[Dante]
I straightened my tie through the mirrored walls of the elevator, catching my reflection just long enough to make sure everything was in place. Sharp suit, impeccable posture, not a hair out of line...mostly. But there was always something missing—something I couldn't quite pinpoint, no matter how many times I adjusted the details.
I checked my watch. Late again.
My tongue clicked against the roof of my mouth, an automatic response to the irritation bubbling beneath the surface. The floor numbers blinked slowly as the elevator ascended, and the air reeked of air fresheners. This building, with its polished floors and glass walls, felt more like a cage than the empire I was supposed to be running.
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open with a soft whoosh. A woman stepped in—one of my employees, Korean, small and fidgety. Her eyes widened when she saw me, and she bowed twice in quick succession, her movements stiff and nervous. The usual reaction. I didn't bother acknowledging it. I could feel her eyes on me though, tracing the lines of my suit, probably wondering what it would feel like being in my shoes, someone who could crush careers with a single word.
A few seconds passed. My patience, always a thin thread, snapped.
"You're staring. Why?" I asked, my tone flat, void of any real emotion. I didn't raise my voice, yet it didn't need volume to command attention.
She flinched, startled, her eyes widening even further. "I—I'm sorry, sir," she stammered, bowing again, this time quicker, more frantic. "I didn't mean to—"
In one swift motion, I had her pinned to the wall of the elevator, my hand pressing above her head, leaning in close. My breath ghosted over her face as I stared into her wide, terrified eyes. Her lips quivered as she gasped softly, her chest heaving against the wall. I could feel her fear radiating off her in waves, and could almost hear the pounding of her heart in the tense silence.
The elevator felt smaller, the air more suffocating. My eyes locked onto hers, and I felt a hint of something—power? Control? The darker part of my mind enjoyed it and thrived on the fear that was rolling off her like a drug. I tilted my head slightly, studying her as she trembled under my gaze, completely at my mercy.
"I said," I repeated, my voice dangerously low, "Why?"
She didn't answer. She couldn't. Tears welled up in her eyes, her bottom lip trembling as if she was too frightened to even think.
My hand tightened against the wall above her head, fingers curling slightly as I leaned in further. "It's rude to stare," I continued, uttering every last word slowly to fit the mood—my mood. "Do you understand that now?"
She nodded furiously, her whole body shaking as a tear slipped down her cheek.
Good.
The elevator dinged again, the doors sliding open to reveal the lobby. I stepped back, releasing her, watching as she wiped at her eyes and tried to compose herself, though she was failing miserably. Her legs wobbled as she bowed again, so deeply that her hair almost touched the floor.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible as she tried to hold back more tears.
I smirked, though there was no humour in it, just cold amusement. "I know," I said simply, turning to leave. I felt her eyes on me as I stepped out of the elevator, though now they weren't filled with curiosity. Just dread. Maybe a little bit of something else—hatred? Disgust? I'd never cared enough to note down the feelings of background characters.
Behind me, the doors slid shut with a soft thud. I didn't look back, didn't need to. I'd made my point.
The lobby was quiet, the faint hum of the building's air conditioning the only noise that filled the space alongside the soft clatter of footsteps. As I crossed the floor, my thoughts raced, one half of me satisfied, the other restless. Always restless. I could feel the edge creeping in again, the familiar pressure behind my eyes, the one that always came before the switch. I hated it—the unpredictability of it all, the way it could seize control in an instant. One second I was fine, composed, calculating, and the next... the next I didn't recognize myself.
I stopped just outside the front doors, glancing down at my watch again. Another meeting, another day to pretend I gave a damn about anything outside of maintaining my control. My grip. It was all slipping through my fingers, wasn't it? No matter how tight I held on.
I adjusted my cufflinks, forcing the thoughts away, forcing myself back into the present. I could deal with that later. For now, I had to focus.
But as I walked through the glass doors into the open air, I couldn't help but wonder how much longer I could keep everything—myself—in check. The ticking in my head was louder now, more persistent. Every time it went off, it felt like a countdown, pushing me closer to that inevitable edge. I needed a pet to keep my mind off it—a plaything that I could use.
