Mila held Dante's gaze for a second longer than she should have.
His eyes were dark, practically unreadable, but the hand that was still at the base of her neck was warm and steady.
She could feel the weight of his attention like a physical thing, and she felt her body softening under it.
She needed to redirect that attention away from her.
"I need clothes," she blurted out, only to cringe slightly. Way to remind everyone in the room that she was only wearing a single, white, fluffy towel. "When can I get some clothes? You cut my shirt and my jeans were covered with blood. I can't wear them and it's been days since I arrived."
"No, I suppose you can't be walking around in a house filled with men in nothing but a towel. Too bad you are going to have to wait until we can have some brought in for you," Dante replied, a slight tone of amusement i
"How long?" Mila asked before pausing for a second. "Before I can get some clothes?"
Dante's thumb pressed slightly against her pulse point. It wasn't painful, just enough pressure to remind her he could feel every spike in her heartbeat.
Every lie that threatened to pass her lips.
"Does the little bird want to fly away?" he asked, the smile on his face sending yet another shiver down her spine. "Too bad it is much too late for that. I'm afraid that you are going to have to get used to this place for the next little while."
Mila forced her face to show a neutral expression. "I have a life that I need to get back to," she replied, looking up at him. "You do know kidnapping is illegal, right? You wouldn't want to get in trouble for taking a girl against her will. Right?"
Dante paused for a moment as he studied her face before dropping his hand.
"Maybe," he replied. "But then again, who would believe you?"
Marco shifted behind her but said nothing.
Mila pulled back slightly, putting space between them. "Look, I don't care about you essentially kidnapping me. I care about getting back to my life. You let me go, and I will forget everything. I need money, I need work. What I don't need is a man who thinks that he can protect me when he couldn't even protect himself from a bullet. So unless you're planning to keep me locked up forever, we should probably talk about that instead."
Marco crossed his arms. "Your life is complicated right now."
"My bills aren't."
"Your bills," Dante said, "can wait."
Mila stood, ignoring the pull in her shoulder. The towel shifted slightly and she adjusted it, keeping her movements controlled. "Easy for you to say."
"Is it?"
"You're not the one who's going to have late fees and interest piling up. Not to mention overdraft charges if I don't start making some money."
Dante studied her for a long moment. Then he walked to his desk and leaned against it, arms crossed. "What kind of work do you do?"
"Whatever pays."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have," Mila answered with a shrug. "I take jobs, whatever they are. Cleaner, waitress, barista, data entry, research, administrative work, you name it, I have probably done it. It's nothing glamorous, but as long as it pays the bills, I will do it."
Marco pushed off the wall and walked to a cabinet. He opened it, pulled something out, and turned back to face her.
Her laptop.
Mila's chest tightened.
"This," Marco said, holding it up, "is interesting."
She forced herself to stay still. "Hardly. It's a laptop. Dante probably has a better on on his desk right now."
"But this one's encrypted," he clarified, tapping the laptop.
"No, it isn't," Mila shot back with a bit of snark.
"It is. Even our best people couldn't get into it."
Mila blinked and then shrugged her shoulders, ignoring the sharp pain from the bullet hole. "Probably because this thing is from the age of dinosaurs and they were making things way too complicated? I don't know. I barely know how to use it except for Word and the internet."
Marco's eyes narrowed slightly. "That seems highly unlikely given the encryption level. Do you really expect me to believe my men couldn't get in because it was too old?"
"I expect you to believe I can't afford a new one," Mila shot back with a scoff. "That thing is held together with duct tape and prayers. If your people couldn't open it, it's because it's too old to run whatever fancy software they were using."
"Or," Marco said, "the encryption is more sophisticated than it looks."
"I wouldn't know anything about that."
"Then how do you use it?"
"I turn it on. I type. It's not that complicated."
Marco set the laptop down on the desk softly. "You're saying you have no idea why this is locked down or how it got that way?"
"Maybe someone sold me a weird laptop?" Mila offered. "I bought it second-hand off Craigslist for like fifty bucks. I needed something cheap that could get me online."
It was a good lie.
Almost believable.
Except Dante was watching her with that same unreadable expression, and she could see the gears turning behind his eyes.
He didn't believe her.
Not entirely.
"Open it," he said.
Mila hesitated. "Now?"
"Now."
She looked at Marco, then back at Dante before letting out a long sigh. "Fine. But I'm telling you, there's nothing interesting on there. Just job applications and random stuff."
She walked to the desk, her bare feet silent on the hardwood, and pulled the laptop toward her. The cherry blossom sticker on the cover was scuffed and faded. She'd had this thing for years.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.
Then she typed in the PIN.
1-2-3-4.
The screen unlocked.
Marco leaned over her shoulder, his breath warm against her neck. She could feel Dante behind her, close enough that the heat of him pressed against her back.
The desktop loaded.
Slowly.
Painfully slowly.
But it loaded nonetheless to a generic background, a few folders, and a browser icon.
Marco clicked through the folders and noticed that most of them were empty. Sure, there was a few random documents that meant nothing.
Next, he opened the browser to check the history, only there was nothing to note there, either. Mostly job site, news articles, a recipe for pasta, and a website for cheap clothes that looked expensive.
Nothing to even remotely indicate that it needed any real level of encryption.
"This is it?" Marco asked.
Mila nodded. "Told you. Nothing exciting."
Marco straightened, his frustration evident in the set of his shoulders. "This doesn't make sense."
"What doesn't?"
"The encryption level versus..." He gestured at the screen. "This."
"Maybe it came that way," Mila said. "Like I said. I got it second-hand. I have no idea what it was used for before I got it."
Marco looked at Dante.
Dante was still watching her.
His gaze dropped to the laptop and then back to her face.
"You find," he said slowly, "that no one thinks to try the really simple passwords."
Mila shrugged.
It wasn't a question so much as a statement and the way he said it—calm, measured, like he was testing her—made her pulse spike.
She kept her expression blank. "I guess not."
Dante's mouth curved into an almost smile. "Interesting," he murmured.
Marco frowned. "What's interesting?"
Dante didn't answer as he reached past Mila and closed the laptop, his arm brushing against hers. Then he straightened and looked at her directly.
"You want work," he announced. It wasn't a question but Mila still decided to answer as if it was.
"Yes."
"Then you'll work for me."
The room went still.
Marco's head snapped toward Dante. "What?"
"She needs money," Dante said, his eyes never leaving Mila's face. "I need someone I can keep close. It's practical."
"Dante—"
"She stays here," Dante continued. "She works. And in exchange, her bills get paid. Her apartment gets secured. And she gets to prove she's not a threat."
Mila's throat tightened. "What kind of work?"
"Whatever I need."
"That's not specific."
"No," Dante agreed. "It's not."
The implication hung in the air between them.
She'd be his. In whatever capacity he decided.
Marco looked like he wanted to argue, but Dante's expression left no room for it.
Mila's mind raced. This was a trap, obviously, but it was also an opportunity.
If she was working for him, she'd have access to things... to information. Maybe she could find a way to figure out what he really wanted from her.
And maybe—maybe—a way out.
"Fine," she said.
Dante's eyes gleamed. "Good."
He stepped closer, his hand lifting to brush a strand of damp hair away from her face. His touch was light. Almost gentle.
"You start tomorrow," he said softly.
Then he turned and walked toward the door.
Marco followed, shooting her one last suspicious look before disappearing into the hallway.
The door clicked shut.
Mila stood alone in the office, her laptop still sitting on the desk, and just a towel around her.
She'd just agreed to work for a man who seemed to be able to read her just as well as she could read him.
And somehow, that felt more dangerous than anything else that had happened today.