Chapter 2 The Devil’s Deal

Amara barely slept.

The storm outside had passed, but a worse one brewed inside her. She lay awake in the massive bed with silk sheets she hadn’t asked for, staring at the high ceiling, feeling like a bird trapped in a gilded cage.

Her mind reeled with Dante’s words.

> “Your mother was promised to me.”

> “Your father stole her.”

> “Now you’re mine, just like she should have been.”

It sounded insane. Impossible.

And yet… she had seen the photo. Framed. Preserved. Revered.

Why did a mafia king have a picture of her mother on his desk?

The truth clawed at her chest like a beast trying to escape.

---

The sun was already high when a knock came on her door.

She didn’t answer.

Bianca walked in anyway.

“Mr. Moretti is waiting.”

Amara turned her face away from the light. “Let him wait forever.”

“He won’t like that.”

“I don’t care.”

Bianca walked to the window and drew the curtains back, flooding the room with sunlight. “You should care, Miss Voss. He’s not a man who tolerates rebellion.”

Amara sat up slowly, clutching the blanket around her like armor. “I’m not his possession.”

“You are. Whether you accept it or not.”

“Then he’s a monster.”

Bianca paused. “Maybe. But he’s also the only one keeping you—and your father—alive.”

That silenced her.

She stood, reluctantly.

“Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

---

Amara was escorted to a glass-enclosed veranda overlooking a garden of stone angels and blood-red roses. The beauty of the place made her sick. How could such a cruel man live surrounded by such serenity?

Dante sat at the table reading a newspaper, a cup of espresso steaming beside him. He didn’t look up when she approached.

He simply gestured to the chair opposite him.

She sat stiffly.

The silence stretched.

Finally, he folded the paper, set it aside, and looked at her.

“You didn’t eat last night.”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“You’re stubborn.”

“I get it from my father.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Don’t compare yourself to him. You’re nothing like that coward.”

Amara’s eyes narrowed. “Then why punish me for his crimes?”

“Because you’re all that’s left.”

The words were cruel, cold, and too honest.

“You hate him that much?” she asked.

Dante leaned back in his chair, swirling his espresso.

“I don’t waste energy on hate. But I remember betrayal. And I never forgive it.”

“And my mother?”

His eyes darkened.

“She was... different.”

“You loved her?”

“I don’t love, Amara. I own.”

Her stomach twisted.

“What happened to her?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he stood and walked to the edge of the veranda, staring out over the roses.

“She died. And your father lived. That’s all you need to know.”

She rose from her chair. “No, I want the truth. All of it.”

He turned, eyes locked onto hers like a predator.

“You want the truth?” His voice was low. Dangerous. “Then earn it.”

Her breath caught.

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’ll stay. You’ll obey. You’ll become mine—not just in name, but in body, mind, and soul.”

“You’re sick.”

He walked back toward her, slowly, deliberately.

“No. I’m addicted. Addicted to the memory of your mother. Addicted to your fire. To the way you hate me, yet don’t run. And the more you resist me…” He reached out, brushing her lower lip with his thumb. “…the deeper I fall.”

She smacked his hand away.

“I will never be hers. I’m not your substitute.”

He smiled coldly. “No. You’re better.”

Amara stepped back.

This man was dangerous—more than just with guns or power. He could unravel her, break her, bury her under centuries of mafia madness.

“I want to speak to my father,” she said.

“You will.”

“When?”

“When I decide you’ve earned it.”

---

Later that day, Amara explored the estate in secret.

Bianca had told her she wasn’t permitted to wander without permission.

She did anyway.

The estate was like a museum of sins—statues of gods with broken faces, hallways of family portraits where eyes followed her, and doors that refused to open.

She passed a room with black velvet curtains and heavy gold locks.

Curiosity burned.

She tried the handle.

Locked.

Behind her, footsteps echoed.

She turned quickly—expecting a guard.

But it wasn’t.

It was Alessandro.

Younger than Dante, but not by much. Tall, clean-shaven, dressed like a model in designer black. His eyes were green, sly, and filled with something she didn’t trust.

He smiled.

“You must be the little bird my brother locked in the tower.”

Amara stepped back instinctively.

“Who are you?”

He gave a dramatic bow. “Alessandro Moretti. The charming one.”

“I didn’t know Dante had a brother.”

“Most people don’t. He likes to pretend I don’t exist. But blood… can’t be erased.”

He leaned closer. “So, how are you enjoying your captivity?”

“I’m not a prisoner.”

“Oh, darling,” he whispered, “you absolutely are.”

She didn’t like the way he looked at her. Like prey. Like a toy.

“Excuse me,” she said, moving to walk past him.

He caught her wrist.

Not hard, but enough to send a cold rush down her spine.

“Be careful, Amara,” he murmured. “Dante’s obsession is a fire. And everything he touches… burns.”

---

That night, she stood on the balcony outside her room, staring at the stars.

She felt more alone than ever.

Her mother was gone.

Her father had sold her.

And Dante Moretti—the most powerful criminal in southern Italy—had claimed her like a trophy he’d been waiting years to polish.

She should have been terrified.

She was.

But beneath the fear was something more dangerous.

A curiosity. A pull. A darkness that whispered...

He wants you because you remind him of her.

But what if he begins to want you for you?

She wrapped her arms around herself.

“I need to get out of here,” she whispered to the wind.

But even the night offered no answer.

---

Dante stood in the security room, watching her through a live camera feed.

His eyes traced her silhouette on the balcony.

So much like her mother.

And yet… something entirely different.

Amara was fire and defiance, not sweetness and submission.

She burned where her mother once soothed.

He poured himself a drink.

Alessandro’s appearance had been... unplanned.

And dangerous.

He would have to remind his little brother who ruled this kingdom.

But first—

He turned his gaze back to the screen.

“Soon,” he whispered. “You’ll come to me on your knees, Amara.”

And when that day came...

There would be no escape.