Chapter 12 Renato
I'm what, Renato?
The question hangs between us like a loaded gun, and for a moment I can't answer. She's standing there in that obscene white dress that shows every curve of her body, her dark eyes daring me to admit something I'm not ready to face.
What is she?
She's supposed to be collateral. Merchandise. A means to an end.
But Christ, after watching her strip with deliberate defiance, after seeing her model those dresses like she was challenging me to break, she's become something else entirely.
Something that's making me lose my fucking mind.
"You're..." The words stick in my throat because saying them gives her power I can't afford to hand over.
"I'm waiting," she says softly, and there's something almost vulnerable in her voice despite the fire in her eyes.
Or maybe I’m imagining things I want to see.
She thinks she's found a crack in my armor, thinks her little seduction show has made me soft. Time to remind her exactly who she's dealing with.
"You're my property," I say roughly, my grip tightening on her shoulders. "Mine to do with as I please."
Something flickers in her expression, not the victory I expected, but something sharper. "Your property?"
"That's right. And property doesn't ask questions about its value or its fate. Property exists to serve its owner's needs."
"And what exactly are your needs, Renato?"
She thinks she can seduce her way out of this situation. Use her body to make me forget what she really is.
"My need," I say, backing her toward the bed, "is to ensure my merchandise is properly prepared for sale. And after that little performance, I think it's time for a more... hands-on approach to your training."
Her eyes widen slightly, but she doesn't back down. "Hands-on how?"
"You wanted to know what these buyers expect from you. What they'll demand." I stop when her legs hit the edge of the bed. "I think it's time for a practical real-life demonstration."
"You're going to touch me."
"I'm going to evaluate you. Thoroughly." My hand moves to her throat, fingers wrapping around the delicate column just firmly enough to make my point. "Because if I'm going to get top dollar for you, I need to understand exactly what I'm selling. Isn’t that what you said?"
Her pulse hammers against my fingertips, but her gaze never wavers. "And you’re going to pretend this is purely professional?"
"Everything I do is professional." The lie tastes bitter, but I force it out anyway. "You're a business investment, Camilla. Nothing more. Don’t ever forget that."
"Liar."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me. Your breathing is uneven. Your pupils are blown." Her voice drops to a whisper. "This isn't professional evaluation. This is desire, and it's eating you alive."
"You think you know me?"
"I think you want me so badly it's driving you insane. I think watching me strip for you just now made you harder than you've been in years."
She's not wrong, and that's what makes her so dangerous. But I didn't build an empire by letting pretty women manipulate me with sex and psychology.
"What I want," I say, my thumb pressing against her pulse point, "is irrelevant. What matters is business. And that says you go to the highest bidder if your families don’t pay."
"Even if that bidder is Kozlov? Even if he destroys me completely?"
The thought of Viktor Kozlov's hands on her skin makes me murderous, but I force it down. "That's not my concern."
"Isn't it? Because you seem very concerned with my... condition." Her hand moves to cover mine where it rests against her throat. "Tell me, when you imagine Kozlov taking me for the first time, how does that make you feel?"
"I won’t give it a thought once you leave here."
"Try again. You’re still lying."
The challenge in her voice breaks my last thread of control. I spin her around and pin her against the wall, my body caging her in, my face inches from hers.
"You want to know how it makes me feel? It makes me want to kill him with my bare hands. It makes me want to burn down everything I've built just to keep you from him."
"Then why—"
"Because wanting something doesn't mean you can have it.
" I lean close enough that she can feel my breath against her skin.
"Because I'm not some horny fool who throws away millions of euros for a woman, no matter how beautiful she is. In my world, you don’t let feelings dictate business decisions. "
"So, you'll just hand me over? Let them break me?"
"I'll sell you to whoever pays the most. What happens after that isn't my concern."
"And until then?" she whispers.
"Until then, you're mine to prepare however I see fit." My free hand traces down her side, feeling the silk slide against her skin. "And I'm starting to think your preparation needs to be much more... comprehensive."
"Meaning?"
"These buyers don't just want to see you in pretty dresses. They want to know you're properly trained. Responsive. Experienced enough to please them."
Understanding dawns in her eyes. "You want to try me out yourself."
"I want to ensure the merchandise is everything I'm promising it is." My hand settles on her hip, thumb brushing against bare skin where the dress rides up. "Consider it quality control."
"Quality control." She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Is that what you're calling it?"
"That's what it is."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then you go to auction unprepared, and unprepared women don't survive long with men like Kozlov." I let that sink in. "But if you cooperate, your survival odds improve significantly."
She's quiet for a long moment, processing the implicit threat. When she speaks again, her voice is steady despite the situation.
"What kind of cooperation are we talking about?"
"The kind that ensures you know exactly how to please a man. How to respond to his touch. How to make him believe you want everything he's doing to you." My thumb traces along her collarbone. "Some of these lessons can only be taught through practical application."
"You want to fuck me."
I force my expression to remain neutral. "I want to ensure you're properly trained for your new role. If that requires intimate instruction, then that's what it requires."
"How noble of you. Sacrificing yourself for the sake of my education."
"Mock me all you want. But remember—I'm offering you survival skills. Turn me down, and you face these men completely unprepared."
She studies my face for a long moment, looking for cracks. Finding none.
"And this training... when would it begin?"
"Now."
I see her weighing her options, calculating risks and benefits.
"Fine," she says finally. "Teach me. Show me what these men will expect from me."
"Just like that?"
"Yes." She meets my eyes directly. "But understand something, Renato—if you're going to touch me, if you're going to claim the right to my body in the name of training, then you're going to have to face what that does to you."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means every time you put your hands on me, every time you show me how to please a man, you're going to remember that soon you'll be giving me to someone else. You're going to have to live with the knowledge that you prepared me for another man's pleasure. And that you’ll never touch me again."
The psychological warfare in her words is masterful, and we both know it. She's turning my own desire against me, making every touch a form of torture.
"I can handle whatever this training requires."
"Can you? Because I don't think you realize what you're signing up for." She moves closer, eliminating the last inches between us. "I think you're about to discover that some things are much harder to give away once you've claimed them."
"Is that supposed to be a threat?"
"It’s a promise."
I stare down at her, this infuriating, brilliant, dangerous woman who somehow keeps turning the tables on me, and realize I'm walking into a trap of my own making.
But Christ help me, I'm going to walk into it anyway. Because I can’t walk away.
"Lesson one," I say, my voice rough with need I can't quite hide. "Submission isn't about being broken. It's about choosing to give control to someone who knows how to use it."
"Show me."
The two words are all the invitation I need. My hands move to the straps of her dress, and I slide them off her shoulders.
"The first thing you need to understand," I murmur against her ear, "is that your body belongs to whoever owns you. Every curve, every response, every breath. It's all theirs to command."
The white silk pools at her feet, leaving her naked before me. She doesn't try to cover herself, doesn't show shame or fear. Just stands there like a goddess accepting worship from a mortal.
"And right now," I continue, my hands mapping the smooth expanse of her skin, "your body belongs to me."
"Does it?"
"Yes." My fingers trace along her collarbone, down between her breasts, watching her breathing hitch. "Until I sell you, every part of you is mine to explore. Mine to train. Mine to prepare for the men who'll own you next."
"Show me more," she whispers, and I hear the challenge beneath the submission.