DEVIL'S CLAIM

DANTE'S POV 

She looks small in my bed.

Pathetic, broken, trembling under silk sheets she doesn’t deserve. The chandelier light throws gold across her skin, and I stand in the doorway longer than I should, just watching her.

My doll.

The thought makes me smirk.

Liliana Crawford, daughter of a legacy, fiancée to a weak fucking boy who couldn’t hold his own balls in his hands if I cut them off. And now she’s mine. Mine to keep, to ruin, to carve into something worthy of me.

The irony of it tastes sweeter than blood.

I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her chest rise and fall. Even asleep, she looks defiant. Jaw tight, fists curled, like she’s still ready to fight me in her dreams. Cute.

But I’ll break her. They all break eventually.

--

The morning is quiet when I step into the kitchen. My men are already there, Luca, sipping espresso like he doesn’t have three bodies to dump before lunch; Marco, sharpening his knife as if he’s auditioning for a horror flick.

They go silent when I walk in. Respect. Fear. The air changes when I enter a room. Always has.

“Boss,” Luca greets, setting down his cup. “She awake yet?”

“She will be.” I grab a glass from the counter, pour whiskey instead of water. It burns down my throat, sharp and clean. “And when she does, she’s going to learn exactly what it means to wear my chains.”

Marco chuckles, the sound rough. “Pretty little thing. You gonna use her against Crawford?”

I smirk. “Use her, keep her, fuck her. Haven’t decided which order yet.”

They laugh, but they know I’m not joking.

Liliana isn’t just leverage. She’s a weapon. A wound in Crawford’s side that will fester until he bleeds out. And she’s also, fuck, she’s also more than that.

I should’ve killed her at the altar. It would’ve been cleaner. A bullet between the eyes, Ethan screaming over her body, the deal done. But the second I saw her, wide eyes, trembling lips, the fire under the fear, I knew.

She wasn’t meant to die.

She was meant to suffer.

And I was meant to be the one to make her.

---

By the time I go back upstairs, she’s awake. Sitting on the bed, hair tangled, dress ripped, glaring at me like she hasn’t learned yet that glaring at me only makes me want to ruin her faster.

“Good morning, doll,” I say, shutting the door behind me.

She stiffens. “Stop calling me that.”

I grin, slow and wicked, crossing the room. “What? Doll? But that’s what you are. Fragile. Breakable. Pretty enough to put on a shelf and admire until I decide to rip the arms off.”

Her jaw tightens, but her eyes betray her fear.

I sit at the edge of the bed, close enough that her scent hits me, faint perfume and sweat, innocence tainted by terror. My cock stirs at just the fucking smell of her.

“You hungry?” I ask casually, like we’re a normal couple.

She blinks at me, confused. “What?”

“Hungry,” I repeat, leaning back on my palms. “For food. I could have Luca bring you breakfast. Or I could feed you myself.” My grin widens. “But that’d get messy.”

Her cheeks flush, and I know exactly where her head goes. Good. Let it go there. Let her see the filth I plan for her.

“I don’t want anything from you,” she spits.

I chuckle. “You’ll take everything I give you, doll. Food. Clothes. My cock down your throat. One way or another, you’ll learn.”

Her breath catches, and fuck, I feel my blood heat.

“Why me?” she whispers, almost too quiet. “Why not just kill me and get it over with?”

For a second, I just look at her. My fingers twitch with the urge to grab her throat, squeeze until she’s gasping, until she knows exactly why. But instead, I lean in, my voice low.

“Because killing you would end your pain. And I don’t want it to end. I want it stretched, dragged, torn out of you until there’s nothing left but me.”

Her lips part. A shiver runs down her spine. And I know she hates herself for it.

Perfect.

---

Hours later, I take her out of the room. Not far, just to the dining hall. She needs to see the cage she’s in. She needs to see how impossible escape is.

Two guards flank us, rifles strapped to their backs. Liliana walks stiff beside me, her torn dress hanging off her shoulders. She refuses to look at me, chin high, but her hands shake.

I pull out a chair for her at the long dining table. “Sit.”

“I’m not a dog,” she snaps.

I grab her wrist, yank her down into the seat. She gasps, glaring at me with tears in her eyes.

“No,” I murmur, bending close, lips brushing her ear. “Dogs get treated better than you.”

I straighten, snapping my fingers. Luca brings in food, fresh bread, fruit, meat, coffee. The smell fills the room. Her stomach growls, and she stiffens, embarrassed.

I grin. “Eat.”

She hesitates.

“I said eat, doll. Or I’ll feed you myself.”

She picks up a piece of bread, biting it with trembling hands. I watch every move, every swallow. It’s not about the food—it’s about control. And she knows it.

When she finishes, I lean back in my chair, smirking. “Good girl.”

Her eyes flash with fury. “Go to hell.”

I laugh. “Already there, sweetheart. Brought you along for company.”

---

Later, I drag her back upstairs. She resists, of course. Pulls at my grip, spits curses, tries to twist away. It only makes me harder.

By the time I shove her back onto my bed, I’m done playing gentle.

I crawl over her, pinning her wrists above her head. Her chest heaves, her eyes wide.

“You think Ethan’s gonna save you?” I growl. “You think that little bitch has the balls to come for you?”

She jerks against my hold, screaming, “He loves me!”

I laugh in her face. “He loves what you gave him. Power. Status. A pretty doll to decorate his arm. But me? I don’t want your family name. I don’t want your money. I want you. And I take what I fucking want.”

My knee presses between her thighs. She gasps, her body betraying her with the smallest twitch of heat.

Her lips tremble. “Please…”

I lower my head, brushing my mouth over hers without kissing. Her breath catches, sweet and broken.

“Please what, doll?” I whisper. “Please stop? Or please don’t?”

She shuts her eyes, tears slipping free.

I lick the tear from her cheek, savoring the taste. “Mm. Sweet.”

My cock aches, but I pull back. Not yet. Not fucking yet. She needs to break first. She needs to beg.

I release her wrists, standing. She lies there, trembling, glaring at me through tears.

“Get some sleep,” I order, heading for the door. “Tomorrow, I’ll show you just how deep this rabbit hole goes.”

The door slams, the lock clicks.

And I smile to myself.

Because Liliana Crawford doesn’t know it yet…

…but she’s already mine.