Chapter 19: Tangled Notes

MARISOL

I woke with my head pounding, my mouth dry as cotton. Every slight movement sent fresh waves of nausea crashing through me. A groan slipped out as I squinted against the harsh light.

That’s when I saw him.

Dante.

He sat in a nearby chair, watching me. My skull throbbed, and my stomach threatened mutiny.

“Good morning.” That knowing smirk made everything worse. “How do you feel?”

“Awful,” I rasped, wincing as my voice ricocheted through my head. My stomach twisted, violent and mean. I bolted from the bed, barely making it to the bathroom.

I collapsed in front of the toilet just as last night’s tequila clawed its way up. The force of it left me trembling, tears streaking my face. Behind me, I felt him. Silent. Watching.

“Tequila and I are not friends,” I muttered, pressing my cheek to the cool tile.

He chuckled and extended a glass of water. “That’s a rite of passage we all survive.”

I sipped, rinsed, then looked up at him through bleary eyes. “Why were you watching me sleep like a creep?” My voice came out hoarse, accusing.

He knelt beside me and reached for a lock of hair. I swatted his hand away, walls slamming back into place.

“Just checking you were okay after your bartending escapade,” he said, calm as ever. “And we have things to discuss.”

I shot him a glare. “I don’t talk to assho—” Another wave surged. I barely made it back to the toilet.

Once my stomach calmed, I cleaned up and splashed cold water on my face. Still there. Still watching. He steadied me without a word as I shuffled to the kitchen.

“Take these,” he said, sliding two pills toward me with a plate of toast. “But eat first.”

I nibbled. Toast and silence. Chewing gave me something to focus on besides him. Little by little, the nausea eased. Dante sat across from me, his gaze unwavering.

“You’re moving into the main house.”

I froze. Breath caught. My eyes darted around the room. Where’s the exit? “Are you planning to ransom me back?” My voice barely held steady.

He didn’t answer right away.

“No. I'm not.”

Relief loosened something in my chest, but anxiety slid in behind it like fog under a door. “Why can’t I stay here? I like it here. I don’t want to see you every day.”

“For your safety.” His tone cut off the argument before I could even form one. “With one condition.” His voice went cold. “You’ll receive a GPS tracker. A biological implant that bonds with your DNA. Untraceable. Permanent. For life.”

His words hit like a punch. I couldn’t breathe.

No. No, he didn’t just say that.

I lurched to my feet, swaying but fueled by fury. “You don’t get to put a leash on me. Keep your condition. I'll just stay here.”

He closed the distance. Heat radiated off him, soaked straight into my skin.

“This isn't about power, Marisol. It's protection.” His voice dipped, low and rough. “I have one myself.”

My pulse pounded in my ears. "Congratulations. Want a medal?"

But the sarcasm came out brittle, my grip on anger already slipping. His smirk faded, replaced by something unreadable, and I hated that it made me pause.

“I don’t want anything to happen to you. Please trust me on this.”

Trust? Him? Yeah right. His voice had no edge now, only sincerity. It rattled something in me. I searched for something sharp to throw back at him, but nothing landed.

“If something happens to you,” he said quietly, “if you’re taken, this lets me find you. Instantly. No interference. No delay. It’s a new tech, Marisol. No one knows it exists. No one can detect it. Not even our enemies. That’s why it has to be this way.”

I stared at him, fury battling with fear. I don’t want to give him that kind of power. But the idea of disappearing without a trace, of no one knowing where I was... it chilled me.

“You really have one too?” My voice was smaller than I wanted.

“Yes. I don’t want this either. But it’s necessary. You’re not the only one at risk.”

Relief rose, but dread clung to it like oil on water. Then I saw the syringe in his hand.

No. No, no, no.

Every muscle in my body seized. A primal fear ripped through me.

I shoved him hard and ran.

Three steps.

His arm snaked around my waist, yanking me back against him. I went rigid, the heat from his chest burning through my shirt. My breath caught. Rage and helplessness clashed, but beneath it, something darker stirred.

"Let me go!" My voice cracked with fury. I twisted, struggling, but every movement only tangled my thoughts more.

I needed to escape. So why did part of me... hesitate?

His hold didn’t hurt. That infuriated me more. Of course, he knew exactly how tight to grip without leaving a mark.

