Chapter Five

"You don't have to say anything you don't want to," Dante said, keeping his hands on Luca's shoulders. "But he needs to see that you're alive."

Luca pulled away from him, wrapping his arms around himself. "I don't want him to see me like this. I don't want him to know what happened to me."

"He's going to know something happened. He's not stupid."

"Then tell him I'm sick. Tell him I need rest and can't see visitors." Luca's voice rose, becoming desperate. "Tell him anything except the truth."

"I'm not going to lie to your brother."

"Why not? You're good at lying. You lied to me for six months about what I meant to you."

The accusation landed like a punch. Before Dante could respond, the sound of a car engine came from the front of the villa. Tires on gravel. A car door slamming.

"He's here," Dante said.

Luca's face went even paler. He looked around like he was searching for an escape route. "I can't do this."

"You can and you will." Dante grabbed Luca's wrist and started pulling him back toward the villa. Luca resisted, digging his heels in, but he was too weak to put up much of a fight.

They made it inside just as Marco burst through the front door. He was twenty-four now, tall and lean like Dante but without the hardness. Law school had made him sharp, but he still had kindness in his eyes. At least until those eyes landed on Luca.

"Luca?" Marco's voice came out choked. He crossed the entrance hall in three long strides. "Oh my god, Luca, is it really you?"

Luca stood frozen, his eyes locked on Marco's face. "Hi, Marco."

Marco stopped a few feet away, his eyes scanning Luca from head to toe. Dante watched the two brother's expression change as he took in Luca's thinness, the hollows in his cheeks, the way he held himself like he might break.

"What happened to you?" Marco asked, his voice rough. "Where have you been? We looked everywhere. The police, private investigators, Dante's contacts—everyone was looking for you."

"I was gone," Luca said simply. "Now I'm back."

"That's not an answer." Marco looked at Dante, his eyes hardening. "What's going on? Why is he here with you? And why do you look like you haven't told him I was coming?"

Dante crossed his arms. "I told him five minutes ago."

"Five—" Marco's jaw clenched. "You've had him here for days and you didn't think to call me? I'm his brother, Dante. Or did you forget that?"

"I didn't forget."

"Then why?" Marco turned back to Luca. "Please, tell me what's happening. Did Dante find you? Did he bring you here?"

Luca's hands were shaking again. He looked at Dante, something like desperation in his eyes. Dante gave him a small nod, letting him know he didn't have to answer if he didn't want to.

But Luca spoke anyway, his voice flat and mechanical. "He bought me. At an auction in Vienna. For twenty-five million euros."

The words fell into the silence like stones into water. Marco stared at Luca, then at Dante, then back at Luca. "He what?"

"You heard me."

"An auction?" Marco's voice rose. "What kind of auction? What are you talking about?"

Luca laughed, that same bitter sound he'd made on the plane. "The kind where people are sold like property. The kind where men like your brother buy things they want to own."

Marco turned on Dante, his face flushing with anger. "Is this true? You bought him?"

"Yes," Dante said.

"Why? Why would you—how did he end up in an auction in the first place?" Marco's hands curled into fists. "Where has he been for five years?"

"That's not your business," Luca said before Dante could answer.

"Not my business? You disappeared without a trace and I spent five years thinking you were dead. Now I find out you were alive the whole time and Dante bought you like a piece of furniture. How is that not my business?"

"Because what happened to me is mine." Luca's voice cracked. "It's mine and I don't want to share it. Especially not with you."

Marco stepped back like he'd been slapped. "What? Luca, I don't understand. We told each other everything."

"That was before. This is now. And now I don't want to talk about it." Luca turned to Dante. "I'm going back to my room."

"Luca, wait—" Marco reached out to grab his arm.

Luca jerked away so violently he stumbled. "Don't touch me."

The panic in his voice made both brothers freeze. Luca backed up against the wall, his breathing coming fast and shallow. His eyes were wide, unfocused, like he was seeing something that wasn't there.

"Luca," Dante said carefully, moving toward him slowly. "You're safe. It's just Marco. He's not going to hurt you."

"I know that," Luca gasped. "I know. I just—I can't—don't touch me. Please don't touch me."

Dante stopped moving. Behind him, he heard Marco make a small, broken sound. When Dante glanced back, Marco's eyes were filled with tears.

"What did they do to you?" Marco whispered.

Luca's legs gave out and he slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, his knees pulled up to his chest. He buried his face in his arms and said nothing.

Dante walked over and crouched down beside him, careful not to touch. "Marco needs to leave now. You don't have to talk to him anymore."

Luca nodded without lifting his head.

Dante stood and turned to his brother. "Get out."

"What? No, I'm not leaving him like this—"

"I said get out." Dante's voice went cold, the voice he used when he needed someone to obey without question. "Now."

Marco looked between Dante and Luca, his face torn. "This is my fault. If I hadn't introduced you two, if I'd been there that night he disappeared—"

"This isn't about you," Dante said. "Leave. I'll call you later."

"Promise me you'll take care of him. Promise me, Dante."

"I promise. Now go."

Marco hesitated another moment, then turned and walked out. The front door closed behind him with a soft click.

Dante crouched down again beside Luca. "He's gone."

Luca lifted his head slowly. His eyes were red but dry. "I used to be normal. I used to be able to have conversations like a regular person. Now I can't even handle my best friend touching my arm."

"You went through something traumatic. It's going to take time."

"Time." Luca let out a harsh breath. "Everyone keeps saying that. Time will heal. Time will make it better. But how much time, Dante? How many years before I stop flinching when someone moves too fast? How long before I can sleep through the night without nightmares?"

Dante didn't have an answer. He just sat down beside Luca, his back against the wall, leaving a careful distance between them.

They sat in silence for several minutes. Then Luca spoke, his voice very quiet.

"The first man who bought me was a businessman from Dubai. He kept me in his penthouse for eight months. He liked—" Luca stopped, swallowed hard. "He liked to hurt me. He said it made him feel powerful."

Dante's hands clenched into fists against his thighs. "Luca, you don't have to—"

"The second one was a collector. He had twelve of us, all locked in different rooms. We weren't allowed to see each other or speak to anyone. I spent six months in that room with nothing but silence."

"Stop. You don't need to tell me this."

"The third one sold me to the fourth one because he got bored. The fourth one was worse than the first." Luca turned his head to look at Dante. His eyes were hollow. "The fifth one broke my ribs because I said no. The sixth one—"

"Enough." Dante's voice came out rough. "Please, enough."

"Why? Can't handle hearing what happened to me? Can't handle knowing what your weakness cost me?"

The words were meant to wound, and they did. Dante felt them cut deep. "You're right. This is my fault. All of it. I made you vulnerable and then I threw you away. Everything that happened after is on me."

Luca stared at him for a long moment. Then he said, very softly, "I hate you for that. I hate you so much I can barely breathe sometimes."

"I know."

"But I also—" Luca stopped, closing his eyes. "I also can't stop remembering how it felt before. When I thought you cared about me. When I was stupid enough to believe I mattered to you."

Dante's throat tightened. "You did matter. You still do."

"Don't." Luca opened his eyes, and there were tears in them now. "Don't say things like that. Not when you own me. Not when I'm just another possession in your collection."

"You're not—"

"Then what am I?" Luca demanded. "What am I to you, Dante?"