Chapter 5

"I said, get out!"

Dante's voice boomed through the room like thunder.

Mark's face went pale, but he stood up, shielding me.

"Sir, please calm down. Elara was just injured—"

"Her injuries are none of your fucking business." Dante took a step forward, a predator stalking prey. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm her friend." Mark's voice trembled, but he held his ground. "I have a right to be concerned about her."

Dante let out a humorless laugh.

"Friend?" He turned to me. "Elara, since when did you start making normal friends?"

"Dante, don't do this." I struggled to sit up. "Mark was just being kind—"

"Kind?" Dante cut me off. "Do you know what 'kindness' can get you? Killed."

He pulled out his phone. "Find me everything on a Mark Thompson. Everything." His voice was lethally quiet. "I want his family tree. His mother. His father. And find out where his little sister goes to high school."

The color drained from Mark's face.

"Don't!" I screamed. "Dante, are you crazy?"

"I'm not crazy." He hung up and looked at Mark. "I'm protecting my property."

"That's a threat!" Mark said angrily.

"Yes, it is," Dante said without a hint of shame. "Now, get out. And never go near her again."

Mark looked at me, his eyes full of apology and helplessness.

"I'm sorry, Elara." He set down the white roses and hurried out of the room.

The door closed, leaving me alone with Dante.

"Are you satisfied?" I looked at him coldly. "Another innocent person hurt because of you."

"Innocent?" Dante walked to my bedside. "Elara, you're so naive. In my world, there are no innocent people."

"What about me? Am I not innocent?"

His expression faltered for a second.

"You're different."

"How am I different?" I gave a bitter laugh. "You hurt me, too."

Silence.

After a long moment, he spoke. "I'll make it up to you."

"I don't want your compensation."

"A top-tier restoration project in Milan," he said, ignoring me. "An original from the Renaissance. Only five people in the world are qualified to touch it."

I had to admit, my heart skipped a beat.

It was the opportunity I'd dreamed of my entire career.

"What's the catch?" I asked warily.

"Forget what happened. Isabella won't bother you again." His voice softened. "I promise."

"What's your promise worth?"

"Elara." He suddenly sat on the edge of the bed. "I know you hate me. But we have to keep working together. You have to work for me."

"No." I shook my head. "I'm quitting."

I reached for my bag on the nightstand, intending to pull out the new resignation letter I'd prepared.

Just then, his phone rang.

"Isabella?" He answered, his voice instantly softening. "What is it, baby?"

I watched his expression change, my heart twisting in my chest.

"What? Now?" He frowned. "Alright, I'm on my way."

He hung up and stood.

"I have to go," he glanced at me. "Rest up. Be back at the office tomorrow."

"Wait—"

But he was already gone.

Just like always. One call from Isabella, and he dropped everything.

I lay in the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling.

The next day, I went back to the office and found Mark's desk empty.

"Where's Mark?" I asked a coworker.

"He was transferred to the London office," she said quietly. "Left last night."

My heart sank.

Dante always kept his word.

I stormed into his office.

"You transferred Mark?"

"I did." He didn't look up from his papers. "Is there a problem?"

"I'm terminating my contract, effective immediately." I slapped my resignation letter on his desk. "I refuse to work for you another day, even if you get me blacklisted from every gallery in the country."

He finally looked up at me.

"Early termination requires my special approval."

"Then approve it."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I still need you." He stood up. "Your contract has two years left."

"Two years? I can't wait two years!"

"Then you'll have to live with it." He walked toward me. "Elara, you belong to me."

"I don't belong to anyone!"

Just then, his phone rang again.

"Isabella?" He answered, his voice immediately tense. "What? Where are you?"

I watched his face shift from gentle concern to outright panic.

"The Blue Moon Club? What are you doing there?" his voice rose. "Dammit! I'm on my way!"

He hung up, his face grim.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Isabella got into a game with Marco Valenti," he said, shrugging on his jacket. "She lost. Big."

Marco Valenti. I'd heard the name.

The most sadistic old Don in New York, known for being unpredictable and brutal.

"What does that have to do with me—"

"You're coming with me," he cut me off. "Now."

"I'm not going."

"It wasn't a request." His eyes turned dangerous. "You want out?" He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing me. "Fine. One last thing. Come with me tonight. Do exactly as I say. And then you get your 'freedom.'"

I looked at him, knowing I had no other choice.