Chapter Seventeen
Nina's POV
I heard her laugh before I saw her.
Female. Light. Familiar.
I froze halfway down the stairs, my hand gripping the railing so hard my knuckles went white. My arm was mostly healed now, two weeks since the shooting, but it still ached when I tensed up.
It ached now.
That laugh. I knew that laugh.
I told myself to turn around. Go back to my room. Pretend I hadn't heard anything. It wasn't my business who they had in their house. It wasn't my concern.
Except my feet kept moving down the stairs.
Except my chest felt tight and hot and wrong.
Except I couldn't stop myself.
The living room came into view. Sunlight streamed through the massive windows, painting everything gold. And there, sitting on the couch like she owned the place, was Isabela.
The woman from the balcony. The woman Enzo had been inside, his hand in her hair, his voice commanding her to be quiet.
She wore a white sundress that showed off her tan skin and curves. Her dark hair fell in perfect waves over her shoulders. She looked relaxed. Comfortable. Like she'd been here a hundred times before.
Maybe she had.
Dante sat in the armchair across from her, suit jacket off, sleeves rolled up. Enzo stood by the window, arms crossed. Nikolai leaned against the bar, a glass of something amber in his hand.
All three of them. With her.
"Oh, poor thing," Isabela was saying, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "Shot in the arm? That must have been terrifying."
"She's recovered well," Dante said. His voice was neutral. Professional.
Like I was a patient. A case file. Not a person.
"I'm sure she has." Isabela took a sip of coffee from a delicate china cup. "With three handsome men taking care of her, how could she not?"
She said it lightly, teasingly. But there was an edge underneath. A knowing smirk.
Something hot and ugly twisted in my stomach.
Jealousy.
Raw and consuming and completely irrational.
I hated them. I was their prisoner. What they did with other women was none of my business. I shouldn't care. I didn't care.
Except I did.
And I hated myself for it.
"Nina."
Nikolai had spotted me. All eyes turned toward the stairs.
Isabela's smile widened. "Oh, the injured bird. How are you feeling, sweetie?"
Sweetie.
Like I was a child. Like I was nothing.
"I'm fine," I said, my voice coming out colder than I intended.
I walked down the rest of the stairs, chin up, spine straight. I wasn't going to hide. Wasn't going to run back to my room like a scared little girl.
Even though that's exactly what I wanted to do.
"You look so pale still," Isabela continued, tilting her head with fake concern. "Are you sure you should be up and walking around? Maybe you should rest more."
"I've been resting for two weeks. I'm fine."
"Of course you are." She set down her coffee cup. "I was just telling the boys how worried I was when I heard what happened. A spy, right here in the house? How terrifying. You must have been so scared."
The boys. Like they were hers. Like she had any claim to them.
"I managed," I said flatly.
"I'm sure you did. With all three of them protecting you." Her eyes gleamed with something I couldn't quite name. Amusement? Pity? "It must be nice. Having so much attention."
The implication was clear. I was weak. Needy. A burden they had to protect.
While she was strong. Experienced. Someone they wanted.
"It's not attention," I said, my voice sharper now. "It's surveillance. There's a difference."
Dante's eyes narrowed slightly. Enzo shifted his weight. Nikolai took a slow sip of his drink, watching me over the rim of his glass.
Isabela laughed. "Oh, sweetie. You're adorable when you're territorial."
Territorial.
The word hit like a slap.
"I'm not territorial," I snapped. "I don't care what you do or who you do it with. I was just coming down to get some fresh air. Excuse me."
I turned to walk toward the balcony, but Dante's voice stopped me cold.
"Nina. A word. Now."
I looked back. He was already standing, his expression unreadable but his tone leaving no room for argument.
"I was just—"
"Now."
Isabela's smile was victorious. Like she'd won something.
I wanted to wipe it off her face.
Instead, I followed Dante out of the living room, down the hallway, into his office. He closed the door behind us with a soft click that sounded too loud in the silence.
Then he turned to face me.
"What was that about?" he asked, his voice dangerously calm.
"What was what about?"
"The attitude. The comments. The way you looked at Isabela like you wanted to throw her off the balcony."
"I didn't—"
"Don't lie to me, Nina." He took a step closer. "You were jealous."
The word hung in the air between us.
