciate beauty when I see it. Nor does it mean I can't treat you with respect."
"Respect." I laughed bitterly. "You don't respect me. You own me."
"Those things aren't mutually exclusive." He took a sip of wine, watching me over the rim. "I own this house, this land, the businesses I run. But I also respect them. Maintain them. Protect them. Why should you be any different?"
Because I was a person, not a thing. But arguing seemed pointless.
Dinner was brought by silent staff multiple courses, each more elaborate than the last. I picked at the food, my appetite gone despite how delicious everything looked.
"Tell me about yourself," Dante said after a while.
"Why? You already know everything. I'm sure you investigated before buying me."
"I know the facts. Your age, your education, your father's debts. But I don't know you. What you like. What you dream about. What makes you laugh."
"Why would you care?"
"Because you're going to be here for a very long time, Isabella. We might as well try to be civil."
"For how long?" The question burst out. "How long do I have to stay here? Until you're bored with me? Until I'm too old to be interesting?"
Dante set down his fork, his expression serious. "That depends entirely on you."
"What does that mean?"
"It means" He stood, walking around the table to lean against it beside my chair. "Your freedom has a price, Isabella. Earn my trust. Prove you won't run or betray me. Show me you can adapt to this world. Do that, and eventually, you might find yourself with choices."
"Choices you control."
"Yes." He didn't deny it. "I'll always control the final decision. But I'm not unreasonable. Loyalty is rewarded in my world. Betrayal is punished. It's that simple."
"Nothing about this is simple."
"No," he agreed, reaching out to tilt my chin up so I had to meet his eyes. "But it could be easier if you stopped fighting so hard. I'm not your enemy, Isabella. I could be your ally. Your protector. Maybe even"
"Don't say friend. We're not friends."
"I was going to say partner." His thumb brushed across my lower lip, and I hated the way my body responded to that simple touch. "But we'll work up to that."
He released me and returned to his seat, leaving me shaken and confused.
This man was dangerous. A criminal.
Someone who'd bought me like property.
So why did part of me want to lean into his touch instead of pull away?
The rest of dinner passed in tense silence. Afterward, Dante walked me back to my room, his hand resting on my lower back possessive but somehow not threatening.
"Sleep well, Isabella," he said at my door. "Tomorrow, we'll begin teaching you about your new life."
"I don't want to learn about this life. I want my old life back."
"That life is gone." He said it gently, but firmly. "The sooner you accept that, the happier you'll be."
After he left, I locked myself in that beautiful blue room and finally let myself cry again.
But this time, I wasn't just crying from fear.
I was crying because part of me a traitorous, foolish part wondered if he was right.
Maybe my old life was gone.
And maybe learning to survive in this new one was my only option.