Chapter Three

The question hung in the air between them. Dante felt his hands curl into fists against his thighs.

"Every single day," he said, his voice low and hard. "I searched for you every single day for five years."

Luca's laugh was bitter and sharp. "You searched? Really?" He turned fully in his seat to face Dante, and there was fire in his eyes now, the first real emotion besides hatred that Dante had seen. "Then why didn't you find me? I was sold seven times, Dante. Seven. Passed between different owners like I was nothing. And you, with all your power and money and connections, couldn't find me once?"

"I tried everything. Every contact, every informant, every—"

"Not hard enough." Luca's voice cut through his words sharp. "You didn't try hard enough, or you would have found me. Maybe you didn't want to. Maybe it was easier to just let me disappear after you threw me away like garbage."

Dante grabbed Luca's wrist, pulling him closer. "I tore the underworld apart looking for you. I tortured people for information. I spent millions on bribes and paid informants across three continents. Don't you dare tell me I didn't try."

Luca stared at him, his breathing quickening. "Then you failed. You failed me when you pushed me away, and you failed me every day after when I needed you to find me and you didn't."

The words hit like bullets. Dante wanted to argue, to defend himself, but what could he say? Luca was right. Whatever Dante had done, it hadn't been enough.

He released Luca's wrist and sat back. "You're right. I failed you. But you're here now, and I'm not going to fail you again."

"I'm here because you bought me," Luca said quietly. "There's a difference."

The jet touched down in Rome fifteen minutes later. Dante's convoy was waiting on the private airstrip, three black SUVs with tinted windows. His men moved efficiently, forming a protective circle as Dante guided Luca down the jet stairs.

Luca moved like he was sleepwalking, his body going through the motions while his mind was somewhere else. Dante kept a hand on the small of his back, feeling how thin he was through the jacket.

The drive to Dante's villa took forty minutes. It sat on the outskirts of Rome, surrounded by high walls and security that most governments would envy. Dante had built it to be a fortress, somewhere he could be safe from his enemies. Now he was bringing Luca into it, and he didn't know if Luca would see it as sanctuary or prison.

They pulled through the main gates as the sun started to rise, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. The villa was three stories of white stone and arched windows, with gardens that Dante never looked at and fountains he never heard. He'd bought it for security, not beauty.

Inside, his housekeeper Maria was waiting in the entrance hall. She was a small woman in her sixties who'd worked for Dante's family since he was a child. Her eyes widened when she saw Luca.

"Prepare the guest room next to mine," Dante said in Italian. "And bring food and water. Quickly."

Maria nodded and hurried off. Dante guided Luca up the curved staircase to the second floor. The guest room was large and comfortable, with a king-sized bed and windows that overlooked the gardens. It also had cameras in the corners, hidden but present. Dante needed to be able to see Luca, to make sure he was safe.

"This is your room," Dante said, closing the door behind them. "There's a bathroom through that door. Maria will bring you food."

Luca walked to the window and stared out at the gardens. He didn't turn around when he spoke. "Am I allowed to leave?"

"The room? Yes. The villa? No."

"So I am a prisoner."

"You're safe," Dante corrected. "There's a difference."

Luca finally turned to face him. "Is there? Because from where I'm standing, you own me just like the others did. You have papers that say so. Legal documents that give you the right to do whatever you want with me."

Dante crossed the room in three long strides, getting into Luca's space. "I am nothing like them. Nothing. They hurt you. I would never......"

"You already did," Luca interrupted, his voice suddenly soft and broken. "Five years ago, you hurt me worse than any of them ever could. At least they never pretended to care."

The words stabbed deep. Dante opened his mouth to respond, but Maria knocked on the door before he could speak. She entered with a tray of food—pasta, bread, fruit, water.

"Leave it on the table," Dante said.

Maria set the tray down and left quickly, clearly sensing the tension in the room. Dante turned back to Luca.

"Eat something. Please."

Luca looked at the tray, then back at Dante. "I'm not hungry."

"You haven't eaten since Vienna. You need food."

"I said I'm not hungry."

Dante's patience was wearing thin. "Luca, don't be stupid about this. You need to eat to get your strength back."

"Why?" Luca asked, tilting his head. "So I'll be healthy enough for whatever you have planned for me?"

"I don't have anything planned. I just want you to be okay."

"Liar." The word came out flat and certain. "You always want something, Dante. That's who you are. So what is it this time? Do you want me to thank you? To fall into your arms like nothing happened? Or maybe you want what you bought—a body you own, to use whenever you feel like it."

Dante's hands twitched with the urge to grab Luca, to shake him, to make him understand. But he forced himself to stay still. "I want you to survive. That's all. Just survive."

"I've been surviving for five years," Luca said. "I think I know how to do it better than you do."

He walked to the bed and lay down, turning his back to Dante. The conversation was clearly over.

Dante stood there for a long moment, staring at Luca's thin frame curled on the bed. Then he walked out, locking the door behind him.

In his own room next door, Dante pulled up the camera feed on his laptop. He could see Luca lying motionless on the bed. He watched for an hour, then two. Luca didn't move. Didn't touch the food. Didn't do anything.

***************************

The next day was the same. Dante brought fresh food three times. Luca ignored all of it. By evening, the trays sat untouched on the table, the food growing cold and stale.

On the second day, Dante tried a different approach. He entered the room and sat on the edge of the bed. "If you won't eat, at least drink water. You'll die of dehydration before starvation."

Luca didn't respond. Didn't even open his eyes.

"This is childish," Dante said, his voice hardening. "You're acting like a child."

"Then treat me like one," Luca said, his eyes still closed. "You own me, remember? Do whatever you want."

Dante left before he did something he'd regret.

The third day was worse. When Dante entered the room with breakfast, Luca didn't move at all. His breathing was shallow, his skin even paler than before. His cheeks had hollowed out more, if that was even possible.

Dante set the tray down and stood over the bed, staring down at Luca. He could see the outline of every rib, every bone. Luca was wasting away right in front of him, choosing death over accepting help.

No. Dante wouldn't allow it. He'd spent five years drowning in guilt over losing Luca. He wasn't going to watch him die now.

He sat on the bed and grabbed Luca's arm, pulling him up roughly. Luca's eyes opened, unfocused and glassy.

"That's it," Dante growled. "No more of this bullshit. You're eating right now, even if I have to force every bite down your throat."

Luca's lips curved into something that might have been a smile. "Go ahead. Show me who you really are."