chapter 8

~~~Anne's POV~~~

I don't remember leaving the club.

One moment I am sitting in that red velvet chair, Luca's words still burning in my ears, his cold smile still carved into my memory like a brand on cattle. The whiskey glass in his hand. The way he said mistress like it is a gift instead of a cage.

The next moment I am outside, stumbling down the alley, my heels slipping on wet pavement, my lungs gasping for air I can't seem to find. The night air hits my face. Cold. Sharp. It wakes something in me.

Run.

The word explodes in my chest.

I run.

Not toward my apartment. I can't go there. He knows where I live. He has been there. He broke in. He killed a man on my floor while I watched. My landlord's blood is probably still on the floorboards. His slippers still by the door.

I run toward the train station. The same one I almost used before. The same one where I bought a ticket north, back to Sarah, back to Austin, back to the only life that matters.

Foolish. Stupid. He caught me there once. He will drag me back.

But I have nowhere else to go.

The streets blur past. Dark buildings with dark windows. Closed shops with metal grates pulled down like teeth. A cat darts across my path, yellow eyes flashing, gone before I can blink. A homeless man shouts at the sky from a doorway, his words slurred, his fists shaking at nothing.

My arm screams. The bandage has come loose. I can feel blood soaking through my sleeve, warm and sticky. My ribs ache with every breath. Every step sends a knife between them. My split lip has opened again, and I taste copper on my tongue.

I don't stop.

I can't stop.

Austin. I have to get back to Austin. I have to get out of this country. I have to—

A hand grabs my wrist.

I spin. Kick. Scream.

The hand does not let go.

"Did you really think," Luca's voice comes out of the darkness, calm and cold, like he is discussing the weather instead of crushing my last hope, "that I would let you run?"

He steps into the light of a streetlamp. His face is hard. Carved from stone. His eyes are darker than the night behind him. He isn't wearing a jacket anymore. Just his white shirt, sleeves rolled up, forearms exposed. I can see the veins in his hands. The strength in his fingers wrapped around my wrist.

"Let go of me."

"No."

I pull. He does not move. His grip is iron. Immovable. The kind of grip that says I will never let go, not if you beg, not if you cry, not if you die.

"You said I had until tomorrow—"

"I lied."

He yanks me toward him. I stumble, my heels skidding on the wet pavement. I catch myself against his chest. His free hand comes up to my chin, tilts my face toward his. His thumb presses into the bruise on my cheek. I wince.

He does not stop.

"There is no tomorrow, Anne. There is no decision. There is only this." He leans closer. His breath is warm on my frozen skin. His lips almost touch mine. "You. Me. The life I decide for you."

"You can't—"

"I can." He releases my chin. Grabs my other wrist. Now both my arms are trapped in his grip, pinned between our bodies. I can't move. Can't fight. Can't breathe. "I let you run once. Six years ago. I thought you were dead. I mourned you. I lit candles for your memory. I visited your grave." His voice drops to a whisper. "I will not make that mistake again."

"You're hurting me."

"Good." He does not loosen his grip. His fingers dig into my skin. "Maybe now you'll understand. You don't get to leave. You don't get to hide. You don't get to pretend you're someone else in some other city with some other name. Lia Perry is dead. Anne Mancini is mine."

He pulls me closer. Our bodies press together. Chest to chest. Hip to hip. I can feel his heartbeat through his shirt. Steady. Calm. Slow. Mine is a wild animal throwing itself against the bars of a cage, breaking its own bones trying to escape.

"You belong to me, Anne. You always have. You always will. Running was just a delay."

"I don't belong to anyone."

"You do now."

He drags me toward a black car parked at the curb. I recognize it. The same car from my house. The same car from the night he killed Mr. Morrison. Marco stands by the door, his face blank, his eyes avoiding mine. He opens the back door. Does not look at me.

"No—"

"Yes." Luca shoves me inside. Not hard enough to hurt. Hard enough to make a point. "You tried to run. That was your one chance. Now you sit. Now you listen. Now you do exactly what I say."

I scramble across the leather seat, pressing myself against the far door. My hand finds the handle. I pull.

Locked.

I pull again.

Locked.

Luca slides in beside me. He does not look at me. He reaches across and pulls my hand away from the door. Holds it in his lap. His thumb traces circles on my palm. Gentle. Almost tender. That is the worst part.

"Don't," I whisper.

"Don't what?"

"Don't touch me like you care."

He stops. His thumb goes still. He looks at me then. His eyes are unreadable.

"I don't care," he says. "I own. There's a difference."

The car pulls away from the curb. The city slips past the windows. Dark buildings. Dark streets. Dark sky. No stars.

I sit frozen. My hands are bleeding where his grip broke open old wounds. My lip is bleeding where I bit down to keep from crying. My arm is soaking through my sleeve.

Luca does not look at me. He stares out the window, watching the city pass, as if he hasn't just kidnapped me from a dark street, as if he hasn't just crushed my last hope of escape.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Home."

"I don't have a home."

"You do now." He turns to face me. "Mine."

The word lands like a stone in my chest. Mine. Not a promise. A sentence. A prison sentence with no possibility of parole.

"I won't—"

"You will." His voice is flat. Final. "You will eat when I tell you to eat. You will sleep when I tell you to sleep. You will be in my bed when I tell you to be in my bed. You will smile when I want you to smile. You will cry when I want you to cry."

"And if I refuse?"

He smiles. It does not reach his eyes. It does not even come close.

"Then you will learn what refusal costs."

I look away. Out the window. The city blurs past. Lights. Shadows. People living lives that aren't mine. Walking down streets I'll never see again. Going home to beds that aren't cages.

Austin. I have to get back to Austin.

But how? Luca will watch me now. Every moment. Every move. He will have cameras. Guards. Locks. He will make sure I can't breathe without his permission.

"You're thinking about running again," Luca says. "I can see it in your eyes."

I say nothing.

"Don't." His voice is soft. Almost gentle. That makes it worse. "There is no escape, Anne. Not from me. Not from this. Not anymore. I will find you every time. I will drag you back every time. And each time, I will take something from you. Something you can't get back."

"What do you want from me?"

"Everything." He turns back to the window. "And nothing. I want you to stop fighting. I want you to stop lying. I want you to accept that this is your life now. My house. My rules. My bed."

"I hate you."

"I know." His voice is quiet. "You'll learn to feel something else. Eventually."

"I won't."

He does not answer.

The car drives on. Into the night. Toward a future I haven't chosen and can't escape.

I press my forehead against the cold glass of the window. Watch my breath fog the surface.

Austin. Mommy's sorry. Mommy's so sorry.

Luca's hand finds mine again. Squeezes. I don't pull away. I don't have the strength.

"Good girl," he says.

I close my eyes.

And the night swallows me whole.