Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
Dante
T he mansion feels alive around me, a breathing extension of my will. Every security camera serves as an eye, every motion sensor a nerve ending, every reinforced window and door a layer of skin protecting what belongs to me. I stand in my private security room, surrounded by monitors that capture every corner of my domain—every potential vulnerability, every shadow where a threat might hide. But my attention is fixed on one screen in particular—Hannah, in her suite, her hand resting against the window glass as she stares out at the gardens she no longer has permission to visit.
The tracking chip embedded beneath her skin sends constant updates to my phone, my security servers, and this control center. Her exact location, her every movement, monitored and logged. It should feel like enough—layers of protection designed to ensure she remains exactly where she belongs. Yet a restless discontent still lingers beneath my skin, an aching awareness that she remains incompletely possessed. The physical barriers are perfect, but the invisible ones—the ones that keep her truly mine—feel fragile, insufficient.
Marco steps into the room, his presence quiet and efficient. "The new perimeter motion sensors are active, sir. Calibrated to detect movement larger than a medium-sized dog. Additional guards have been stationed along the north and east walls as you requested."
I don't take my eyes off Hannah. "And the window reinforcements?"
"Completed this morning. Triple-layered glass, shatterproof, with built-in sensors capable of detecting even minor fractures."
Good. Necessary. Obvious. And still, it doesn't feel like enough. I watch her, noting the tension in her posture, the subtle way her gaze lingers on the horizon. Like she still believes freedom exists out there for her. A delusion I intend to extinguish entirely.
"Yesterday, she left her suite," I say coldly, finally turning to Marco. "Walked the main hallway. Took the stairs. Encountered a member of the housekeeping staff near the east wing."
Marco keeps his expression carefully neutral. "The tracking system performed as expected. Her location was reported in real-time, within a one-meter radius."
"That's not the point," I snap, my voice cutting. Marco straightens further. "She left her assigned space without permission. Without escort. Without my explicit instruction."
"Would you like her movement restricted further?" Marco asks. He's used to this routine by now—Hannah tests, I correct. The boundaries tighten, and she learns again what it means to belong solely to me.
"No," I say after a moment. "Install a bioelectric lock on her door. Keyed exclusively to my genetic signature. No one enters or leaves without my physical presence."
Marco nods. "I'll have the security team begin the installation today."
"And the housekeeper. Paula." The name tastes bitter on my tongue. "Reassign her to one of the outer properties. Effective immediately. No further contact with this house or anyone inside it."
There's no hesitation in Marco's response. "Understood." He doesn't question the severity of the punishment. He knows better. Anyone who interacts with Hannah—no matter how innocently—becomes a threat. A variable I can't afford.
When Marco leaves, I turn my gaze back to the monitor. Hannah hasn't moved. Her palm still rests against the glass, her expression distant. I pull my phone from my pocket, opening the tracking app to review her movement history over the past twenty-four hours. She'd wandered, tested limits, moved beyond her designated boundaries. The deviation is minor, but it's the principle of it. Any step outside my explicit control is unacceptable.
I pocket the phone, the cold weight of it grounding me. Technology can only do so much. I need more—more containment, more control, more certainty that she exists solely within the parameters I've set for her.
The mansion falls silent as I move through it. Staff members press against the walls, averting their gazes as I pass. They've learned not to look too closely at what belongs to me, not to linger in the same space as Hannah, not to breathe the same air for too long. It's better that way. For them. For her. For me.
When I reach the east wing, the workmen installing the biometric lock pause, their hands steady but their eyes averted. "It'll be fully operational by evening, Mr. Severino," one of them reports, his voice clipped and professional. "Keyed exclusively to your DNA. No possibility of bypass or forced entry."
"Good," I say. "Finish quickly."
The hallway beyond the security barrier is empty—by design. Hannah's suite occupies the entire northern end, cut off from casual traffic, isolated from any unnecessary contact. She exists alone here, untouched, unspoiled, and completely mine. Exactly as it should be.
I step inside without announcing myself. She's still by the window, her gaze lost in the gardens she no longer has access to. When she hears me, she turns—her face carefully composed, her features a mask of forced indifference.
"Dante," she says, my name absent of warmth but also absent of defiance.
I approach her, my hand automatically finding the curve of her stomach—seventeen weeks now, my child growing inside her. Proof of my claim made flesh. I savor the feel of it beneath my palm, the tangible evidence that she can't escape me. Not now. Not ever.
"You left your suite yesterday," I say, my voice low but pointed.
Her gaze flickers down to my hand, avoiding mine. "I didn't know I couldn't." A careful response. A safe one. She’s learning.
"You knew," I correct her, my fingers tightening slightly against her stomach. "It won't happen again. The new security measures will ensure that."
Her throat works as she swallows, but she says nothing. Just like I prefer.
I tilt her chin, forcing her gaze back to mine. "You understand, don't you, Hannah?" My thumb drags along her jawline. "Everything I do—every lock, every guard, every reinforced layer—it's all for you. For us."
She doesn't answer, but she doesn't pull away either. That’s enough. For now.
But soon, the part of her that still thinks she can exist beyond my control—the sliver of independence she still clings to—will break. And when it does, she will belong to me in the truest sense.
Completely. Irrevocably.
Mine.