"I wasn't," I said, but my voice shook.
"Say it." Another step. "Admit it."
"There's nothing to admit. I don't care what you do with her or anyone else. You made it very clear I'm just property. An asset. Why would I care?"
"That's not an answer."
He was close now. Too close. I could smell his cologne, feel the heat radiating off him.
I took a step back.
My back hit the desk.
Dante's hands came down on either side of me, caging me in. His face was inches from mine, his dark eyes boring into me like he could see every secret I was trying to hide.
"You walked down those stairs because you heard her voice," he said quietly. "You couldn't stay away. Couldn't stop yourself from seeing who was here. From seeing if we were with her."
"That's not—"
"You looked at her like she was a threat. Like she was taking something that belonged to you." His voice dropped lower, darker. "So I'll ask again, Nina. Were you jealous?"
My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might break through my ribs. My breathing had gone shallow and fast.
"No," I whispered.
"Liar."
His hand came up, fingers curling gently around my throat. Not squeezing. Not hurting. Just holding. Controlling.
"If you want something," he said, his lips so close to mine I could feel his breath, "you ask for it. You don't throw tantrums like a child. You don't make snide comments. You use your words like an adult and you ask."
"I don't want anything from you," I said, but even I could hear how unconvincing it sounded.
"No?" His thumb brushed along my jawline. "Then why is your pulse racing? Why are your pupils blown? Why are you looking at my mouth like you want me to shut you up with it?"
I wasn't. I couldn't be.
Except I was.
God help me, I was.
"You're an asshole," I breathed.
"That's not an answer." His other hand slid to my hip, pinning me against the desk. "Here's the truth, Nina. Isabela is here because we called her. We're men with needs. You've made it very clear you hate us, that you're only here because you have no choice. So we get those needs met elsewhere. Simple. Clean. No complications."
Each word was a knife twisting in my chest.
"So what?" I forced out. "You're rubbing it in my face? Bringing her here to remind me what I am to you? Just property you have to keep alive?"
"No." His eyes locked on mine. "I'm giving you a choice."
"What choice?"
"Keep fighting what you feel. Keep pretending you don't want this. And we'll keep getting our needs met with women like Isabela. Women who know their place. Who don't fight. Who take what we give them and ask for more."
His hand tightened slightly on my throat. Not cutting off air. Just reminding me he could.
"Or," he continued, his voice dropping to something dark and dangerous, "you admit what you want. What you've wanted since the night Enzo had you over his lap. Since Nikolai got you drunk and you confessed you wanted our hands on you instead of hers. Since you woke up with my blood in your veins and realized you were ours whether you accepted it or not."
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Could only stare at him while my entire world tilted sideways.
"That's not fair," I whispered.
"Life isn't fair, baby. You of all people should know that." He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. "So what's it going to be? Keep lying to yourself while we fuck other women? Or admit the truth and take what you actually want?"
I wanted to tell him to go to hell. Wanted to push him away and storm out and prove I didn't need him or want him or care about any of this.
But my body wouldn't move. My hands had fisted in his shirt without me realizing it. My breathing had synced with his.
And the worst part?
He was right.
I wanted them. Wanted his hands on me. Wanted Enzo's control and Nikolai's intensity and Dante's ruthless dominance.
Wanted to stop fighting and just fall.
"I—" The word caught in my throat.
"Say it," he demanded.
I almost did. Almost gave in right there.
But something in me, some last shred of pride or self-preservation or stupidity, pulled back.
"No," I whispered.
Dante's expression didn't change. But something flickered in his eyes. Disappointment? Anger? I couldn't tell.
"Then we're done here." He stepped back, releasing me. "Go back to your room, Nina. Isabela and I have business to discuss."
The words were a dismissal and a punishment all at once.
I pushed off the desk, my legs shaky. Walked to the door on autopilot.
My hand was on the handle when he spoke again.
"For what it's worth," he said quietly, "I hoped you'd be braver."
I didn't turn around. Didn't respond. Just opened the door and walked out.
Back down the hallway. Past the living room where Isabela still sat, looking smug and satisfied.
Up the stairs. Into my room. Or their room. The connected suite that reminded me every second that I was surrounded by them, owned by them, trapped by them.
