Chapter Nine
Caterina
Three days of conservative blouses and controlled schedules gave me plenty of time to learn the patterns.
The security guards rotated every four hours.
Camera feeds were likely monitored, but between two and two-fifteen every afternoon, one guard took a smoke break on the roof while his replacement was still checking in with the day shift.
Fifteen minutes of lighter surveillance. Not perfect, but enough.
I’d been planning this since the morning Dante had stripped me out of the red dress.
Since the moment I’d realized exactly how controlled my life would be under his roof.
Papa had controlled my future. Dante controlled my present.
But for fifteen minutes every afternoon, neither of them would control shit.
The staff uniform had been almost too easy to steal.
The housekeeper left her spare in the laundry room while she worked upstairs.
I’d taken it two days ago, hidden it in the back of my closet behind the conservative clothes Dante approved of.
A simple black dress and white apron. Nothing that would draw attention from anyone who didn’t look closely.
On the third day, at exactly 1:55 p.m., I told Dante’s assistant I was taking a bath. She’d noted it on her tablet -- because apparently my bathing schedule needed to be documented -- and left me alone in my room.
I locked the bedroom door and moved quickly. Stripped out of that day’s approved outfit -- a dove gray dress that made me look like I was attending a funeral -- and pulled on the stolen uniform. Pinned my hair up under a cap. No makeup to draw attention. Nothing that would make me memorable.
The service elevator was tucked behind a door I’d discovered during my explorations. Not locked -- why would it be? Staff needed access. I slipped into the hallway at 2:03, moved past the camera positioned at the main elevator with my head down, and reached the service door at 2:05.
My hands shook as I pulled it open. The stairwell beyond was concrete and utilitarian, nothing like the luxury of the penthouse proper. Emergency lighting cast everything in a sickly yellow glow.
I found the service elevator at the bottom of one flight of stairs. Hit the button and waited while my heart tried to hammer its way out of my chest. Fifteen minutes. I had fifteen minutes before someone checked on me. Before Dante reviewed the camera feeds and saw what I’d done.
The elevator arrived with a soft ding that sounded impossibly loud in the concrete stairwell. I stepped inside and hit the button for the ground floor, then spent the descent watching the numbers count down and trying to remember how to breathe.
Forty-three. Forty-two. Forty-one.
This was insane. Completely insane. If I got caught -- when I got caught, because let’s be honest, Dante would find me -- the consequences would be severe. He’d promised as much. Test me again, and the punishment won’t be so gentle.
Thirty-one. Thirty. Twenty-nine.
But I couldn’t stay in that penthouse another day without doing something. Without proving to myself that I still had some control over my own life. Even if that control lasted only minutes before it was stripped away again.
Fifteen. Fourteen. Thirteen.
I tried not to think about how much time had already passed. Would he realize I was missing before I’d even escaped the building?
Twelve. Eleven. Ten.
The elevator continued then slowed. Stopped.
The doors opened onto a service corridor below the first floor that smelled like cleaning supplies and employee cafeteria food.
I stepped out on legs that felt like water and forced myself to walk normally.
Not running. Not drawing attention. Just another staff member heading home from her shift.
I passed a security guard who barely glanced up from his phone. Walked through a break room where two women in housekeeping uniforms were eating lunch. Neither paid me any attention. Out the employee exit and into the alley behind the building, afternoon sunlight hitting my face like a blessing.
I’d done it. I’d actually fucking done it.
The high-end shopping district was six blocks away.
I walked fast but not too fast, keeping my head down until I was several streets over.
Then I ducked into a boutique bathroom and changed -- stripped off the uniform and stuffed it in the trash, pulled down the skintight dress I’d slipped on under the uniform, finger-combed my hair out from under the cap, and pinched my cheeks for color.
The woman staring back at me in the mirror looked wild. Free. Like someone who’d just escaped from prison, which wasn’t far from the truth.
I found a café and ordered an espresso I didn’t want just to sit somewhere that wasn’t forty-three floors up. Watched people pass on the street -- normal people living normal lives, none of them trapped in arrangements with men who controlled their wardrobes.