The polished floors, the chandeliers, the grand hotel lobby—none of it meant a damn thing to me. I strode past it all, gaze set on the back exit, my steps echoing in perfect rhythm. Precision and order, a calm I could wear like a second skin, were the only things I could count on. Tonight was no different.
Out back, the black car waited in the shadows and at its usual reserved spot. Its blinking headlights greeted me as I approached. The driver had already sensed me, starting the engine without so much as a nod. I slid into the back, closing the door with a soft click as my luggage perched on the next seat. Silence. Just the way I liked it.
"How did the meeting go, sir?" The old man's hands gripped the wheel tightly, his voice a low hum that barely broke the quiet.
I smirked, my eyes on the city lights slipping past the window. "It was... exciting."
The driver let out a chuckle, soft and almost surprised as if the idea of my excitement was something novel. But I didn't laugh. I didn't need to. The memory of her fear was enough to keep me smiling, the way her eyes widened, her pulse racing under my grip. The moment I gripped that slender little neck of hers. Satisfaction—it was fleeting, but still there. I held onto that feeling, savouring it as long as it would let me.
But it wasn't enough.
The car glided through the city streets, headlights tracing patterns on empty buildings. The engine's steady hum was almost soothing, a familiar lullaby for the restless. My head rested against the seat, eyes half-closed, thoughts drifting, slipping out of reach. The calm always came before the storm. Maybe tonight, I'd finally find the calm to hold onto.
When we pulled up to my house, I stepped out, briefcase in hand, slipping inside without a word. The place was clean and empty. It was home and also the beginning of my daily loop.
I moved to the bathroom, shedding clothes with slow, practised motions, stepping into the shower, and letting the heat try to melt the chill beneath my skin. But it never reached that far. It never had. Minutes passed, steam filling the space, but my mind stayed distant, unreachable. My thoughts were coming in barrages and yet, I was thinking of nothing in particular.
Odd.
When I came out, I dried myself off. In the far corner of my bedroom, I opened a drawer, pulling out the key, unlocking the door to a hidden closet. Inside, there she was—Bianca.
Her blue eyes stared back at me from the poster, cool and piercing, blonde hair was almost perfectly tied. I reached out, brushing my fingers over her face, tracing her lips, trying to feel what I'd felt tonight.
The paper could never amount to the real thing.
My breath hitched as I stared at her, my hand drifting down my body, movements slow but focused. I let my eyes close, picturing the way she'd look if she were real, how her body would respond under my touch, how her gaze would hold mine if I had her here. My breaths came quicker as my fingers stroked the length of my boner. I missed the warmth of her mouth. The ache deepened until finally, with a low groan, I came undone in my hand. All that did was leave me feeling just as hollow as before.
I stayed there, staring at her image, breathing heavily, the moment settling like dust. And then, my brows creased in annoyance—she was nothing but a piece of paper. A lie I kept telling myself. I tore the poster from the wall, crumpling it in my hand, casting it aside like all the other worthless things I didn't need.
Why should I keep a poster of her when I could have the real thing? I wanted her. We both did. At least for the time being.
