The island was a labyrinth of volcanic rock and dense, humid jungle. Anna moved with the stealth of a girl who had spent a decade dodging police and gang patrols in the slums. She avoided the main paths, clawing her way through ferns that sliced at her arms.
Rain began to fall—a sudden, tropical deluge that turned the ground into a slick, muddy trap.
She reached the northern cliffs, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Below, she could see a small supply skiff tied to a private dock. It was her only way out.
She began the scramble down the cliffside, her fingers bleeding as she gripped the sharp stone. She was halfway down when the world went silent. The birds stopped chirping. Even the rain seemed to hold its breath.
"You have a very predictable way of fleeing, Anna."
The voice came from the shadows of a cave entrance ten feet to her left.
Anna froze, her heart stopping. Dante.
He stepped out into the rain. He wasn't wearing his suit. He was in a black tactical shirt and cargo pants, a heavy combat knife strapped to his thigh. He looked like the god of the mountain, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, his eyes twin pits of obsidian.
"Marco threatened me," Anna spat, her voice trembling with a mix of fury and terror. "He said I was a target. I'm not staying here to be slaughtered by your family."
"I told you," Dante said, his voice a low, terrifying rumble that vibrated through the rock she was clinging to. "You are mine. No one touches you. Not Marco. Not Luciana."
"Then why are you hunting me like an animal?" she screamed.
Dante moved with a speed that defied his size. In three strides, he was at the edge of the cliff. He reached down, his massive hand wrapping around her upper arm, and hauled her up onto the ledge as if she weighed nothing.
He slammed her back against the cave wall, his body pinning hers. The heat coming off him in the cold rain was staggering.
"I am not hunting you," he hissed, his face inches from hers, his eyes burning with a dark, toxic possessiveness. "I am retrieving you. You thought the slums were hard? The ocean will swallow you in minutes. My sister will find you in hours. If you want to survive, you stop running from the only man who can keep you alive."
"I can take care of myself!" she yelled, swinging the kitchen knife at him.
He caught her wrist in mid-air, his grip like a steel shackle. He didn't flinch. He just stared at her until she dropped the blade.
"No," he whispered, his voice dropping to that husky, dangerous register. "You can't. Not yet. But you will."