Chapter 5

The skyscrapers looked like a spread of untouched jewels from behind the glass walls of Leonard Virelli’s apartment. But to Dante, the beauty was an illusion. Inside this vast, silent room, the air felt static—stifling with the masculine scent of sandalwood and an oppressive luxury.

Dante stood frozen at the edge of the king-sized bed covered in dark gray silk sheets. He was still wearing the white shirt Leonard had given him—fabric so smooth it almost felt nonexistent, yet somehow it weighed on his skin like iron chains. His heart pounded wildly, an uneven rhythm echoing loudly in his ears.

He tried to convince himself that this was only part of an act. Maybe Leonard was just lonely. Maybe the man simply needed someone to listen to his ambitions, or perhaps just a dinner companion to fill the emptiness on his throne of power. But every second that passed in the silence only eroded that fragile hope.

The bedroom door opened with a soft click that sounded like an explosion in Dante’s ears.

Leonard entered. He had taken off his suit jacket, leaving only a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the veins along his strong arms. His eyes—cold as ice beneath the dim lights—locked immediately onto Dante. There was no smile. No warm greeting. Only the gaze of a predator evaluating its prey.

“You’re still standing there,” Leonard said, his voice low and echoing through the spacious room.

Dante swallowed, his throat dry as a desert.

“I… I was waiting for you. I thought maybe we would… talk? About my mother’s treatment schedule tomorrow?”

Leonard walked closer. Every step carried a terrifying certainty. He stopped directly in front of Dante, forcing the young man to look up. The scent of expensive alcohol and refined tobacco was now unmistakable.

“Talk?” Leonard repeated with disdain. A short, cold laugh escaped his lips.

“Dante, you are incredibly naive. I paid billions for your mother’s operation not to listen to you talk about your day.”

Leonard’s hand moved—slow but certain—pinching Dante’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. The grip wasn’t painful, but it carried an authority that made Dante afraid to move even an inch.

“You’re here because of a transaction,” Leonard continued, his voice now slithering near Dante’s ear like a devil’s whisper. “I saved your mother’s life, and in return, you handed over your life—your body—to me. You belong to me now. Property of Leonard Virelli.”

The word property struck Dante in the chest. It felt as if his dignity had just been stripped away in front of this man.

“But… I thought this was a role… as a partner…”

“You are my partner,” Leonard cut in, his fingers now trailing down Dante’s neck, pressing lightly against the racing pulse beneath his skin. “A partner in my bed. A partner who will satisfy every desire I have when I come home with my hands dirty from the outside world. I don’t need your opinions or your voice. I need your obedience.”

Leonard gently pushed Dante until he sat on the soft edge of the bed. Dante felt his body trembling violently. He tried to think of his mother’s face—her smile as she slept peacefully in the best hospital, unaware that her son was surrendering the last remnants of his pride in this place.

“Take off your clothes,” Leonard ordered flatly.

Dante froze.

“Leonard, please… I’m not ready yet. Can we do this slowly?”

Leonard’s gaze sharpened. The faint softness that had briefly existed vanished completely.

“I don’t like repeating orders, Dante. Don’t make me remind you how much your mother’s life costs every time I want you.”

With violently trembling hands, Dante began unbuttoning his shirt one by one. Every inch of skin exposed to the cool air of the room made him feel increasingly naked and fragile. It felt as though he was stripping away his own humanity. When the shirt fell to the floor, he lowered his head, unable to meet the man’s eyes.

Leonard stood there, observing every curve of Dante’s body with an undisguised hunger. He enjoyed the fear radiating from the young man. To him, Dante was not merely an outlet for desire—Dante was a trophy of his power. Someone he had broken so he could rebuild him exactly as he wished.

“Look at me,” Leonard ordered again.

Dante lifted his pale face. Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes, but he held them back with all his strength. He didn’t want to appear weaker than he already was, though he knew it was impossible.

Leonard stepped closer and climbed onto the bed, trapping Dante beneath his shadow. His large hand pressed against Dante’s chest, feeling the wildly racing heart beneath.

“Are you afraid of me?”

“Yes,” Dante whispered honestly.

“Good.” Leonard grinned—an expression that looked both incredibly handsome and terrifying. “Your fear makes it feel more real. But remember this, Dante… if you can satisfy me, if you can serve me well tonight and on the nights that follow, your mother will continue living in the best facility money can buy. But if you disappoint me…”

Leonard didn’t need to finish the sentence. The threat hung in the air, more real than the luxury surrounding them.

That night became a silent witness for Dante to what it truly meant to belong to someone. There was no romance. No gentle whispers of love. There was only harsh domination and relentless demands. Leonard took whatever he wanted from Dante, treating the young man as though he were an instrument designed solely for his pleasure.

Dante tried to close his eyes, tried to send his mind far away from the room. He imagined himself in a flower garden, or back in the small house he once had, laughing with his mother. But every touch from Leonard, every weight of the man’s body pressing down on him, dragged him back to the bitter reality.

He had to serve.

He had to satisfy.

Every time he felt the urge to scream or push the man away, he remembered the heart monitor in the hospital. He remembered the endless medical bills. And so he surrendered. He let Leonard take control of him, allowing himself to become a lifeless object beneath the mafia’s command.

Several hours later, when everything was over, Leonard rose from the bed with a cold expression of satisfaction. He walked toward the bathroom without another glance at Dante, who lay curled on the now-disheveled sheets.

Dante pulled the blanket over his aching body, bruised in several places. He stared at the high ceiling of the room, feeling empty. The tears he had been holding back finally fell, soaking the expensive silk pillow.

He had saved his mother.

His mother’s life was now safe.