4. Dante
Dante
I watch with vicious satisfaction as Sara stumbles out of her seat and attempts to stagger past me. She cries out when I snag her wrist and struggles to free herself. Losing patience, I hook her around the waist and hoist her into my lap.
She goes rigid as I press my lips to her fragrant hair. Memories of my fist gripping the strands while I fucked her into the mattress torture my mind.
“Don’t waste your energy. You won’t be leaving without my permission, and I’d advise against doing anything stupid unless you want Jeremy to pay for it.”
I meet her horror-filled cornflower blue eyes with a cruel smile.
“Where’s Jeremy?” Her nails dig into my forearms. If only she realized that her violence stirs my cock. “What did you do to him?”
“Nothing yet.” I retrieve my phone and unlock the screen, not bothering to hide my passcode. She’s not in a position to take advantage of that information anyway. “And I wouldn’t hurt one of my employees unless you gave me reason to.”
As soon as Jeremy walks into the video’s frame, Sara snatches my phone from my hand.
Her nose nearly touches the screen as her brother conducts his site rounds and performs environmental checks to ensure our data systems are operating flawlessly.
Grunt work, really, but my CEO, Patrick Leone, told me the boy was tickled pink when I awarded him the lead.
So easy to please.
Almost too easy.
I savor Sara’s new expression of wide-eyed devastation. “You…you own SilverTech? It’s your company? You hired Jeremy because he’s my brother?”
I’ve waited years to witness her agony, and I find the sight just as satisfying as I’d hoped.
At my Cheshire cat grin, horrified comprehension dawns on her pretty face.
“What do you want from me?” The fight drains out of her all at once, and her head starts to droop, probably as much from hopelessness as the drugs in her vodka cranberry. “Why are you doing this?”
Gritting my teeth against the surge of fury, I track a tear that trickles down her cheekbone before lapping it up with my tongue. I envision wrapping my hands around the delicate skin of her slim throat.
My lip curls. “The time for pretending is long gone, but maybe if you apologize for your actions, I can pretend to forgive you.”
I almost believe her outraged gasp is real. “Forgive me? Why on earth would you need to forgive me? You’re the one who betrayed us.”
Succumbing to the fantasy, my hand closes around her throat. “I’d be very careful with what you say right now, tesoro,” I whisper. “I could choke you to death, and no one would ever know.”
To demonstrate, I compress her soft flesh, and the frantic flutter of her pulse beneath my fingers heats my blood.
Her nails rake my hands, but I wait until the panic bleeds through her expression before reluctantly releasing my grip.
She splutters, wheezing for air. “Are you…are you going to kill him?”
I growl at the disbelief and pain clouding her gaze. How dare she. I want to throttle her again, to pin her to the table like a dead butterfly. Anything to remind her that she’s the one who betrayed me, and I’m just returning the favor.
“Not if you behave. Besides, I don’t have to kill Jeremy to hurt him. SilverTech is my company. Not only can I have him fired, I can also ensure he’s blackballed from the industry for the rest of his life.”
When comprehension sinks in, her voice breaks. “You wouldn’t—”
“I would.” I grab her chin gently, in a parody of a lover’s touch. “Unless, of course, you cooperate.”
A beat passes before her shoulders slump, and the show of defeat sparks new life in me. I knew this would be good…just not this fucking good.
With a final warning squeeze, I let her climb off my lap. She can’t run from me. Not with the drugs fully kicking in, and not when Jeremy’s future is at stake.
I used to believe she was so damn earnest. So genuine. Instead, I learned her mask is as deceptive as the Council’s and twice as terrible. I refuse to feel sorry for this viper. Not when she always played sweet and innocent, only to stab me in the back and sell me out to my torturers.
Gregor reappears. His brow knits as he inspects Sara, and my hands ball into fists over his silent concern. Whenever I go out, I bring a cadre of guards with me, and Gregor’s one of my favorites.
That may change if he continues regarding Sara with that revolting glimmer of sympathy.
“Let’s go.” I rise, forcing Gregor to stumble back.
Dazed, Sara reaches for my outstretched hand and misses. She loses her balance, but I steady her and lead us to the club’s private elevator, pressing my palm to her lower back as we descend.
The former easiness between us has disappeared, and she attempts to cringe away from my touch. Regret opens a temporary chasm in the center of my chest before I banish the foolish notion.
Revenge. That’s the name of this game.
A punishment Sara has earned in spades.
As we cross over the threshold into the cool night air, her walking grows more uncoordinated. Once we hit the alleyway, I wrench her arm up behind her back.
Sara curses me through gritted teeth as I direct her toward my waiting car and shove her inside. As soon as I slam the door behind her, she tries to let herself out again. Her muffled, frustrated scream is like music to my ears.
Child locks for the win.
