Chapter Nine - Strategy.

The door slammed upstairs, and the echo rolled through the basement like a taunt.

He left me.

Not just left — walked away after tearing me open and then denying me the one thing he knew my body was screaming for. I should’ve been grateful. I should’ve been relieved he believed me.

Instead, humiliation and fury churned viciously in my chest.

I hung there in the chains, breathing hard, trying to decide which emotion I hated more.

The guards lingered near the stairs for a moment. I could hear them whispering — my name, Dante’s name, words like “crazy” and “what the hell was that.” Then a harsh bark from above sent them scattering.

Good.

Let them run.

The moment their footsteps faded, the basement fell into a thick, humming silence.

I forced myself to inhale, slow and steady, dragging my discipline back up from wherever Dante had shoved it.

Focus, Aria. Reset.

He wanted to break me. But he also left me alone… with everything he brought down here.

I scanned the floor.

The table.

The tools.

The metal bar.

He didn’t clean up.

He left me with weapons.

Did he do that on purpose?

Was this another test?

Another trap?

A game to see what I would do?

My father always told me the first rule: Be ready. Always.

Even when chained.

Especially when chained.

I shifted onto my toes, rising as high as I could manage. The chains scraped against the metal anchor above me as I stretched my body upward. My arms ached, but I didn’t care. I tilted my head back, letting my fingers brush blindly along the mess of my hair.

Please, let them be there.

Please—

My fingers snagged on something thin and metallic.

Relief punched through me so sharply I almost sobbed.

A bobby pin.

And another.

And another.

Three.

I closed my eyes. Idiots. Dante’s guards frisked me, but not thoroughly. They always underestimated women’s accessories. And Dante… well… he had been far too focused on other things to pat me down.

Blushing at the memory was useless and irritating, so I shoved it away.

I twisted my wrist as far as the cuffs allowed, brought the pin down, and bent the end with my teeth. My hands shook — from anger, not weakness — as I slid the pin into the cuff’s keyhole.

I’d picked locks in pitch-black rooms, underwater, hanging upside down, bleeding from places I didn’t know could bleed.

This was nothing.

The mechanism clicked.

One cuff loosened.

I caught it before it fell and made noise.

The second cuff was harder. My fingers were slick with sweat, my arms tired from being bound so long, but I forced my breathing steady and worked the pin until—

Click.

Free.

The metal dropped softly to the ground.

My hands tingled as blood rushed back into them. I rubbed my wrists, ignoring the burn, and stepped forward cautiously.

The basement was empty.

Totally, utterly empty.

Just me… and a table full of Dante’s chosen interrogation tools.

My eyes locked on the metal bar. Not quite a crowbar, not quite a weapon — but heavy, solid, and perfect for swinging.

I wrapped my fingers around it.

Cold steel grounded me.

I could fight my way out.

I could kill a guard.

I could get to a phone.

I could run.

Or…

I could send a message.

My brothers would know what to do. They always did. They were cruel, but they were predictable. Father left them in charge for a reason. If I got a signal out — even a partial one — they would come.

But would they come for me?

Or to silence me?

I tightened my grip on the bar.

There was no time to unravel that thought. Footsteps creaked on the floorboards above. Heavy. Slow.

Dante.

Of course he was coming back.

I stepped into the shadows beside the door, bar raised, breath silent, heart steady.

If this was a test…

I was ready to pass it.

If he wasn’t testing me…

I was ready to fight.

Either way—

I waited.