Chapter Four – Selena

His grip on me was iron, his breath hot against my temple as he dragged me back through the corridor. My heels scraped the floor, my body thrashing against his like a wild thing refusing the leash.

But Dante Moretti didn’t flinch. Didn’t slow. Didn’t care that I clawed his chest hard enough to draw blood. He carried me as though I weighed nothing, like I was already his—body and soul.

Humiliation scorched through me. Not because I’d failed. No, I could live with failure. I’d live and try again. What I couldn’t stomach was the way he looked at me when he ripped the knife from my hand. Like he knew me. Like he had already won.

He pushed open the door to our suite and shoved me inside. I stumbled forward, catching myself on the edge of the bed before spinning around to face him. My chest heaved, my hair tumbled wild, but my eyes burned like coals.

“You think you can keep me?” I spat. “You think a ring and your arrogance make me yours?”

He shut the door behind him with a quiet click. That sound was more terrifying than a slam. Calm. Controlled. Dangerous.

“You’re right,” he said, loosening his tie with deliberate slowness. “A ring doesn’t make you mine.” His gaze locked on me, sharp as a blade. “But your fear will. Your fight will. Every piece of you that burns—I’ll take it until there’s nothing left but ash.”

A shiver ran down my spine. Not from fear. Never fear. From fury. From something hotter that I refused to name.

I lifted my chin. “I will never belong to you.”

He crossed the room in two strides, catching my jaw in his hand. His thumb pressed against my chin, tilting my face up to meet his. His eyes were fire and ice all at once.

“You already do,” he whispered.

The words seared through me like a brand. For a terrifying heartbeat, I almost believed him. Almost felt the inevitability of it, like chains sliding into place.

But I wasn’t done. Not yet.

I shoved his hand away, my voice sharp as broken glass. “Enjoy your victory tonight, Dante. Because I swear to God, the first chance I get—I’ll cut your throat in your sleep.”

Silence stretched. For a second, I thought he’d strike me. Instead, he smiled. A slow, cruel smile that promised war.

“Good,” he murmured. “Stay sharp, moglie. A dull blade is no fun to play with.”

And then he turned, poured himself a drink, and left me standing there trembling—not with fear, but with rage so potent it burned in my veins like fire.

One day, I swore, I’d make him choke on his certainty.

One day, Dante Moretti would regret ever putting a ring on my finger.

Dante POV

I woke before dawn. Not from habit. From instinct.

A man doesn’t sleep deeply when he shares a roof with a woman who swears she’ll slit his throat.

Selena hadn’t tried again in the night. I knew because I’d listened to every shift of her body in the sheets, every sharp breath when she thought I was asleep. She hated me with a purity I’d almost forgotten existed. And God, I admired it.

Most women bent quickly under pressure. A raised voice. A threat. A gift wrapped in velvet. But not her. She met every weapon with fire, every chain with teeth.

Which made me want her even more.

I left her in the suite, locking the door behind me. Not that it mattered. She’d already proven she was resourceful—bribing drivers, forging passports, hiding knives in wedding gowns. Clever. Bold. But she’d also proven she wasn’t clever enough.

That would be the key. Breaking her spirit without extinguishing that fire. Taming her, but never dulling her.

At breakfast, my father studied me over black coffee. “Did she run?”

I smirked. “Of course.”

“And?”

“She learned.”

He shook his head, muttering something in Italian about reckless women and stubborn sons. But I wasn’t reckless. I was patient. I understood games, and Selena Cruz was the most dangerous game I’d ever played.

Later, I returned to our suite. She was standing by the window, sunlight spilling over her like gold over steel. She didn’t turn when I entered, but her reflection glared at me through the glass.

“You locked me in,” she said.

“You tried to run,” I replied simply.

Her shoulders stiffened. “So this is my life now? A cage?”

I walked toward her, slow, deliberate. “No. Not a cage.” I stopped just behind her, close enough that the heat of her body teased mine. “A battlefield. And you’re standing on the wrong side.”

Her eyes snapped to mine in the reflection, fury crackling in their depths.

I leaned closer, my voice a promise and a threat. “The sooner you understand you belong to me, Selena, the sooner this war between us will stop costing you.”

She turned sharply then, facing me fully, chin raised like a queen in defiance. “And the sooner you understand I’ll never be yours, the sooner you’ll stop underestimating me.”

For a moment, silence stretched—thick, heavy, electric. Then, slowly, I smiled.

“Good,” I murmured. “Keep fighting.”

Because the truth was, I didn’t want her surrender. Not yet.

What I wanted was to watch her burn.