The Price of Defiance

Serena's Pov

The air burned in my lungs like acid.

His hand was still around my throat, the pressure relentless. I clawed at his wrist, my nails raking against his skin, but he didn't even flinch. He just stared down at me through those cold metallic eyes, watching me struggle like I was some insect pinned to a board.

"Please." I choked out, the word barely a whisper.

He released me.

I collapsed to the floor, gasping, coughing, sucking in air like I had been drowning. My hand went to my throat, feeling the raw tenderness where his fingers had been. Tears streamed down my face, but I refused to sob. I refused to give him that satisfaction.

Dimitrio De Luca stood over me like a dark angel of death. His face was unreadable, but his eyes—those terrible, beautiful eyes—were fixed on me with an intensity that made my blood run cold.

"Stand up," he said.

I didn't move. I couldn't. My legs had turned to jelly.

"I said stand up." His voice was ice. "Take off your clothes."

My head snapped up. "What?"

"You heard me." He stepped closer, his expensive shoes appearing in my blurry vision. "Take off the dress. Now."

"No."

The word came out before I could stop it. I watched his expression shift—a flicker of surprise, quickly masked by something darker. Dangerous.

"You want to say that again?" He crouched down in front of me, bringing his face level with mine. His cologne filled my nostrils, something expensive and masculine that made my stomach twist.

"I said no." My voice shook, but I forced the words out. "I won't do it. I won't be your plaything."

"Plaything?" He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You think I want to touch you? You think I want to soil my hands on a slave?"

"Then why—"

"Because you belong to me now." His eyes bore into mine. "Everything you are, everything you have, everything you will ever be—it's mine. I bought you. I own you. And I can do whatever I want with you."

I felt the tears spilling over, hot and shameful against my cheeks. "Please," I whispered. "Please just let me go."

"Let you go?" He tilted his head, studying me like I was a puzzle he was trying to solve. "You really don't understand, do you? There's no going back for you, Capelli Rossi. This is your life now."

"Don't call me that."

He raised an eyebrow. "Why? It's what you are. A little red-haired thing that everyone seems to want."

"I hate it."

"Good." He grabbed the collar of my dress and yanked.

The fabric tore with a sickening rip, exposing my shoulder, my collarbone, the curve of my breast. I screamed and tried to scramble away, but he caught my ankle and dragged me back.

"Let go of me!" I kicked, my heel connecting with his chest.

He grunted but didn't release me. Instead, he pinned me against the wall, one hand gripping my wrists above my head while the other pressed against my hip, holding me in place.

I was trapped. Helpless. Completely at his mercy.

And I hated him for it.

"Fight me," he murmured, his lips brushing against my ear. "Fight me all you want. It only makes this more entertaining."

"I'll kill you," I hissed through my teeth. "I swear to God, I'll kill you."

He pulled back, his eyes widening slightly. And then—impossibly—he smiled. A cold, calculated smile that sent shivers down my spine.

"You have fire," he said, his thumb tracing the curve of my jaw. "I'll give you that. Most of them break within the first hour. But you… you're different, aren't you?"

"Let. Me. Go."

"Why would I do that?" He tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. "You're the most interesting thing that's happened to me in years. I want to see what you'll do next."

I spat in his face.

The glob of saliva landed on his cheek, sliding down his perfect skin. For a moment, he didn't move. Didn't blink. Just stood there, frozen, with my spit dripping off his face.

Then his hand tightened around my wrists, and I felt the bones grind together. I bit my lip to keep from screaming.

"You have no idea what you've just started, Capelli Rossi."

The words were soft. Gentle almost. But they carried a weight that made my blood turn to ice.

He released me abruptly and stepped back. I slid down the wall, my legs too weak to hold me up.

"Take her to the slave quarters," he called out, his voice returning to its cold, commanding tone. "And tell Mariette to prepare her. I want her trained by morning."

Two men appeared in the doorway—Malak and another soldier I didn't recognize. They grabbed my arms and hauled me to my feet.

"Wait—" I tried to protest, but my voice cracked.

Dimitrio was already turning away, dismissing me like I was nothing. Like the last few minutes hadn't happened.

"Sir!" I called out. "Please—"

He stopped at the door, his back still to me. "What?"

"I didn't do anything wrong," I said, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I was sold. I was betrayed. I didn't ask for this. Please, just—"

"Take her away," he said flatly.

And then he was gone.

********

The slave quarters were exactly what I expected.

A long corridor lined with tiny rooms, each one barely big enough for a cot and a small chest. The walls were damp, the air thick with the smell of mildew and something else—something I didn't want to identify.

Mariette met me at the entrance. She was a plump woman in her forties with kind eyes and a no-nonsense attitude.

"Let me see," she said, taking in my torn dress, my disheveled hair, the red marks on my wrists. "Tsk. He went after you already?"

"I refused him," I said, my voice hollow.

Mariette's eyes widened. "You refused the don?"

"He wanted me to undress. I said no."

"Oh, child." She shook her head, a mixture of pity and fear in her eyes. "You don't say no to him. You learn that now, or you won't last the week."

"Then I won't last the week." I lifted my chin, trying to hold onto the last shreds of my pride. "I'd rather die than be his whore."

Mariette sighed. "We'll see if you still feel that way tomorrow. I'll be back.”