When I climb in, Sara clumsily launches herself at me. I savor the stench of her fear as I trap her slender wrists in one hand.
Burying my nose in her neck, I chuckle as she pants against me.
“I want you to fight, but don’t piss me off, coniglietta. You haven’t seen the worst of me yet. Besides, all that squirming is only turning me on.” Sara freezes, but I don’t release her until she goes lax. “Wise.”
I pull her seat belt across her chest and buckle her in. Her bottom lip trembles, and I wonder if she knows how much danger she’s in.
Her breathing slows. “Somethin’s wrong. I don feel good.”
I flash a predatory grin as we accelerate out of the parking lot. “That’s the drugs. You’ve been fighting the effects for a while, but it was always a losing battle.”
“Y-you drugged me?”
Not just me, but I don’t bother clarifying. She slumps a moment later, her head lolling against the window while we weave through traffic.
I’m glad she’s not awake to see my hand trembling.
My townhouse on the Upper East Side, one of many properties I own in the city, happens to be my favorite. I steer my Alfa Romeo Guilia Quadrifoglio into the small garage and scoop Sara up into my arms.
She twitches when I kick the door shut, and I find myself studying her face for a beat too long. Tracing the way her lashes fan her cheekbones…the lush sweep of her mouth…
A clack on the cement snaps me back to reality, where I find Pistol wriggling through the dog door and bounding over, her tail wagging. “Cazzo.” I shake my leg when my German Shepard jumps up in an attempt to sniff the unfamiliar woman in my arms. “Pistol, off!”
She whines but obeys, allowing me to remain unmolested as I approach the elevator I installed during renovations several years ago. “Good girl. Come.”
This time, I soften my tone so she knows she’s not in trouble, and she practically races inside. As the elevator doors slide shut, I fight the urge to smile at the sight of her tongue lolling out in satisfaction.
What is it about dogs and women and this type of praise?
No one looking at Pistol would suspect she once worked with the NYPD K9 unit before she was medically retired after an eye injury, and for the thousandth time since I adopted her, I wonder if I should ditch her with Marco and start over again with a more vicious breed.
After another few wags of her tail, I dismiss the idea yet again.
I use my elbow to stab the button to the basement, and the elevator groans as we descend.
At five floors, my townhouse is huge as far as New York real estate goes.
After a massive overhaul to accommodate both my needs and my men’s, my home is equal parts functional and luxurious, with the basement serving as the crown jewel.
When I step through the doors, it’s as if I’ve been transported to an entirely different place. Even for the cool thirty million I paid, this much space is rare. One side hosts an MMA cage for training, and across the way is a state-of-the-art sauna room.
An attached corridor leads to four cells, all constructed with top-of-the-line thirteen-gauge stainless steel, reinforced hollow metal, and heavy-duty steel framing.
High-end, custom-built security cameras—technology created by SilverTech, of course—ensure full coverage from every angle.
Each cell contains a bare-bones metal toilet, mostly because no one wants to deal with emptying buckets of shit and piss.
At the far end of the hallway is an open-air shower for when things get really messy.
My prisoners don’t deserve the privilege of privacy.
Fluorescent lights flicker overhead as I stride past the first three cells to the fourth, the one containing the manacle I installed for my new guest. She stirs in my arms as I punch in the code and open the heavy door, her face twisting in her sleep.
I carry her to the back of her cell, where a thin cot will be her only source of comfort, and dump her onto it unceremoniously. The drugs in her system should knock her out for hours yet.
I secure the cold metal around her neck, allowing the clink of the locking mechanism to ease my rising anxiety.
She’s here, and she’s trapped, forced into an uncomfortable position by the position of the bolts and chain.
And mine to deal with however I choose.
For two heartbeats, my conscience pricks me. I recall our effortless conversation earlier tonight and the quiet laughter we shared. If I let go of my desire to punish her, could we return to how it used to be? Could we pretend?
A foolish part of me wants to do just that. Yearns to forgive and forget what she did so long as it means I have my Sara again.
I growl, pissed off by my momentary weakness. No. Sara played a role in my captivity. The love I once believed she felt for me was nothing but a convenient lie.
With no one watching, I cave to the urge that’s ridden me since I saw her on the street this afternoon. Crouching down, I capture her mouth with my own and bite hard enough on her plump bottom lip to draw blood.
Even in her incoherent state, Sara tries to jerk away, but I trap the back of her head and lave the wound clean with my tongue.
The taste of copper floods my mouth, and I release her again with reluctance. The pretty red lipstick from earlier smears her mouth and cheek like a scarlet letter.
“Better.”
The door slams shut as I exit. The automatic locks engage.
I walk away with extra pep in my step.
The other men, the ones who imprisoned me, who tortured me with grins on their faces…
I took my time with them.
Even so, their punishment will have nothing on the bitch who betrayed me.