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Chapter Nineteen - Chains
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2025-12-13 04:43:22I woke to silence.
Not the heavy, breathing silence of a body beside mine — but the kind that prickled along my spine and told me something had changed.
I opened my eyes slowly.
Dante was no longer in bed.
He sat across the room in a chair pulled near the window, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee, a cup of coffee in one hand and a tablet in the other. Calm. Composed. Awake far longer than I had been.
Like he’d been watching me sleep.
“What the hell?” I snapped, bolting upright.
The movement was sharp — too sharp.
Metal bit into my wrists.
Both hands were cuffed together.
Not to him.
To something else.
I looked down, heart slamming, and saw the chain trailing off the bed.
My breath turned cold.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I hissed.
Dante didn’t look up from the tablet. He took a slow sip of his coffee like I hadn’t spoken.
“I wanted to make sure,” he said mildly, “that you didn’t try anything while we were asleep.”
“I didn’t—”
“And before you finish that sentence,” he continued, finally lifting his eyes to me, “I never promised to stay cuffed to you.”
My jaw clenched. “You chained me in my sleep.”
“I restrained you,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood quickly, the chain clinking softly. Rage surged hot and clean through my veins — familiar, comforting.
“Do you know,” I said coldly, stepping toward him, “that I can kill someone with these?”
He raised a brow.
“If I get close enough to one of your men,” I went on, voice calm now, lethal, “I’ll choke the life out of them. Slowly. I’ll watch the light drain from their eyes and walk away without a shred of regret.”
I meant every word.
Dante smiled.
That should have been my warning.
Before I could react, I felt resistance — then a violent yank.
The chain snapped tight.
My balance vanished.
I hit my knees hard on the floor in front of him, breath knocking out of my lungs as pain shot through my legs.
“What the—!”
Dante stood in one smooth motion.
Only then did I see it.
The other end of the chain.
Wrapped around his leg.
Anchored.
Planned.
He grabbed the chain and pulled again, forcing me closer until he was standing directly in front of me. He crouched just enough to bring his face level with mine.
Close.
Too close.
His voice dropped — low, dangerous, almost amused.
“You really think I’d leave you unattended with my people?”
My teeth ground together. “Get your hands off—”
He yanked the chain once more, not hard enough to hurt — just enough to remind me who controlled the distance between us.
“I’m not as stupid as you think I am,” he said quietly.
His eyes were dark now. Sharp. Focused.
“You’re on this chain until tomorrow,” he continued. “You move when I move. You stop when I stop. You don’t touch my men. You don’t threaten them.”
“And after tomorrow?” I spat.
His mouth curved slightly — not a smile.
“Tomorrow,” he said, “I introduce you to a new way of controlling your behavior.”
My pulse spiked despite myself.
I hated that.
I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze without flinching.
“You really think chains are enough?”
“No,” he said calmly. “But they’re a start.”
He released the chain and straightened, turning back toward his chair and tablet like he hadn’t just dragged me to my knees.
Like I wasn’t dangerous.
Like I wasn’t furious.
Like he hadn’t just proven — very clearly — that every move I made was already being anticipated.
My stomach betrayed me before my pride could.
Dante looked up from his tablet, eyes flicking to my face like he’d already clocked the weakness.
“Hungry?” he asked.
I hesitated.
I hated that word coming from him.
But my body was done pretending.
I nodded once. Regret followed immediately.
His gaze sharpened—not triumphant, not mocking. Assessing.
“You refused the sandwich last night,” he said evenly.
“I threw it at you,” I corrected.
“Yes.” His mouth twitched. “You did.”
Before I could brace myself, he yanked the chain.
I stumbled forward, momentum carrying me straight into him. Chest to chest. The sudden proximity knocked the air from my lungs more effectively than the chain had.
He didn’t grab me.
Didn’t cage me.
He just stood there, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his breathing. Close enough that the cuffs between my wrists felt suddenly very small.
He smirked down at me.
“Do you like pancakes?”
I blinked.
Twice.
“…What?”
“Pancakes,” he repeated calmly, like he hadn’t just dragged me across the room and pinned me with nothing but distance. “Fluffy. Hot. Syrup.”
My stomach chose that moment to twist painfully.
I glared up at him. “Are you trying to mess with me?”
“Always,” he said. “But this time, I’m also cooking.”
I scoffed. “You think I’m going to sit at a table with you like this is some twisted morning routine?”
He leaned in just enough for his voice to drop.
“You’re going to eat,” he said quietly. “Because you’re starving. Because you need strength. And because if you pass out, I have to carry you—and that’s inconvenient.”
My jaw tightened. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet,” he murmured, giving the chain a small tug, “you nodded.”
I hated that he was right.