Reading the panic, he shifted tactics. His voice turned playful.

“You know I like a chase,” he murmured, breath brushing my ear.

Shivers. Dammit.

No. You’re not allowed to feel that.

My mind screamed danger. My body... betrayed me. Heat pooled low in my belly, shame not far behind.

“Can't find anyone else to manhandle?” I hissed, clinging to sarcasm. Armor.

He smirked, leaning in. “If you’d just be a good girl and do what you’re supposed to, I wouldn’t have to.”

“Call me good girl again,” I snapped, “and I’ll kick you in the balls so hard you’ll be tasting them for a week.”

His laugh rumbled through me. “Noted.”

While he prepped the injector, doubt chewed at the edges of my control. Knowing he has one too doesn’t make this okay. Doesn’t make it not a violation.

Anger. Fear. I curled my fingers into my shirt. Anchor. Anything but him.

“So, this is my punishment?” My voice wavered.

“No.” His chuckle surprised me, soft, almost gentle. “This is protection. Nothing more.”

“Arm or ass?” he asked. “Arm’s the quickest.” That smirk again, crawling up my spine.

I thrashed. “I can’t do it!”

Panic clawed up my throat.

“Seriously? You? Afraid of a little needle?” He sounded amused.

He didn’t get it.

This isn’t drama. This isn’t a tantrum. This is terror.

Heart jackhammering. Lungs locking. My body screaming you’ll die if he touches you with that thing. I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

Needles were my kryptonite. But this felt like an execution.

His face shifted. Not quite sympathy. But close.

“This has to happen, Marisol. I’ll be quick.”

His breath touched my skin. “Time’s up. Choose.”

I couldn’t speak. My cheeks burned.

“Ass it is then,” he muttered, fingers brushing my waistband.

“Arm! Take the arm!” I shouted.

He stilled. A spark of mischief lit his eyes. “Good gir—” He stopped. “Choice.”

We moved to the bed. His face looked... softer.

“Quick and done.”

The injector gleamed. My stomach flipped.

“Like hell you’re shooting that into me.”

I shrank back, hands shaking.

“Why is it shaped like a gun?” My voice cracked. “You said protection, not execution. If you want me dead, use a real one. Skip the theatrics.”

Dante sighed. “It’s for precision. That’s all. You won’t feel what you’re imagining.” His tone gentled. “Now, hold still.”

I couldn’t. Every part of me screamed to run.

“Choose your battlefield, Marisol.” His voice hardened. “Easy or hard?”

I met his eyes. Bloodshot. Defiant. Miserable. I thrust out my arm and shut my eyes.

My chest heaved. Breath came in sharp bursts, too shallow to calm anything.

He steadied my arm and wiped the skin.

“Oh God, oh God. It hurts. It hurts.”

Dante let out a sharp sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Marisol!” he snapped. “I haven’t even touched you yet!”

I peeked one eye open. “You... haven’t?”

“No.” Flat. Frustrated. “Now, can we finish this? I have a busy day.”

His annoyance faltered when he finally saw me, really saw me. Not dramatic. Not stalling. Trembling. Pale. Sweating. Nearly hyperventilating. This was fear. Real and sharp.

“Okay,” he said, quieter now. “Let’s do this together. Breathe with me. Then I’ll count down.”

I tried. Inhaled, shaky.

"One more," he said.

We did it again. Slower.

He met my gaze. “Deep breath... then we go.”

I pulled air into my lungs.

The pinch barely registered.

My eyes flew open. “You tricked me! Wait... that’s it?”

Amusement lit his face. “Anticlimactic, isn’t it?”

“I hate you,” I muttered, but it wasn’t him I hated.

It was this. The helplessness. The loss of control.

Piece by piece, my walls were crumbling.

He lingered. Then leaned down and pressed his lips to the injection site.

A kiss. Soft. Unrushed. Not mockery, something worse. Comfort.

I flinched. Not from pain. From how easily it slipped under my defenses.

He straightened, mask back in place. Cold. Commanding.

“Pack up. The main house awaits.”

I stood, unsteady. My fingers brushed the spot where his lips had been.

There was now an invisible chain. Binding me to him.

And I wasn’t sure if I wanted to break free.