By the time I left and found a bar, I’d been free for almost two hours. The sun was starting its descent, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. The bar was upscale without being pretentious -- leather booths, dim lighting, a bartender who looked like he’d heard every story twice.
“Macallan 18,” I told him. “Neat.”
The scotch burned exactly right. I ordered another.
The man who slid onto the barstool next to me was attractive in that generic way wealthy men often were -- good haircut, expensive watch, confident smile. “That’s some serious scotch.”
“It’s been a serious week.” I took another sip, feeling the alcohol warm my chest. Feeling free in a way I hadn’t since I’d agreed to Dante’s terms.
“Let me guess.” He signaled the bartender for his own drink. “Bad breakup?”
“Something like that.” I turned to face him more fully, letting him see the dress, the bare shoulders, the woman who wasn’t wearing conservative blouses and demure smiles. “I’m celebrating my escape.”
“From?”
“Everything.” I laughed, and it felt good. Genuine. Like maybe I could still be the person I’d been before the contracts and arrangements and cages. “From expectations. From control. From --”
A hand closed around my elbow. Firm. Familiar.
My blood went cold.
“Enjoy yourself?” Dante’s voice was quiet. Conversational. Absolutely terrifying in its calm.
The man next to me glanced between us, his expression shifting from interested to wary in the span of a heartbeat. Smart man. He could probably sense the danger radiating off Dante like heat.
“I was just --” the stranger started.
“Leaving.” Dante didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t need to. “Now.”
The stranger left. So did several other patrons near enough to feel the shift in atmosphere. The bartender suddenly became very interested in cleaning glasses at the far end of the bar.
I turned on my barstool to face Dante, my pulse hammering so hard I felt dizzy. He looked exactly as he had this morning -- perfectly tailored suit, perfectly controlled expression. Nothing about him suggested rage or violence. He could have been meeting me for drinks we’d planned weeks ago.
Except for his eyes. His eyes were cold enough to freeze blood.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t find you?” He kept his hand on my elbow, his grip just firm enough to make his point. “That I wouldn’t have every street camera in this district monitored? That I’d simply let you walk out of my home without consequence?”
My mouth had gone dry. I reached for my scotch with my free hand, but Dante moved it out of reach with his other hand.
“No more drinks for you.” He pulled me off the barstool with controlled force, not rough enough to cause a scene but firm enough that I had no choice but to follow. “We need to have a conversation. In private.”
The bar had a back room, one of those spaces reserved for VIP patrons or private parties. Dante led me toward it now, past the few remaining customers who were suddenly very interested in their drinks.
He opened the door and guided me inside. The room was small. Leather couch, low table, dim lighting. Expensive and intimate in a way that made my stomach clench.
Dante closed the door behind us. The lock clicked into place.
I heard that sound and felt every bit of my temporary freedom evaporate, replaced by the cold certainty of what came next.
I’d escaped, had been free for almost three hours. And now I was going to pay for every single second of it.
Dante circled me slowly, his footsteps measured against the hardwood floor of the private room. I pressed my back against the wall, tracking his movement while my heart tried to break through my ribs. He’d removed his suit jacket, draped it over the back of the leather couch.
“You broke our agreement.” His voice stayed level, conversational even. That made it worse somehow. “We established rules. You accepted them. And today you decided those rules didn’t apply to you.”
“I needed --”
“You needed nothing.” He stopped in front of me, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. “You wanted. You wanted to test me. To see if I’d really enforce the terms we’d negotiated. Well, Caterina, now you’ll learn what happens when you disobey.”
His hand moved to my throat -- not squeezing, just resting there, his thumb against my pulse point where my heartbeat hammered frantically. “Take off the dress.”
I swallowed against his palm. “Dante --”
“Now. Or I’ll do it for you, and I won’t be gentle about it.”
My hands shook as I reached for the zipper at my side. I pulled the zipper down with fingers that wouldn’t cooperate, let the fabric slide off my shoulders and pool at my feet.
I stood before him in just my underwear -- black lace I’d worn because it made me feel powerful, desirable, in control. Now it felt like nothing. Less than nothing.
Dante’s gaze traveled over my exposed skin with clinical assessment. Not desire. Not yet. Just cataloging what was his.
“The bra. The panties. Everything off.”