The crimson dress clung to Emilia like a second skin, its silk whispering against her legs with every hesitant step. She tugged at the fabric nervously, but there was no denying its effect—it transformed her into someone bold, dangerous even. The mirror had shown her a stranger: lips painted red, eyes darkened by kohl, a woman who looked powerful but felt anything but.Dante stood at the door, a predator in a tailored black suit, his cufflinks gleaming under the chandelier’s glow. When his gaze landed on her, it was like fire striking dry wood—hungry, consuming, inevitable.“You wear it well,” he said softly, though the praise felt more like a claim than a compliment.“It feels like a costume,” Emilia muttered, clutching the hem.“Good,” Dante replied, stepping closer. His hand brushed her waist, the heat of his palm searing through the silk. “A costume keeps wolves guessing.”Before she could answer, his lips brushed the curve of her ear, his voice a whisper meant only for her. “Stay
A knock sounded. Emilia sat upright instantly, her heart lurching, but it wasn’t Dante this time—it was a maid. She entered quietly, balancing a silver tray laden with breakfast: fresh fruit, warm croissants, eggs and smoked salmon, and a glass of orange juice so vibrant it looked unreal.“Signorina,” the maid said softly, placing the tray on the bedside table. “Mr. Moretti asked that you be given this.”Emilia’s brows knitted. “Asked? Or ordered?”The maid hesitated, eyes flickering nervously. That pause was answer enough.Emilia sighed and nodded toward the door. “Grazie. You may leave.”When the door clicked shut, she stared at the untouched food. Every luxury Dante gave her—silk sheets, designer clothes, meals fit for royalty—only reminded her of the truth: this wasn’t kindness. This was a cage. A cage gilded in silk and gold, but a cage nonetheless.Her appetite soured. She pushed the tray away. She wanted freedom, not feasts.Before she could rise, the lock clicked again. Her pu
The silence of the Moretti mansion weighed heavily than chains. Emilia sat rigid in her suite, the velvet chair beneath her no comfort at all. Her lips still tingled with the memory of his kiss from dinner—slow, deliberate, burning. She pressed her fingers against them, desperate to scrub the sensation away, but it clung to her like smoke.She had told herself it meant nothing. Just another game, another cruel reminder of his control. But her body betrayed her in the quiet. Every heartbeat drummed with the shameful truth: part of her had kissed him back.Her reflection in the window mocked her—pale face, wide eyes, trembling mouth. She looked less like a prisoner and more like someone being remade, piece by piece, into something she didn’t recognize.No, she told herself fiercely. You’re not his. You’ll never be his.And yet, when her mind strayed, it didn’t go to freedom. It went to him. His voice was like velvet over steel. His gaze stripped her bare. His promises—threats—that tangl
The dining hall stretched before Emilia like something pulled from a painting. High ceilings arched above her, painted with fading frescoes of angels and demons locked in eternal battle. Golden chandeliers dripped light like molten honey, spilling across the polished marble floors and long table set for a feast.It was beautiful—too beautiful. The kind of beauty that hid knives under silk.Emilia lingered at the doorway, her fists clenched tight against the soft fabric of her black dress. Dante had insisted she wear it, sending it up with one of his maids earlier in the evening. It fit too well, hugging her waist, dipping too low at the neckline. She hated it. She hated how his control reached even into her clothes, dictating what she should show and what she should hide.At the far end of the table, Dante Moretti sat like a king in his castle. His charcoal-gray suit molded to him like it had been stitched onto his skin, his dark hair perfectly in place, his eyes gleaming with that qu
The silence of the Moretti mansion was suffocating.After Dante left, the house felt like a cavern, the ticking of the antique clock in her room echoing louder than her own heartbeat. Emilia paced, restless. His command replayed in her mind like a warning: Do not leave your room until I return.Her fingers traced the golden doorknob, lingering there. One twist. One pull. She could test the boundaries he’d set. She could try to run.But would she even make it past the gates?From her window, she could see the faint outlines of men patrolling the grounds, shadows moving with mechanical precision. Escape wasn’t impossible—but it was close to it. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass and closed her eyes, her chest aching with the weight of choices she didn’t have.Her thoughts betrayed her, circling back to him. Dante Moretti—mafia king, ruthless billionaire, self-proclaimed owner of her life. He terrified her, but she couldn’t deny the way her body betrayed her when his eyes li
The Moretti mansion was a palace of shadows. By her second full day within its walls, Emilia had memorized the endless hallways, the sweeping staircases, the way every corner hummed with quiet menace. Guards lingered everywhere—silent men in black suits, armed but pretending otherwise. Their gazes never softened, not even when she passed.This wasn’t a home. It was an empire. And Dante Moretti was its king.She found him that evening in the great hall, standing before a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the gardens. He stood with his hands in his pockets, shoulders broad, the city lights glowing faintly in the distance. He looked less like a man and more like a carved statue—immovable, untouchable.He didn’t turn when she entered. “Did you enjoy your walk through the gardens?” His voice carried easily across the space, low and commanding.Emilia stiffened. She hadn’t told him she’d gone there. “Were you watching me?”A faint smile curved his lips as he finally glanced at her. "I