The "Grave" was colder than Anna remembered.
She was tied to a chair in the center of the training floor, the harsh fluorescent lights humming overhead. Her wrists were raw from the hemp rope, but she didn't feel the pain. All she could see was Leo.
He was stripped to the waist, hanging by his wrists from a heavy iron chain in the center of the room. He was already bruised, blood dripping from a cut above his eye.
Dante stood in the shadows, a heavy leather belt wrapped around his fist. He was silent, his "dark demeanor" filling every corner of the room. Isabella sat in a velvet chair in the corner, sipping champagne, her eyes fixed on the scene like it was a theater performance.
"This is the price of a lie, Anna," Dante said, stepping into the light. He looked at Leo, then back at her. "You thought he was your friend. You thought he was your escape. But in my world, every 'friend' has a price."
"He did nothing!" Anna cried out, her voice breaking. "I forced him! I begged him! It's my fault!"
Dante ignored her. He turned to Leo. "Tell her, Leo. Tell her why you were really at the sea-gate tonight."
Leo looked up, his face a mask of shame and agony. He didn't look at Anna. "I... I was going to sell her."
Anna froze. "What?"
"Isabella," Leo rasped, his voice barely audible. "She offered me fifty thousand. To get the witness off the island and hand her over to the Silencers. I wasn't... I wasn't taking you home, Anna. I was taking you to your execution."
The world tilted. Anna looked at Leo—the boy who gave her chocolate, the boy who talked about his sisters—and saw the traitor. The betrayal cut deeper than any of Dante's cruelties.
Dante walked over to Anna, his hand catching her chin. His touch was almost tender, which made it even more terrifying. "Do you see now? The slums follow you everywhere, little rat. Everyone has a price. Everyone but me."
He turned back to Leo. "And the price for betraying a Vane is the one thing you can't buy back."
"Dante, no!" Anna screamed as he raised the belt.
The next hour was a blur of violence and screams. Dante didn't use a knife; he used his hands. He broke Leo with a surgical, terrifying precision, forcing Anna to watch every strike, every crack of bone. He wanted her to see the monster. He wanted her to know that there was no safety in the world—only him.
When it was over, Leo was an unconscious heap on the floor. Dante signaled the guards to drag him away.
Isabella stood up, looking bored. "Well, that was tedious. I'm going to bed, Dante. Don't be long."
She left, her heels clicking away.
Dante stood in the center of the room, his chest heaving, his shirt stained with Leo's blood. He walked over to Anna and untied her wrists. His hands were shaking slightly.
He pulled her up. Anna couldn't stand; her legs were like water. She slumped against his chest, her face buried in the bloody fabric of his shirt. She hated him. She loathed him. But as she sobbed into his chest, she realized the most horrifying truth of all:
He was the only person who hadn't lied to her. He was a monster, but he was *her* monster.
Dante's arms wrapped around her, his grip so tight it bruised her ribs. He buried his face in her hair, let out a low, guttural groan.
"You are never leaving this island," he whispered, his voice broken and raw. "You are mine. Even if I have to burn your soul to ash to keep you."
He lifted her into his arms, carrying her out of the Grave and toward his private quarters. He set her down on his massive bed, the silk sheets cold against her skin.
He stood over her, the shadows of the room dancing across his scarred chest. He looked down at her with a mix of hatred and agonizing desire.
"You want to know what it's like to belong to a King?" he rasped, his hand reaching for the hem of her shirt. "I'm going to show you. And you're going to crave every second of it."