61
I stepped out onto the private runway.
The air smelled of kerosene and salt, the sea breeze sweeping in from the Atlantic.
Behind me, my guards moved, silent and sharp, their presence forming a wall no one would dare test.
Black SUVs lined the tarmac, their polished metal glinting beneath the floodlights. As I slid into the back seat of the first, my thoughts weren't on Manhattan, the Bratva, or even the war brewing beneath the surface.
They were on her.
Isolde.
By the time we reached the coastal estate, the night was dark and the sea restless.
The tires crunched against the gravel of the long driveway, headlights washing over marble columns and the gate that kept her inside waiting for me. My cage. My treasure.
The moment the cars stopped, the front door flew open. She ran. Barefoot, hair loose, nightgown clinging to her frame, her eyes wide like a frightened doe.
But not of me. Of the possibility that I might not return.
Her body collided with mine before I even shut the car door. She clung to me, small fists gripping my suit lapels, burying her face in my chest.
"You came back," she breathed, voice trembling, relief laced with something desperate.
"I always do," I murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. My hand curved possessively over the back of her head, holding her to me like I might fuse her there.
But possession is never gentle.
I pushed her back a fraction, just to see her face. Tears shimmered in her lashes, lips parted, breath ragged.
I carried her inside without asking. My guards peeled off, securing the perimeter, as I kicked the heavy door shut with my heel.
The sound echoed through the cavernous foyer.
She whimpered when I pressed her against the wall, her toes barely grazing the marble as I lifted her by her thighs.
Her nightgown bunched up, baring pale skin that glowed under the chandelier.
"Dante...!"
The word broke on a gasp as my mouth claimed hers, brutal and unyielding.
I bit her lower lip until copper tang bloomed between us. She flinched but didn't pull away. She never did. Her fear sweetened everything.
I pulled back just enough to see the red smear on her mouth. My thumb dragged across it, then I licked it clean.
"You taste better like this," I told her, voice low, gravel edged.
Her eyes widened, shame and heat tangled together. "You'll hurt me."
"Yes," I said simply. "And I know you like it when I'm rough."
Her breath hitched.
I carried her up the staircase, each step deliberate, her body pressed tight against mine.
By the time I laid her on the bed, she was trembling. But not resisting. Never resisting.
The bedroom was dim, only the moon painting silver lines across the floor.
I stripped my jacket and shirt with measured movements, eyes never leaving her.
Her gaze followed every flex of muscle, every scar. She shivered when I unbuckled my belt.
"Take it off," I ordered, nodding at her nightgown.
Her hands shook as she obeyed, pulling the silk over her head, baring herself. Innocent curves, fragile skin, hair tumbling like ink to her waist.
I crawled onto the bed, caging her beneath me. My hand wrapped around her throat, not tight enough to cut breath, but enough to remind her who owned it.
"You tried to live without me while I was gone?" My thumb stroked her racing pulse.
Her lips parted. "I tried... but I couldn't."
I smiled. Cold, cruel, satisfied. "Good girl."
My mouth trailed down her neck, biting until purple blooms rose on her skin.
My teeth left crescents, my tongue soothing after the sting. She writhed beneath me, small sounds breaking free, fear, pain, desire all braided together.
When I dragged my teeth over the swell of her breast and bit down hard enough to draw blood, she cried out. I sucked the wound, tasting iron and sweetness.
Her thighs clamped together. Shame and heat warred on her face. "Dante..."
I looked up at her, lips red with her blood. "Say it."
Her voice was broken glass. "I need you."
I pushed her legs apart, my hands forcing them wide, pinning them to the sheets.
My teeth grazed the soft flesh of her inner thigh before biting again, leaving another mark, another bruise. She gasped, head tipping back.
Her body was a canvas, and I was painting it in shades of pain and love.
When I finally thrust inside her, it wasn't tender. It was claiming. Brutal. She cried out.
"Louder," I growled, each snap of my hips punishing, driving the air from her lungs. "Let the walls know who owns you."
Her cries filled the room, broken by moans, by pleas. "Dante! please......"
"Please what?" I bent over her, teeth at her ear. "Please stop? Or please more?"
She sobbed. "More."
My laugh was dark satisfaction. I gave her exactly that more until she was shaking, more until tears streaked her face, more until she couldn't form words at all.
When release tore through her, it wasn't just pleasure. It was surrender. She collapsed against me.
I kissed her bloodied mouth again, gentler this time, but no less possessive. "You'll never be free," I whispered against her lips. "Not even if you wanted to be."
Her eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion pulling her under. But before sleep claimed her, she murmured, soft and twisted as always-
"I don't want to be."
I watched her sleep, body marked and bruised, chest rising with fragile breaths.
My chest ached with something sharp, something dangerous. Love, obsession. Theree was no line anymore.
And beneath it all, the thought simmered: someone had betrayed me. Someone in my ranks had dared to test me.
They would bleed.
But for now, I had her.