Bound To The Devil's contract

The rain hit the floor-to-ceiling glass like gunfire.

Inside the top-floor office of the Alighieri estate, the air was thick with mahogany, expensive cologne, and rain. Outside, the city bled red and gold through the storm.

But the storm outside was nothing compared to what was happening in this room.

“Tick-tock, Elena.”

The voice made the hairs on my neck stand up.

Dante Alighieri still hadn’t looked at me. He was pouring whiskey. Two fingers. No ice. His charcoal suit jacket shifted, and I caught the black ink of a snake crawling up his throat.

He was lethal. The kind of handsome that belonged on a wanted poster.

Sharp jaw. Dark hair slicked back. Eyes like a winter storm.

And zero warmth in them.

“I don’t have all night,” he said.

My hands were fists under the desk so he wouldn’t see them shake.

In front of me: a thick stack of cream paper. One signature line at the bottom.

My brother’s life under it.

“The transfer,” I said. I forced my voice to stay steady. “I want your word.”

Dante finally looked up.

“My word is absolute,” he said, calm. Too calm. “The moment your name is dry on that marriage certificate, Leo becomes an Alighieri asset. My guards will pull him from general population tonight. Private medical wing by morning. Rossi’s men won’t breathe near his cell without my permission.”

He slid a heavy silver fountain pen across the mahogany desk. It stopped in front of me.

“But if you walk out that door?” He leaned back. “Then we have a problem. Prison riots happen. Tragic accidents.”

He smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes.

A wave of nausea rolled through me. It wasn’t a choice. It was an execution with a bow on it.

Leo’s face flashed in my head. 18. Terrified. In a cell because my father ran and left us with millions in blood debt.

Then Julian. Green eyes. Safe. Far away.

_'I can protect you, El.'_

He couldn’t. Not from this.

I reached for the pen. Ice cold against my skin.

My hand shook as I signed.

_Elena Vance._

The second the last letter was done, I threw it.

The pen hit his chest with a dull thud and clattered onto the desk.

“There,” I said, standing. I leaned over his desk, close enough to smell tobacco and that 10k cologne. “You have your prize, Mr. Alighieri. Leo gets transferred tomorrow. If he gets one bruise, I will burn this entire empire to the ground myself.”

Silence.

In this city, people were killed for looking at Dante wrong.

Dante stared at me. Then he let out a low chuckle that vibrated through the room.

He stood.

6'3. Broad shoulders. Power rolling off him in waves. He came around the desk slow, his dress shoes echoing on marble like a death knell.

I didn’t step back. I wouldn’t.

He stopped inches from me. Close enough that I could feel the heat of him.

His hand came up and wrapped around my jaw. Not painful. Just unyielding.

His thumb brushed over my lower lip.

Electricity shot down my spine and I hated my body for it.

“I like the fire in you, Elena,” he murmured. His breath was hot against my ear. “But let’s get one thing straight. You don’t make demands here. You are my wife now. Your body, your breath, your very soul belongs to me. And tonight... I intend to claim my investment.”

I ripped my face from his grip. “I’m a contract,” I spat, chest heaving. “Not an invitation.”

Dante’s eyes darkened. Hungry.

“We’ll see how long that tongue stays sharp.”

He turned and hit the intercom. “Lorenzo.”

The oak door opened instantly. Tall. Scar over his brow. Dante’s shadow.

“Take my wife to the penthouse,” Dante ordered, eyes never leaving me. “Make sure she’s comfortable. Lock the doors from the outside. I don’t want her getting any foolish ideas about running back to her past.”

“Yes, Boss.”

Lorenzo stepped aside. “After you, Mrs. Alighieri.”

That name hit like a physical blow.

I walked out without looking back. Spine straight. Until the heavy doors shut behind me.

---

The SUV was a black, armored coffin. Rain poured down the tinted windows in sheets.

Lorenzo drove in silence. I stared at my phone.

It buzzed.

Unknown number.

> *Julian:* _Elena, where are you? Your apartment is empty. People are saying your dad fled the country. Please tell me you didn’t do anything stupid. Let me help you. I can protect you._

My throat closed.

I deleted it. Blocked the number.

If Dante found out Julian was looking for me, Julian was dead.

To keep him safe, I had to let him think I vanished.

The car pulled into a private underground garage. Private elevator. Straight up.

The doors opened to Dante’s penthouse.

Dark marble. Glass walls. City lights stretching for miles.

It was breathtaking. And it felt exactly like what it was.

A gilded cage.

“The master bedroom is at the end of the hall,” Lorenzo said. “The Don will be home in an hour.”

The elevator doors slid shut.

_Click._

Locked.

I walked down the hall. Bare feet sinking into the plush rug.

The master bedroom was massive. King bed draped in charcoal silk. Floor-to-ceiling windows with rain running down them.

In less than an hour, Dante Alighieri would walk through that door.

To claim me.

My phone buzzed again in my pocket.

Another text. Julian, new number.

> *Julian:* _I know something’s wrong. Please answer me._

My finger hovered over reply.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside.

Slow. Heavy. Deliberate.

The lock on the bedroom door turned.

My blood went cold.

The door opened.

Dante stood there. Suit jacket gone. Sleeves rolled up. Rain still on his shoulders and in his hair.

His stormy eyes found mine across the room.

“Wife,” he said.

The door shut behind him with a soft, final _click_.