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The King’s Wrong Captive Chapter Twenty-Five -
I leave the room before the silence turns into something dangerous.The hallway is still humming with adrenaline when I spot Marco lingering near the stairwell, shoulders tight, eyes darting like he’s already anticipating bad news.“Move her upstairs,” I say, voice flat. “Room next to mine.”Marco blinks. Once. Twice.“You’re—” He swallows. “Boss, you can’t be serious.”I don’t slow down.“She stays under my roof,” I continue. “Constant watch. Full access.”Marco takes a half-step after me. “She’s a Moretti. She broke out twice. She almost killed you. Putting her next to your—”I stop.Not abruptly.Deliberately.The air changes.I turn my head just enough to look at him.Not with anger.Not with rage.With disappointment.“Say it again,” I tell him quietly.Marco stiffens. “I just think—”“That’s the problem,” I cut in softly. “You’re thinking. When I didn’t ask you to.”His throat works as he swallows.Rocco steps forward before he can finish the sentence. “I’ll handle it,” he says
The King’s Wrong Captive Chapter Twenty-Four - The Choice
The phone is still on the table.I don’t look at it again.I don’t need to.Five hundred thousand dollars.My name.My father’s signature written between the lines like a death sentence.The room hums with tension, but inside me something goes very still.I don’t break.I don’t cry.I straighten.Slowly, I lift my eyes to Dante.He’s watching me like he expects me to fold—or explode. Like he’s bracing himself to decide what to do about me.I don’t give him that.“If my father wants me dead,” I say calmly, “then I want his empire.”The words land heavy.Marco inhales sharply behind me. Someone curses under their breath.Dante doesn’t react right away.Good.I step closer to the table, palms braced against the wood.“He doesn’t issue bounties lightly,” I continue. “This isn’t punishment. It’s containment. He thinks I’ve compromised his control.”I look up at Dante, meeting his gaze head-on.“He’s wrong.”Silence.Then Dante says quietly, “You’re asking for war.”“No,” I correct. “I’m of
The King’s Wrong Captive Chapter Twenty-Three - Outlawed
The cameras flickered across the screen in front of me, one feed after another lighting up the darkened strategy room.I wasn’t breathing.I watched Dante move through the compound with lethal calm, weapon in hand, body loose and ready. He didn’t rush. He didn’t hesitate. He went straight toward the west corridor.Straight toward Dale.My father’s favorite.My father’s oldest friend.Dale never failed. He’d always said the job mattered more than the cost. That if it killed him, so be it — the mission would still be finished.That was what made him dangerous.That was what made my father sending him here feel wrong.Until it didn’t.Because there was only one reason Dale would be inside this house.Not for territory.Not for Dante.For me.My father hadn’t just abandoned me.He’d outlawed me.The feed switched just as Dante stepped into the corridor.Dale was already there.Older now. Grayer. But his posture was exactly the same as I remembered — relaxed, patient, like violence was jus
The King’s Wrong Captive Chapter Twenty-Two - The Meeting and the Siren
I didn’t bother unchaining her for the meeting.That alone made my men uneasy.Aria stood at my side in the strategy room, wrists still cuffed, the chain clipped to a heavy ring bolted into the floor beneath the table. She didn’t look restrained. She looked coiled—eyes sharp, posture relaxed, like she was daring someone to underestimate her.The table was already covered in maps, photos, and timelines. Marco, Rocco, and two of my lieutenants stood waiting. Conversation died the second they noticed her.Good.“Sit,” I ordered.They did.I gestured to the maps. “The Sage twins have pushed into Fifth Avenue. We know that. What we don’t know is how they’re staying three steps ahead of us.”Rocco pointed to a marked route. “We think they’re moving product through rotating fronts. Art galleries, pop-up events—”“No,” Aria said calmly.Every head snapped toward her.Marco stiffened. “Boss—”“Let her talk,” I said.She leaned forward as far as the chain allowed, studying the map like it belon
The King’s Wrong Captive Chapter Twenty-One - Photos, Food, and Assets
“Can I see the photos?”The question was casual. Too casual.Like she already knew the answer.I didn’t respond right away. I watched her instead—how she held the fork carefully, how she tried to chew slowly, politely, like she wasn’t starving. Her posture was controlled, but her eyes betrayed her. They flicked to the stack of photos again and again, hunger of a different kind sharpening her focus.Information hunger.That was more dangerous than the other kind.I grabbed three photos off the island and slid them across the counter, setting them just beyond the edge of her plate.“Don’t touch anything else,” I said.She nodded once, already leaning forward.I caught the way her pace changed—how the food became secondary, how she ate faster now, controlled but urgent. I smirked despite myself.Then she froze.Fork paused halfway to her mouth.Her eyes locked on one of the photos.Not the twins’ faces.The wall behind them.“That,” she said quietly.I stilled.She swallowed, set the for
The King’s Wrong Captive Chapter Twenty - Pancakes and New Blood
I chained her to the radiator in the kitchen.Not tight.Not cruel.Just enough.Aria sat on the stool at the counter, wrists cuffed, the chain running down to the old iron radiator along the wall. She tested it once, subtly, then stilled when she realized exactly how much range she had.Smart.She didn’t fight it.She watched.Those eyes followed me as I moved around the kitchen—measuring, cataloging, learning. Like she was sketching me in her head instead of on paper.I grabbed the mixing bowl and cracked eggs into it.“Pancakes or eggs first?” I asked.Silence.I glanced over my shoulder.Her jaw was tight, lips pressed together. Defiant. Starving.I raised a brow. “You plan on communicating today, or should I guess?”A beat.Then, barely audible: “Eggs.”I whisked. “Bacon or sausage?”No answer.I stopped whisking and looked at her fully this time.She rolled her eyes, like answering me was an insult to her dignity. “Sausage.”A smirk tugged at my mouth. “Good choice.”I set the p
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