I found the phone on the third day.
It sat on a side table in the living room like bait. Sleek. Black. Connected to a charger. I'd walked past it twice before my brain caught up to what I was seeing.
A phone. A way out.
My heart hammered as I picked it up. The screen lit immediately. No password. No security. Just a dial pad waiting for me to use it.
This had to be a trap.
I glanced around the penthouse. No guards in sight. Elena had brought breakfast an hour ago and disappeared. Dante was locked in his office doing whatever godfathers did at nine in the morning.
I was alone.
My fingers shook as I dialed my mother's number. I'd memorized it when I was twelve, back when my father was still alive and knowing how to reach her felt like survival.
The phone rang once.
Then nothing.
Not a busy signal. Not voicemail. Just silence followed by a soft click.
Disconnected.
I tried again. Same result.
I tried Sarah's number. My work number. The hospital switchboard.
Every call ended the same way. One ring. Silence. Click.
"The phone doesn't work."
I spun around so fast I nearly dropped it.
Dante stood in the hallway entrance. He was dressed casually today, no suit jacket, just dark pants and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The sight of his forearms shouldn't have made my stomach flip.
But it did.
"You're blocking the calls," I said.
"Yes."
"Why leave a phone out if it doesn't work?"
"To see how long it would take you to try." He walked closer, moving with that predator grace that made my pulse spike. "Three days. You lasted longer than I expected."
Heat crawled up my neck. Anger or embarrassment or something more dangerous.
"This is cruel. Letting me think I had a chance to contact someone."
"This is reality." He stopped a few feet away. Close enough that I could see the dark shadow of stubble along his jaw. "Your phone can be traced. Your email can be monitored. Anyone you contact becomes a target. I'm keeping you isolated to keep you alive. Whether you appreciate it or not."
I wanted to throw the phone at his face.
Instead I set it down carefully on the table.
"How long am I supposed to stay here?"
"Until it's safe for you to leave."
"And when will that be?"
"When I find who killed Marcus and eliminate the threat."
"Eliminate." I laughed bitterly. "You mean kill them."
"Yes." He said it simply. No apology. No hesitation.
"And you expect me to just wait here like a doll in a box while you commit murder?"
"I expect you to stay alive. How you feel about it is irrelevant."
He turned to walk away.
"Wait." The word escaped before I could stop it. "Can I at least know if my mother is okay? If she's safe?"
Dante paused. Something flickered across his face. Not quite sympathy. Something softer.
"She's safe. I have people watching her. No one will touch her."
"Because she's leverage too?"
"Because you care about her. Which makes her valuable to my enemies." His dark eyes held mine. "Everything you love becomes a weapon against you in my world. Remember that."
He left before I could respond.
I stood there clutching the useless phone and hating that his words made sense.
The routine became my prison within the prison.
Breakfast at seven. Brought by Elena, who never stayed long enough to answer questions. The food was always perfect. Eggs cooked exactly how I liked them even though I'd never told anyone. Fresh fruit. Strong coffee.
Someone had been watching me long before Dante claimed me at the funeral.
Lunch at noon. Usually something light. Salad or soup. Still delicious. Still perfectly tailored to my preferences.
Dinner at six.
That's when Dante appeared.
He joined me every night without fail. Never asked permission. Just sat across from me at the dining table while Elena served food that neither of us seemed to taste.
The first night, I refused to eat. Sat there with my arms crossed while he worked on his laptop like I wasn't even there.
He didn't force me. Didn't comment. Just ate his meal and typed away at whatever mafia business required his attention.
I lasted thirty minutes before hunger won.
The second night, I tried to ask questions. Where was Marcus killed? Who were his enemies? What did Dante know that he wasn't telling me?
He answered exactly none of them.
Just kept eating. Kept working. Kept pretending I was furniture.
The third night, I gave up trying.
I ate in silence and studied him instead.
His hands moved across the keyboard with precision. Long fingers. No rings. Clean nails. Hands that looked like they could play piano or strangle someone with equal skill.
I watched for signs of violence. Scars. Bruises. Anything that proved he was the killer everyone believed him to be.
His face gave away nothing. Sharp features. Strong jaw. That small scar above his eyebrow that I wanted to ask about but wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
He was beautiful in a way that felt dangerous. Like looking directly at the sun.
I hated that I noticed.
"You're staring."
His voice made me jump. He hadn't looked up from his laptop but somehow he'd known.
"I'm trying to figure you out."
"Don't bother. You won't succeed."
"Everyone said you killed Marcus. Everyone at that funeral looked at you like you were death itself."
"I am death. To my enemies." He finally looked up. Those dark eyes pinned me in place. "But not to you."
"How do I know that?"
"Because you're still breathing."
The words should have terrified me.
Instead, something in my chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
He went back to his laptop. Conversation over.
By the fifth day, I'd explored every inch of freedom he'd given me.
The living room with its breathtaking view. The kitchen I wasn't allowed to use because "Elena handles meals." The library filled with books in languages I couldn't read. The gym with equipment I didn't know how to use.
But certain doors stayed locked no matter how hard I tried.
His office. The security room. The basement. Whatever Dante was hiding, he was hiding it thoroughly.
Guards appeared whenever I got too close. Not threatening. Just present. A reminder that my freedom had limits.
I tested those limits constantly.
Tried to use the laptop in the library. Password protected.
