Chapter Five – Selena

The door clicked shut again after Dante left, and silence swallowed the room whole.

I stood by the window, my fists clenched so tight my nails bit into my palms. I’d failed. He’d caught me like a hunter snaring prey, and now he was circling me—watching, waiting, enjoying every ounce of my fury.

But I wasn’t broken. Not yet.

I needed another plan. A smarter one.

I moved through the suite, studying every corner. The windows were reinforced—bulletproof glass, steel locks. The door, too, would be impossible to pick. Every cage was designed with care, and Dante Moretti had given me the finest.

But cages always had cracks.

A soft knock broke the silence. My heart jumped. Slowly, I opened the door just a crack, expecting him. But it wasn’t Dante.

It was a maid. Younger than me, her dark hair tied back, eyes flicking nervously to the hall before darting toward me. She slipped a tray of food inside, her voice low. “Signora…”

My stomach clenched at the word. Wife.

When her gaze lifted, there was pity in it. Pity—and fear.

“You don’t have to call me that,” I whispered.

Her lips parted, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she set the tray down and turned to leave. Desperate, I caught her wrist. She froze.

“Please,” I whispered, my grip tight. “Help me. Just tell me who I can trust in this house.”

Her eyes darted to the door, then back to me. “No one.” Her voice was trembling, but her words carried weight. “Not the guards. Not the staff. Everyone answers to him.”

Dante.

My chest tightened, but I refused to let the despair win. If there were no cracks in his fortress, I would make my own.

Before the maid slipped out, she leaned closer, her voice even lower. “Careful, signora. He doesn’t just cage. He consumes.”

The warning sent a chill straight through me.

I sank onto the bed after she left, staring at the untouched tray of food. I wasn’t afraid of cages. I wasn’t afraid of hunger. I was afraid of the slow, insidious pull Dante already had over me.

The way his voice slipped into my veins. The way his touch burned even when I hated him. The way part of me almost wanted him to chase me.

No. I couldn’t afford that weakness.

I would find a way out. Or I would die trying.

Dante POV

I’d built this house to be a fortress. Not just of stone and steel, but of loyalty.

Every guard, every maid, every driver—handpicked, trained, bound to me by fear or favor.

Selena thought she could bribe her way out, slip through cracks I’d already sealed.

She underestimated me.

She wasn’t the first woman to try.

But she was the first I wanted to keep.

At breakfast, I reviewed reports from my men. Her driver—the one she’d bribed—was gone. His family already on a plane to Palermo, a warning delivered in silence. No more leaks. No more cracks.

My orders were simple: watch her, but don’t touch her. No one laid a hand on my wife but me.

When I returned to the suite, she was pacing like a caged tigress, her black hair wild around her face, her eyes sparking when they met mine. She stopped, arms folded across her chest.

“You had my driver removed,” she accused.

I raised a brow. “You mean your driver. The one you bought behind my back.”

Her lips parted, surprise flickering before she masked it with a glare. “You think this proves you’re stronger? All it proves is that you’re terrified.”

I stepped closer, slow and deliberate. “Do I look terrified, moglie?”

She held her ground, though her pulse fluttered in her throat. “Yes. You’re terrified of a woman you can’t control.”

The truth in her words cut, but it also thrilled me. She was right. And I craved it.

I brushed a strand of hair from her face, my knuckles grazing her cheek. She flinched but didn’t step back. Brave. Reckless. Mine.

“I don’t want to control you, Selena,” I said softly, though the steel in my tone left no room for doubt. “I want to break you. There’s a difference.”

Her breath caught. Anger. Fear. Desire. I couldn’t tell which. Maybe all three.

Before she could answer, I stepped back, leaving her trembling in silence.

Let her rage. Let her plot. Let her run again.

Every move she made only wove her tighter into my hands.