Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Dante POV

The silence in the room was thick, suffocating, pressing down on him like the weight of the world. He could feel her anger radiating off of her—Izzy, the woman who had once been everything to him. But she was different now, hardened, a stranger in many ways, and yet, still so familiar. The fire in her eyes, the stubborn set of her jaw—those were the things he remembered. Those were the things he’d never been able to forget.

She thought she had a choice.

Dante chuckled to himself, though the sound was cold, devoid of humor. She wasn’t the first to think that. Hell, he hadn’t expected her to be the first one to willingly submit to what had to happen between them. It wasn’t about love anymore. It never truly had been. Not for him. What he wanted now was control. And if she couldn’t see that, well, she’d learn soon enough.

Turning his back on her felt like the only way to regain the balance of power in the room. He knew she was watching him, her eyes burning into his back, but it didn’t matter. She was always going to watch. Always going to wait. It was in her blood, her need to push, to resist, to fight. And every time she did, it only proved how much she needed him.

Her words—their sharp sting—echoed in his mind. “I’m not your prisoner.” She couldn’t be further from the truth. She’d always been his.

But the timing wasn’t right. Not yet. He had to play this carefully. To make her see that she couldn’t run from what was always meant to be. He would give her space—just a little. He would wait until the walls she’d so carefully built began to crack. And when they did, he’d be there to catch her.

The game had always been about control. He didn’t need her to surrender immediately. He needed her to understand—to realize that her world, the one she had so carefully tried to build without him, was a lie.

Dante’s fingers drummed lightly on the edge of the desk as he gazed out at the city below. The lights shimmered like stars, distant, unreachable. There was a certain beauty to the chaos, the way things always seemed so alive from this distance. It reminded him of her—Izzy.

She was always running. Always escaping. That’s what made her dangerous, made her a challenge. But challenges were what he thrived on. And in time, he knew, she’d come to him. She always did.

“You don’t have to fight me, Izzy,” he said over his shoulder, his voice low and dangerous. “But you will. It’s in you. You’ll push until there’s nothing left of your pride, nothing left of your strength. And when you’ve finally got nothing, that’s when you’ll come back to me.”

He paused for a moment, his hand tightening into a fist against the desk.

“Because you’re mine. You’ve always been mine. And this game... it’s far from over.”

Turning slowly, he faced her, his eyes locking onto hers with a quiet intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. There was nothing gentle about his gaze—nothing soft. Just the raw, unrelenting force of a man who had waited too long.

Izzy was still standing there, her fists clenched, her body rigid with defiance. She was angry, and that anger made her even more beautiful than he remembered. But the thing about anger—it didn’t last. Not when it was met with patience. Not when it was met with him.

“Do you think you can run from me?” Dante’s voice was a whisper now, a sharp, dangerous thread that slid through the room like a blade. He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, his shadow falling over her as he closed the distance. She didn’t move, but he could see the slight hitch in her breath, the way her body tensed, like a predator sensing the moment before the strike.

“Izzy,” he murmured, his voice low, dangerous. “You’ve always been a part of this. The sooner you accept it, the sooner this can all be over. I won’t hurt you. Not unless you force me to.”

His gaze flickered to her neck, to the pulse that fluttered beneath her skin. There was something intoxicating about the way she responded to him, even now. Even after all this time. He knew she could feel the weight of his presence pressing down on her, the way his power seemed to fill the room, suffocating, unyielding.

“You think you can leave,” Dante continued, his tone almost sympathetic now, though it was laced with a quiet menace. “But you know better than anyone—there’s nowhere you can go. I’ll find you. I’ll always find you.”

Her eyes widened, just a fraction. And in that moment, he saw it—the flicker of doubt. He could taste it, sharp on his tongue. It wasn’t fear—not yet. But it was something else. Something just as dangerous.

Izzy was starting to realize the truth.

He reached out then, fingers grazing her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. She flinched, but she didn’t pull away. She was strong, always had been. But she wasn’t immune to him.

“You won’t leave me,” Dante said, the words a quiet promise, though the edge in his voice made them feel like a warning. “Not without paying a price.”

Izzy swallowed hard, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. She wasn’t afraid of him. Not yet. But she would be. He would make sure of it. Because what she didn’t understand—what she couldn’t understand—was that this wasn’t just about power. It was about something deeper. Something far more dangerous.

It was about ownership. About breaking her down until she could only see him. Only feel him.

“Tomorrow, Izzy,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper as he leaned in closer. “Tomorrow, you’ll start to see. The walls will come down, and when they do, you’ll know there’s no escaping me. Not now. Not ever.”

He pulled back then, his hand slipping away from her chin as he straightened, stepping back toward his desk. The game was in motion now. She could run. She could fight. But it wouldn’t change anything.

She was his.

And in time, she would learn to accept it.

"Rest well tonight, Izzy," Dante said, his voice sharp with finality. "Tomorrow, we begin."