17. Dante
Chapter 17
Dante
E very time we seem to be making progress in understanding each other, Adalina throws me a curveball. She is a toxic force, one I should break free from before her venom seeps too deep into my veins and consumes me entirely. But there’s something about her…
“Is she okay?” As I turn to leave her room, Enzo’s voice cuts through the stillness of the hallway. His words are soft and curious, laced with a hint of concern. I pause and look back at him over my shoulder as I lock the door behind me. “What happened in the garden?”
“Nothing she didn’t deserve,” I grumble under my breath, feeling furious at myself and the woman beyond the door.
Enzo exudes an air of patience as he waits for me to complete my task. His steps are silent as he follows me down the winding stairs, a silent sentinel by my side. His presence brings a sense of security, and his years of training are evident in his ability to anticipate when to speak and when to remain quiet.
I head for my office, but I don’t stop at the desk. Concealed within the depths of the closet lies a hidden door, its existence known only to those privy to its secrets. It leads to the Terlizzi dungeon, where dozens of men have dwindled to nothing and died while chained to its walls.
When my father built the dungeon, he obscured the entrance out of safety. Our home had already been raided twice by the time he had a construction company tearing up the ground beneath the mansion. Fausto Terlizzi didn’t want to get caught hiding his victims in the dungeons or their bodies in the catacombs. The exit was discreetly installed inside the closet with a complex locking mechanism known only to five people in the entire world.
“She’s lucky,” I tell Enzo as we begin to descend. “Lucky that she isn’t being kept down here. Lucky that her body hasn’t been buried underground.”
As I walk down the dank and musty steps into the dungeon, the faint sounds of shuffling reach my ears. My eyes adjust to the dim light, revealing two men hunched over in their cell. They are holdovers from a sentence passed down by my father, their once strong and proud figures now reduced to mere skeletons. It’s been so long since their imprisonment began that their faces are almost unrecognizable, contorted with pain and despair. They make no effort to get up as I enter, resigned to their fate and the endless days of darkness and solitude ahead.
“You’re spiraling,” Enzo comments. “What did she say to you?”
It wasn’t what she said but how she reacted to my kindness. “It doesn’t matter,” I finish my train of thought aloud.
I approach one of the empty dungeon cells and step inside. The smell of damp stone and decay fills my nostrils as I take in the dimly lit space. Layers of dust cover every surface, evidence that this place is never swept or cleaned. In the corner sits a ratty, old cot with a threadbare mattress that is disintegrating with each passing day. There is no sense of comfort or privacy in this desolate cell, only the bare minimum for survival. A small, grimy hole in the ground serves as a toilet in the opposite corner from the bed, a stark reminder of the inhumane conditions prisoners undergo within these walls.
Adalina’s image lingers in my mind as I stand in this dingy room. I can see her crouched over the hole, her once flawless body smeared with dirt and grime. The sound of her coughing echoes in my ears, the dust irritating her lungs. I can envision her on her knees, tears streaming down her face as she begs for release. And then I imagine myself unzipping my pants, revealing my erection, and demanding that she earn her dinner for the night. I can hear my laughter as I degrade and dehumanize her, using her for my pleasure and sustenance. She obediently takes me into her mouth, her muffled cries as I release myself into her throat and command her to lick up every last drop of my seed serve as a macabre soundtrack to this twisted scenario. The scene is both depraved and satisfying, fueling my darkest desires.
My body responds eagerly at the thought, a primal instinct taking over. The disturbed desire that consumes me makes me question my morality. How could I yearn for such conflicting images—Adalina draped in luxurious silk and satin one moment, then covered in grime and filth as she eagerly takes me into her mouth the next? The darkness within me is a monster, craving raw pleasure and control. But still, I cannot deny the intense arousal that courses through me at the mere thought of it all.
“Send someone to the store to get a collar.” I adjust myself, not caring if Enzo sees. “Send someone who hates women. I want him to pick out the most humiliating, embarrassing collar he can find. And a leash. And one of those riding crops used for horses.”
Enzo pulls out his phone, and his fingers fly across the screen as I dictate what I want.
There are many ways to bring a person to their knees, figuratively and literally. I was being honest when I said I didn’t want to break Adalina, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to see her give in to her soft, submissive side. I want to see vulnerability in her eyes. I want to see fear. I want to see love.
This dance with her father is just a minor inconvenience. Adalina belongs to me, and no one will stop me from claiming her.