Tried to access the TV. Only showed movies, no news channels.
Tried to leave through the service elevator. Guards materialized before I reached the button.
Every escape route was blocked. Every attempt at information shut down.
I was trapped in luxury. Fed and clothed and completely cut off from the world.
By dinner on the fifth night, something inside me had shifted.
Dante sat across from me as usual. Laptop open. Food untouched. Working like I wasn't even there.
I watched him type. Watched the concentration on his face. Watched the way he paused occasionally to think, his jaw tightening.
"Do you ever stop working?" The question escaped before I could stop it.
He glanced up. "No."
"That sounds exhausting."
"It keeps me alive."
"Is that all you care about? Staying alive? Maintaining power?"
His fingers stilled on the keyboard. For a moment I thought he wouldn't answer.
Then he closed the laptop.
Gave me his full attention for the first time since I'd arrived.
The weight of his gaze made my breath catch.
"I care about loyalty," he said quietly. "I care about protecting what's mine. I care about making sure the people who depend on me don't end up bleeding on a street corner."
"Like Marcus did."
"Yes. Like Marcus did."
"But you said you didn't kill him."
"I didn't. But I failed to protect him. That's almost worse."
The admission surprised me. Vulnerability from a man who seemed carved from stone.
"Why did Marcus want to leave?" I asked. "What was he running from?"
Dante studied me for a long moment. Deciding something.
"Me," he said finally. "Marcus was running from me. From the life. From everything he'd become working in my organization."
"Because of me. Because he wanted to marry me."
"Yes."
The word sat between us like a confession.
"So his death is my fault." My voice cracked. "If he hadn't fallen in love with me, he'd still be alive."
"No." Dante's voice was sharp. "His death is the fault of whoever pulled the trigger. Don't take responsibility for violence you didn't commit."
"But—"
"Isabella." The way he said my name made something in my stomach flip. "Marcus made choices. Those choices had consequences. You don't get to carry guilt for his decisions."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to push back.
But the look in his eyes stopped me.
He wasn't being kind. He was being honest.
And somehow that mattered more.
That night I stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows staring at Manhattan spread beneath me.
The city glittered like a million promises. Life happening everywhere except here. People going home to families. To friends. To normal lives that didn't involve being kidnapped by mobsters.
I pressed my hand against the cold glass.
My reflection stared back. Pale. Thin. Wearing clothes someone else had chosen. Living in a beautiful cage with a beautiful monster.
I was disappearing.
The Isabella who worked at the hospital felt like a stranger. The Isabella who planned weddings and believed in happy endings had died on that street corner with Marcus.
Who was I becoming instead?
I didn't recognize the woman in the glass.
Behind me, the penthouse was dark except for one light.
Dante's office.
He was still awake. Still working. Still carrying whatever burden came with being the devil everyone feared.
I should hate him.
Should be planning escape.
Should be fighting this captivity with everything I had.
Instead I found myself walking toward his office.
The door was cracked open. Warm light spilled into the hallway.
I knocked softly.
"Come in."
His voice sent shivers down my spine.
I pushed the door open.
Dante sat behind a massive desk covered in papers and laptops. He'd taken off his watch. Rolled his sleeves higher. He looked tired in a way that made him more human.
More dangerous.
"Can't sleep?" he asked.
"No. You?"
"I don't sleep much."
"Why not?"
He leaned back in his chair. Studied me with those dark eyes that saw too much.
"Because the moment I stop paying attention, someone tries to kill me."
"That sounds lonely."
"It keeps me alive."
I stepped further into the office. My heart hammered but I couldn't turn back now.
"I need to know something."
"What?"
"Marcus's phone. His wallet. Everything was taken from his body. The police said it was robbery."
"It wasn't robbery."
"Then what was it?"
Dante stood. Walked around the desk slowly. Each step deliberate.
He stopped close enough that I could feel heat radiating from his body.
"It was someone sending a message. Someone wanted me to know Marcus's death was personal. That they could take my people and make it look like random violence."
"Who would do that?"
"Someone with access to information only my inner circle has."
The words hit me like ice water.
"You think someone in your organization killed Marcus."
"I know they did." His jaw tightened. "I just don't know who yet."
"A traitor."
"Yes."
"And until you find them, I'm bait."
"No." He reached out and touched my chin, tilting my face up to meet his eyes. "Until I find them, you're protected. There's a difference."
His touch sent electricity through me. Wrong and right and completely overwhelming.
I should step back.
Instead I heard myself whisper, "What if they come for me anyway?"
Dante's thumb traced along my jaw. His dark eyes burned.
"Then they'll have to go through me first. And Isabella?" His voice dropped lower. Dangerous. "No one goes through me."
The promise in those words made my knees weak.
Behind him, his phone rang.
The moment shattered.
Dante stepped back, already reaching for the phone. His expression shifted from something almost tender to completely closed off.
He answered. Listened. His entire body went rigid.
"When?" One word. Clipped and deadly.
Whatever the person said made his face go cold.
"I'm on my way." He ended the call and looked at me. "Get back to your room. Lock the door. Don't open it for anyone but me or Elena."
"What's happening?"
"They found another body."
My heart stopped. "Who?"
"Someone who worked for me. Someone Marcus trusted." His eyes were black with rage. "The traitor just made another move. And this time, they left a message specifically for you."