[Giovanni]I couldn't get a proper read on him. Not the way I wanted.Did he know about my little encounter with his alter ego, or was he still blissfully in the dark? Dante's face gave away nothing. His reactions were too controlled, his expressions too faint. No hint that he suspected me, or that he knew who I really was.Which only confirmed what I'd already begun to suspect—Mr. Wentworth was the dangerous one. Dante? He was the dull half. The boring one.Still, I hadn't expected him to apologise or even ask about Bianca.Lucky for him, my first delivery was probably already making its way to his doorstep.By then, we could talk once more.The door clicked shut behind me, muffling the sound of his voice as he made some calls. I didn't bother listening.I walked down the hall with my hands shoved into my pockets, wearing that same polite mask people liked so much. A nod to the receptionist, a quick smile to the guard by the elevator. "Have a good day," I said, because that's what ni
[Dante]I sat behind my desk, staring at nothing in particular. The stack of files in front of me hadn't been touched in hours. I wasn't even sure why I bothered showing up today. My head wasn't here. My body was, but my mind was somewhere else entirely.The one question that should have come sooner finally hit me:'What the hell was I even doing?'I hadn't come into the office for days, hiding behind a flimsy excuse of being sick. In truth, I'd been strung out—too many pills, too much booze, chasing a high I thought would smother everything I didn't want to feel. It was pathetic. Embarrassing even.And Bianca had seen me like that.Fuck.The last time I saw her, she'd come by my place. I'd been high, half gone, trying to act like nothing was wrong. I thought I'd managed it. I thought I'd fooled her. But the memory wouldn't let me lie to myself anymore—my pulse had jumped the second I saw her, my chest tight and I knew saying too much would have given it off. She must have noticed. O
TRIGGER WARNING: SOME READERS MIGHT FIND THIS CHAPTER SLIGHTLY DISTURBING. (No Rape. No Violence)***[Bianca]I came to with a groan that dragged up from the back of my throat before I could stop it. My head throbbed, pounding like someone had hammered nails into the base of my skull. Strangely though, my body felt... good. Too good. Warmth slid across my face in slow, sticky trickles, while my limbs floated, impossibly light. Almost like I was floating on clouds.For a second, I thought I was dreaming. Maybe I was still asleep. Before I could begin to think of what had happened or open my eyes, a low grunt pierced through my haze. And then warmth spattered across my cheek again.Instantly, my eyes flew open.I wasn't dreaming.I was naked. Lying in a bathtub. And above me—oh God—above me stood Giovanni. Naked. His broad shoulders high, the flex of his thighs, the obscene rhythm of his hand pumping his cock while the other balanced a phone, angled down at me.Horror swallowed me who
[Mr. Wentworth]Hehe...It had been far too long since Dante let me out. The poor bastard had been slipping lately — all thanks to her. Bianca. His precious little blonde weakness.I should have killed her already. The deal was for her to find a way to make Dante slip more often, wasn't it? She failed her end, and I always collect. But I didn't like rushing. Death was quick. Destruction was... sweeter.The only reason I had any freedom at all was because she'd cracked Dante's perfect façade. The great Dante, reduced to a panting, drugged-up animal rutting to forget his misery. He couldn't even get hard without chemical help now. Ha! All those years of self-control, undone by a woman.Pathetic. Laughable. But far from enough.When Dante numbed himself with pills, I waited. Whenever he slept, I woke. But that meant our body never got enough sleep, never stayed at its peak. Even now, I was far from being in peak condition.He thought wearing himself out would cage me but all he was doing
[Giovanni]Bianca tried to stomp my head, as if her bare heel could crush something already tempered by worse. She didn't know I'd had men twice her size break bottles over my skull, or women with sharper nails carve my skin. Compared to that, her flailing was child's play.Her feet kicked back and forth in a frantic rhythm, each strike grazing air, her desperation almost endearing. I sat up, laughter spilling out of me—ragged, manic, amused at the futility of her rebellion—while dragging her closer like she was nothing more than a fish snagged on a hook.And then—crack.Her foot connected with my jaw and for a second, my grip loosened. She tore free, diving toward the gun.But she was sloppy. They always were.I lunged faster, my hand smacking the weapon out of hers. It clattered across the floorboards again, farther this time. I didn't even bother looking at it. Instead, I shoved her down, knees pinning her hips, my weight pressing over her.Now I was sitting on her back, her arms
[Giovanni]The first thing I did when I walked into the bathroom was crank the tap on. Water hissed out of the showerhead, steaming up the mirror, filling the silence with some noise.I didn't step under it right away. Instead, I turned toward the sink, rolled up my sleeves, and scrubbed my hands like they were dripping with filth I couldn't see. The taste of her saliva lingered at the back of my throat, sour and cloying, and I pressed my lips into a tight line. Deeply uncomfortable.I leaned over the porcelain sink, then forced two fingers down my throat—thank the Lord for gag reflexes—and let the bile rise. It burned, splattering into the sink. I exhaled once, then washed my tongue, until nothing but bitter saliva coated my tongue. My grip on the sink tightened until my knuckles paled.Kissing. What a joke.I spat, turned the faucet on, and rinsed out my mouth until the water ran clear. I hated the smell of it, hated the sticky residue it left on my skin. "Disgusting," I muttered,