Heartless

DANTE'S POV

I watched her struggle with the decision. I watched the tears stream down her face. I watched her look at her pathetic brother on the floor and back at me.

She would sign. They always did when you gave them no other choice.

But something about her face kept pulling at my memory. Something familiar I couldn't quite place.

I'd seen her before. I was certain of it.

Her dark hair. Those wide, terrified eyes. 

Where had I seen her?

The question gnawed at me as I held out the contract. As I counted down. As I watched her break.

Then it hit me. A flash of memory. Buried deep from eight years ago.

A warehouse. Blood on the floor. My men cleaning up a situation that had gone wrong.

And a girl. Young, maybe around eighteen. Standing frozen in the doorway. Her eyes wide with shock as she took in the scene.

A witness. An accidental witness who'd walked in at exactly the wrong moment.

We'd grabbed her before she could run. Brought her to the secure location. I remembered looking at her face. Remembered the fear. The confusion.

She'd been crying and begging saying she didn't see anything. 

And there'd been someone else there that night. Someone important.

My chest tightened. The memory sharpened. 

Isabella.

My wife. My pregnant wife. She was standing beside me as we decided what to do with the witness.

Isabella had been the one to suggest mercy. Had argued that the girl was innocent. Just in the wrong place at the wrong time. That killing her would be unnecessarily cruel.

I'd listened. Against my better judgment, I'd listened because Isabella had that effect on me. Made me softer. Made me consider things like mercy and innocence.

We'd had the girl's memory erased instead. Chemical suppression. 

Then we'd staged her parents' accident. Made sure she had no reason to dig deeper. No reason to remember.

I'd thought that was the end of it. Thought we'd never see her again.

But here she was. Eight years later. Tied to a chair in my penthouse. About to sign away her life because her idiot brother couldn't keep his hands to himself.

The coincidence was too massive to ignore. Out of everyone in Los Angeles, Matteo Santos's sister was the same girl from that night.

Fate had a cruel sense of humor.

I studied her face more carefully now. Looking for signs that she remembered. That the memory suppression had failed.

But I saw nothing. Just fear and desperation. The same fear any woman would feel in her situation.

She didn't remember me. Didn't remember that night. Didn't remember Isabella.

Good. That made things simpler.

"I'll sign." Her voice pulled me back to the present. Broken. Defeated. 

"I'll marry you. Just please don't hurt him. Please don't hurt anyone."

I felt a flicker of something. Not quite satisfaction. Not guilt either. Something in between that I didn't have a name for.

She'd agreed faster than I'd expected. Most people took longer to break.

But Elara Santos had folded almost immediately. Probably because she'd spent eight years taking care of that waste of space on my floor. Probably because she actually loved him despite how worthless he was.

Love made people weak. Made them vulnerable. Made them easy to control.

I'd learned that lesson the hard way.

"Smart choice," I said, keeping my voice neutral.

I moved behind her chair and pulled a knife from my pocket. She tensed immediately, her whole body going rigid with fear.

"Relax. I'm just cutting the ropes."

I sliced through the bindings on her wrists first. Then the ones around her ankles. She didn't move. Just sat there rubbing her wrists where the rope had left red marks.

I set the contract on the desk beside her. Placed a pen next to it.

"Sign at the bottom. Your full legal name and today's date."

She stared at the document like it might bite her. Her hands shook as she picked up the pen.

I waited. Watched her hesitate. Watched her look at her brother one more time.

Then she pressed the pen to paper and signed. 

Just like that, she belonged to me.

I took the contract and examined her signature. Everything was witnessed by my security cameras recording every moment of this conversation.

She couldn't claim coercion later. The footage would show her signing of her own free will. Would show me offering her a choice and her taking it.

The courts wouldn't care about the gun. Wouldn't care about the threats. They'd only see what I wanted them to see.

"Congratulations, Miss Santos." I folded the contract and slipped it back into my jacket. 

"You're now legally bound to become my wife. The ceremony will be held in three days. My people will handle all the arrangements."

She didn't respond. Just sat there staring at her hands like she couldn't quite believe what she'd done.

"You can see your brother now. Say your goodbyes. You won't be returning to your apartment. Everything you need will be provided here."

That got her attention. Her head snapped up.

"What? No. I need to go home. I need to get my things—"

"You need nothing from your old life. It's over now. You belong here. With me."

"But my job. The hospital. I can't just disappear. People will ask questions—"

"Let them ask." I moved toward the window, looking out at the city below. 

"You'll send a resignation email tonight. Effective immediately. Personal reasons. They won't question it."

"You can't just—"

"I can do whatever I want, Miss Santos. You signed a contract agreeing to that. Or did you not read the terms before signing?"

Of course she hadn't read them. She'd been too busy crying and trying to save her brother's life.

The contract gave me complete control. Over where she lived. What she did. Who she saw. Everything.

She was mine now. Legally and completely.

I should have felt satisfaction. Should have felt the victory of getting exactly what I wanted.

But instead, I felt that strange flutter of memory again. Isabella's voice in my head. Arguing for mercy. Arguing that the girl deserved better.

I pushed the thought away. Isabella was dead. Had been dead for five years. Her opinions on mercy didn't matter anymore.

"Can I at least call my aunt?" Elara's voice was small now. Defeated. 

"Let her know I'm okay? She'll worry if I just disappear."

"No."

"Please. Just one call. Just to tell her I'm safe—"

"No contact with your old life. That was part of the agreement. You signed away that right when you put your name on that contract."

She looked like she might argue. Might fight. But then her eyes drifted back to Matteo and the fight drained out of her.

Smart girl. She was learning quickly.

"What happens to him?" she asked quietly.

"To Matteo?"

"He'll be taken to a hospital. Treated for his injuries. Then released."

"And then?"

"And then he lives with the knowledge that his sister sold herself to save his worthless life. Maybe that guilt will teach him something. Though I doubt it."

Her hands clenched into fists. Anger flashed across her face. But she didn't say anything. Didn't defend him.

She knew I was right. Knew Matteo wasn't worth the sacrifice she'd just made.

But she'd made it anyway because that's what people like her did. They sacrificed themselves for others. They broke themselves trying to save people who'd never appreciate it.

I'd seen it before. With Isabella, with her endless optimism and belief in redemption.

Look where that had gotten her.

"You should rest," I said, turning back to face Elara. "It's late. My people will show you to your room. Tomorrow we'll discuss the wedding arrangements and your new life here."

I turned away from her and headed toward my office. My people would be here soon to handle the cleanup. To take Matteo away. To lock Elara in her new gilded cage.

I was halfway to the door when I heard it.

A loud bang. The sound of doors being thrown open violently.

I spun around, my hand already reaching for the gun in my jacket.

Someone burst into the room.