I closed the door and leaned against it, my whole body shaking.
I'd walked away. I'd said no. I'd kept my pride.
So why did it feel like I'd just lost something irreplaceable?
I stayed in my room for the next hour. Paced. Sat. Paced again. Tried to read and couldn't focus. Tried to sleep and couldn't relax.
All I could think about was Isabela downstairs. With them.
Laughing. Touching. Taking what I'd been too proud to ask for.
The jealousy was eating me alive.
Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I opened my door, planning to go to the kitchen for water. Anything to distract myself.
The hallway was quiet. Too quiet.
I made it halfway to the stairs when I heard the front door open and close.
Voices. Dante's, low and firm. Then Isabela's, higher, confused.
"But I thought—"
"Plans changed. Thank you for coming. Marco will drive you home."
"Dante, wait—"
The door closed again. Silence.
I stood frozen in the hallway, my heart pounding.
She was leaving? Already?
Footsteps on the stairs. I turned to run back to my room, but it was too late.
Enzo appeared at the top of the landing.
We stared at each other.
"She's gone," he said simply.
"I heard."
"He sent her away. The second you left his office."
I blinked. "What?"
"Isabela. He called her here this morning. Had her stay exactly long enough for you to see her. Then dismissed her the moment you walked out." Enzo leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "She was never here for us, princess. She was here for you."
The words didn't make sense. "I don't understand."
"Yes, you do." His eyes were steady on mine. "He wanted to know if you'd fight for what you want. If you'd admit how you feel. If you'd stop hiding behind hate and fear and pride."
"That's—" I couldn't finish. Couldn't find words.
"Manipulation?" Enzo supplied. "Yes. Absolutely. We don't play fair, Nina. We never have. We wanted the truth. So we forced it out into the light."
"I didn't—I didn't give in. I said no."
"Did you?" He tilted his head. "Because from where I was standing, you looked ready to rip her throat out. You looked possessive. Territorial. Like she was touching something that belonged to you."
"They don't belong to me."
"Don't they?" He pushed off the wall. "You have Dante's blood in your veins. You've been living in a room connected to ours for two weeks. Nikolai brings you food he cooks himself. I change your bandages every day. We killed a man who tried to take you. We've turned away every woman since you arrived."
I stared at him. "What?"
"Isabela was the first woman we've let in this house since the day your father signed you over to us. And she was only here for twenty minutes. As bait." He took a step closer. "You want to know why?"
I couldn't speak. Could only shake my head.
"Because you matter," he said quietly. "Whether you admit it or not. Whether you want to or not. You matter."
The words hit me like a physical blow.
"I don't—" My voice cracked. "I don't understand any of this."
"I know." His expression softened, just barely. "But you will. When you're ready to stop fighting. When you're ready to take what you want instead of what you think you should want."
He walked past me, heading toward his room. Stopped at his door.
"Get some sleep, princess. Tomorrow's going to be interesting."
Then he disappeared inside, leaving me standing alone in the hallway.
My mind was spinning. They'd used Isabela to make me jealous. To force me to confront how I felt. They'd played me like a chess piece.
And it had worked.
I'd wanted to claw her eyes out. Had felt possessive and territorial and jealous in a way I'd never felt before.
Had almost given in to Dante just to make him choose me over her.
They'd manipulated me. Used my emotions against me. Played games with my head and my heart.
And the worst part?
I couldn't even be angry. Because underneath the manipulation, underneath the games, was a truth I couldn't ignore anymore.
I wanted them. All of them.
And now they knew it.
I walked back to my room slowly, my legs weak. Closed the door. Sat on the edge of the bed.
Looked at the two connecting doors. One to Enzo's room. One to Nikolai's. Dante's room was on the other side of the hall, close enough to hear if I called.
They'd surrounded me. Trapped me. Owned me.
And some broken, twisted part of me didn't want to escape anymore.
I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Tomorrow, Enzo had said. Tomorrow would be interesting.
I had no idea what that meant. But I knew one thing with absolute certainty.
They were playing chess with my emotions, moving pieces I couldn't see. And I was too tangled up in the game to know if I was winning or losing.
All I knew was this: I'd crossed a line today. Admitted something to myself I couldn't take back.
I wanted them. And they knew it. And nothing would ever be the same again.