Chapter 4
Dahlia
I can’t feel my hands anymore.
The restraints are cutting into my wrists, too tight, like he wants to make sure I remember who has the power.
But pain is easy. I can take pain. It’s the silence that kills me.
He’s just watching me, waiting for the answer I am absolutely not going to give.
From the shadows of his penthouse, Dante O’Driscoll leans back in an armchair like he’s settling in to enjoy a show. One leg draped over the other. A tumbler of dark amber liquor in his hand. He hasn’t touched it.
His eyes haven’t left me.
I sit straight in the leather chair across from him, wrists tied to the arms, ankles bound beneath. Still dressed in my black gear, face smudged with dust and sweat. My hair’s falling out of the wig I wore for the heist.
I must look feral. A street rat caught in a cage too golden to be real.
But I still have one weapon left.
My mouth. The silence thing was great while it lasted. Time to change things up.
“So what is this, Dante?” I say, injecting venom into his name. “Some twisted kink? You think if you tie me up and stare at me long enough, I’ll melt into some grateful little sub and call you Daddy?”
He raises one brow. Sips.
Okay. A hit. Barely.
I keep going. “You’re used to control. I get it. Mommy didn’t hug you enough, and now you make your toys beg before you break them. Classic billionaire pathology.”
His lips twitch. Fingers grip his glass just a fraction tighter.
Good. Bleed, you bastard.
“You think you’ve won. But you haven’t,” I spit. “You may have caught me, but I’ll find a way out. There’ll be people looking for me. I have a job.”
“A minor obstacle, already taken care of.”
“How?”
“The simple matter of buying the company you work for months ago. I’m your boss now. In all the ways you hope won’t count.”
Shocker . Also… what the fuck? I’m terrified to know how long he’s been dangling this bait I’ve just deep-throated. “You’re better off turning me over to the cops. Wash your hands of me and let’s both forget tonight happened.”
“And my money?”
I shrug. “Like you said. A drop in the ocean for guys like you.”
“I also said something else, I’m sure.”
The insult. Fuck.
“If you’ve been watching me, then you know I never divulge actual names before the heist. No one’s the wiser.”
“You know. I know,” he parries softly. A poisoned caress.
When I manage to drag my gaze from him, I look around the room. A gilded cage. A silken prison. But it’s me or Dad. “Seven days, no heist. I’m not helping you rob someone equally as despicable as you. Or worse, someone decent.”
Sip. “Oh, they’re much, much worse than me. But this isn’t a negotiation, Little Dahlia.”
Five .
The urge to swallow again overcomes me. I feel his gaze shift to my throat.
Feel the heat of his eyes. Over me. In me .
“Are you sure you want thirty days? I can give you thirty days of hell. And when I leave, I’ll take your bank accounts, your offshore holdings, and maybe even your soul—if there’s anything black enough left to sell. ”
He stands.
My mouth snaps shut. Instinct.
He moves slowly. No rush. That quiet, lethal grace that sets my nerves on fire.
He walks toward me, and every cell in my body screams to flinch. I don’t.
He crouches in front of me again, gaze still burning through me.
Then, slowly… that fucking smile . Not cruel. Not mocking. Knowing . And fuck, why didn’t I research deeper, arm myself with how fucking hot he is?
Because you never expected to encounter him.
“You done?” he asks.
My fists clench. I want to scream. I choose silence.
“I just want you to understand one thing,” he murmurs. “You’re not here because I caught you. You’re here because I let you run long enough to show me who you really are. Perhaps even reward you if you live up to expectations.”
My mouth goes dry.
He leans closer, until our faces are inches apart. “I watched you long before you ever typed my name into your righteous little poll. I let you choose me. I let you fantasize about punishing me. I let you want me.”
I inhale sharply. “I never?—”
“You did.” He breathes it like scripture.
“You wanted someone stronger than you. Smarter than you. Someone who’d take your control and shatter it so you could finally feel something that isn’t rage or guilt or grief.
That’s what you’ve been searching for all this time.
That’s why you always head for the app when you’re done.
Because deep down, you’re left unsatisfied. ”
I can’t breathe.
“You went on The Club app for a reason, Dahlia. You didn’t go looking for a boyfriend. You wanted to belong to someone—for just long enough to forget the burden of being the one who saves everyone.”
My jaw clenches so hard it hurts. “You’re projecting.”
He brushes a lock of hair from my face, too gentle. “I’m revealing.”
“No,” I snap, voice cracking. “You don’t know me.”
“I know enough.” He studies me. “Your mother died when you were sixteen. Truth-seeker. Idealist. She was your entire world. Your father collapsed after. You didn’t. You turned your grief into a blade. You made it righteous. Purposeful.”
No. No no no.
He leans in. “But when you wield a knife too tight you cut yourself too. You keep cutting without stopping to heal, Dahlia. You’ve just turned yourself into a martyr. And one day, it’s going to destroy you.” He stands again, looking down at me. “Unless someone stops you first.”
There’s a long silence.
My chest rises and falls too fast. I try to blink back the moisture burning behind my eyes. He can’t see it. He won’t .
He walks away to the bar. Refills his glass. Then turns back to me like none of that flaying ever happened.
“You have two choices,” he says. “Thirty days. My rules. My bed. One job, together. When it’s over, I’ll erase your debt. You walk. No charges. Your father stays safe. Or…”
I look up. Brow arched.
“You disappear. Tonight. Permanently.”
I laugh—shaky and hollow. “You think giving me a shit choice makes you merciful?”
“No,” he replies calmly. “It makes me patient.”
A beat. Two. “Patient,” I echo.
“Because you’ll never take option two. Because you might convince yourself that’s what you’ll do. But the hunger will keep gnawing at you until we’re back here. With you tied to my chair. Still hungry. Still beautiful. Still craving me as much as I crave you.”
I force my spine straight. Straighter. Because, holy shit, it wants to melt so bad and I don’t recognize myself. Or maybe I do. Far too much. Because the next words out of my mouth are not what I mean to say. Nope .
And yet… “Fine,” I say. “You want thirty days? You’ve got them.”
He nods. Smug. Superior.
“But here’s the thing, Dante,” I add, voice like steel wrapped in silk.
“You think you’re playing me. But I’m watching you, too. And by the end of this, when you break—I’ll be the one collecting your pieces.” ?His smile is slow, wolfish. “Ah, Dahlia,” he murmurs. “Please make it worth my while and try .”