Chapter two-The Ultimatum

The city blurred past the tinted windows as the car carried Emilia deeper into Dante Moretti’s world. Rain still streaked across the glass, but inside, the silence was suffocating. Dante sat beside her, his presence filling every inch of space, his gaze fixed out the window as though he owned the very streets they passed.

Emilia’s heart hammered. She had agreed to this—offered herself as collateral. But she hadn’t considered what it would mean. A stranger’s house. A stranger’s rules. Worse yet, not just any stranger, but Dante Moretti—the most feared man in the city.

She forced herself to speak, her voice unsteady. “What happens now?”

His head turned slowly, those dark eyes locking onto hers with unnerving calm. “Now, you live under my roof. Under my rules.”

Her pulse quickened. “And if I refuse?”

A faint smile curved his lips, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “You won’t refuse. You’ve already chosen to belong to me. That is the price of your father’s life.”

The words made her skin prickle. Belong. As if she were property. She wanted to scream, to fight, but she bit her tongue. For her father. For survival.

The car pulled into the driveway of a sprawling mansion on the city’s edge. Emilia’s breath caught. The house loomed like a fortress—tall iron gates, pristine gardens glistening with rain, the marble façade glowing beneath golden lights. It was beautiful, but it felt like a cage.

Dante stepped out first, extending a hand to her. She hesitated, then took it, his grip strong, steady, inescapable. His men trailed behind as he led her inside.

The interior was even more breathtaking. High ceilings with crystal chandeliers, marble floors polished to perfection, and art that looked older than the country itself. Emilia felt small, out of place, her worn shoes squeaking faintly against the floor.

“This will be your home now,” Dante said, his voice echoing against the vastness of the hall.

Home. The word stung.

He dismissed his men with a flick of his hand, leaving them alone. Then he turned to her, his gaze unreadable.

“There are rules,” he said evenly. “Simple ones, but they are not negotiable.”

Her stomach knotted. “What kind of rules?”

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “First, you will remain in this house unless I permit otherwise. Second, you will show me respect at all times. And third…” His eyes darkened as he paused, watching her face carefully. “Every night before you sleep, you will kiss me. A goodnight kiss. Without fail.”

Emilia blinked, stunned. Of all the cruel conditions she had expected—servitude, silence, obedience—this was not one of them. “A… kiss?” she whispered, incredulous.

Dante’s lips curved, though not in kindness. “Yes. A simple kiss. It will remind you who you belong to. And it will remind me why I allowed you here.”

Her breath caught. She searched his face for mockery, but there was none. Only a strange intensity that unsettled her more than threats would have.

“And if I refuse?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Dante tilted his head, studying her like a puzzle. “Then your father’s debt is no longer forgiven. And he will not survive what follows.”

The room spun for a moment. Emilia’s throat tightened, her body torn between anger and despair. This was no choice—it was chains wrapped in silk.

Finally, she whispered, “Fine.”

Dante’s eyes softened briefly, almost imperceptibly. “Good.”

He reached out, brushing a hand against her cheek. The gesture was tender, but it carried weight—a claim, not comfort. Emilia’s chest rose and fell sharply, her instincts screaming to pull away, but her body refused. Something about him—his quiet dominance, the heat of his gaze—held her captive in ways she couldn’t explain.

“Rest for tonight,” Dante said finally, withdrawing his hand. “Your new life begins tomorrow.”

A maid appeared silently at the end of the hall, summoned by some unseen signal. Dante gestured. “She will show you to your room.”

Emilia followed the maid upstairs, her legs heavy as lead. The room she entered was larger than her entire home—plush carpets, silk sheets, a balcony overlooking the gardens. It should have been paradise, yet it felt like a gilded prison.

When the door closed behind her, she let herself collapse onto the bed, burying her face in her hands. Tears burned in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Not here. Not where he might see her weakness.

And yet, as she lay there, her mind betrayed her. She thought of Dante—his sharp eyes, his steady voice, the strange way he had looked at her, as though she were not just collateral but something more.

Emilia shuddered. She hated him. She feared him.

So why did part of her chest tighten at the thought of that first goodnight kiss?