Chapter two-The Ultimatum

Rain still ran down the car windows like silver threads. Emilia sat stiffly beside Dante Moretti, afraid to breathe too loudly. The city lights faded behind them until only darkness and streetlamps remained. Dante’s sharp profile glowed against the glass—calm, distant, unreadable. He didn’t speak, but his silence said everything: he was a man used to control.

Emilia clutched her bag on her lap. Her father’s face haunted her mind.  I’ll come back, she told herself.  I have to. But the deeper the car moved into the hills, the less she believed it.

Finally, she whispered, “What happens now?”

Dante turned his head slowly, as if he’d known she would speak but wanted her to wait. “Now, you live under my roof,” he said. “You follow my rules.”

Her chest tightened. “And if I don’t?”

A small smile touched his mouth. “You won’t risk it. You made your choice.”

His calmness scared her more than any threat. She faced the window, watching the rain slide down like tears.

Minutes stretched. She could hear the hum of the tires, the faint beat of her heart.  Under his roof. The words echoed until they reached a gate—a black iron arch so tall it blocked the moonlight. The car stopped.

The guard opened the gate. Dante didn’t look at him; power followed his smallest gesture. When they drove through, Emilia saw the mansion—stone, glass, and light rising out of the dark like a fortress. It looked too perfect, too cold.

The car halted before wide steps. A man ran forward with an umbrella, but Dante didn’t wait. He opened his own door, then hers. His hand reached out, steady and sure.

She hesitated only a moment before taking it. His palm was warm; the touch felt final.

“Come,” he said.

The hall swallowed her in silence. Marble, gold, glass—everything gleamed, but nothing felt alive. Footsteps echoed until Dante stopped in the center of the floor. He turned to her, voice even. “This will be your home now.”

Home. The word hurt.

He waved his men away. Doors closed. The space between them grew heavy.

“There are rules,” he said. “Three only. You’ll remember them.”

Her stomach knotted. “What rules?”

“First, you stay inside unless I allow otherwise. Second, you show me respect. Third…”—his gaze fixed on her—“ Before you sleep each night, you will kiss me goodnight.”

Her breath caught. “A kiss?”

He nodded. “Simple. It reminds you who owns your safety. It reminds me why you’re here.”

She stared, unable to hide her shock.  A kiss. Not punishment, not work—just that. Yet it felt more dangerous than anything he could have asked.

“Why?” she asked quietly.

“Because I want it.”

The blunt honesty sent heat rushing through her face. She forced herself to meet his eyes. “And if I refuse?”

Dante’s voice stayed calm. “Then your father’s debt returns. And he won’t live long after that.”

The air left her lungs. There was no choice. “Fine,” she whispered.

He stepped closer. His fingers brushed her cheek, gently but claiming. “Good.”

Emilia didn’t move. She felt his breath, steady and warm, too close. The world narrowed to the sound of rain outside and the thud of her own heartbeat.

“Rest now,” he said, pulling his hand back. “Your new life starts tomorrow.”

A maid appeared silently at the doorway. Dante didn’t turn. “Take Miss Rossi upstairs.”

Emilia followed, her shoes soft against the steps. The corridor smelled faintly of roses and rain. When the maid opened the door, she froze. The room was larger than her whole apartment—soft carpets, pale curtains, a bed big enough for dreams she’d never dared have.

“If you need anything, press the bell, miss,” the maid said and left.

Silence closed in.

Emilia stood in the middle of the room, unable to sit. Everything looked beautiful, but she felt trapped inside someone else’s story. She touched the dresser—smooth, cold marble—and thought of her father’s rough hands. Tears filled her eyes. She wiped them quickly. Dante Moretti would never see her cry.

Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since morning. A soft knock came. The same maid entered with a tray—bread, soup, and a glass of water.

“Mr Moretti asked that you eat,” the maid said.

Emilia’s throat tightened.  He thinks of everything, even hunger. “Thank you,” she murmured.

When the door shut, she ate slowly. The food was warm but tasteless. She imagined him somewhere below, maybe eating alone too, surrounded by silence. Did a man like Dante ever feel lonely?

A thought she didn’t like crept in: He saved my father. Whatever his reasons, he hadn’t killed him. That had to mean something.

After eating, she stepped out onto the balcony. The rain had softened to mist. City lights blinked in the distance. Freedom looked close enough to touch, yet she knew one step beyond these walls would end her father’s life.

She stayed there until she heard quiet footsteps behind her. She turned. Dante stood in the doorway, jacket gone, shirt sleeves rolled up, eyes darker in the soft light. She hadn’t heard him come in.

“You should rest,” he said.

Her pulse jumped. “I didn’t hear you.”

“You were thinking too loudly.” A faint amusement touched his tone.

She folded her arms. “Do you always walk into people’s rooms uninvited?”

“This is my house.” His calm answer carried no arrogance, only fact.

“I didn’t know you cared where I sleep,” she muttered.

He stepped closer, the scent of his cologne filling the air. “I care about rules. You’ll need strength to keep them.”

Her chin lifted. “And if I break one?”

His gaze met hers. “You won’t.”

The quiet confidence unnerved her more than any threat.

He reached for her hand—not roughly, just enough to draw her closer. “Your first goodnight,” he said softly.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. “Now?”

“Now.”

He leaned down, but stopped just short, letting her decide. The distance between them hummed. Emilia hesitated, every thought screaming no, while something deeper whispered Do it. Slowly, trembling, she pressed her lips to his cheek.

Warmth shot through her chest. The contact lasted a second, maybe less, but it left her dizzy.

Dante’s eyes flickered with something she couldn’t name. “Good,” he said quietly, releasing her hand. “That wasn’t so hard.”

He turned and walked out, the door closing softly behind him.

Emilia stood frozen. Her fingertips brushed her lips, still tingling.  Why does he affect me like this?

She sat on the bed, trying to slow her breathing. The kiss had meant nothing—it was just a rule, a game of power. And yet her body still remembered the warmth of his skin.

Outside, thunder rolled again. She lay down, staring at the ceiling. Sleep wouldn’t come. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Dante’s face—the calm, the control, the brief flicker of something human that slipped through his armor.

Don’t think about him, she told herself.  He’s the enemy.

But the enemy’s touch lingered.

As the morning light filled the room, Emilia finally fell asleep, not knowing someone had quietly watched her from the doorway.