CHAPTER THREE — I LIKE THAT 

The torture room smelled of sweat, blood, and silence. A man chained against the wall barely conscious. His face was swollen, one eye completely shut, lip split, ribs broken. Blood dripped from his nose steadily to the ground.

He had been beaten, electrocuted, and cut. But he hadn’t spoken a single word.

Massimo, Dante’s second-in-command, entered the room. “He’s a spy. We found him crossing the south border with a microchip. He swallowed it. It's obvious smeone sent him.”

“And he refuses to say who.” Another guard muttered.

The room quieted instantly when the iron door slid open.

Dante Valerio walked in.

Black suit. Perfectly pressed.

Expression calm, unreadable, cold enough to freeze the air.

Dante ignored all the looks he got, his gaze was only on the battered man in the chair.

He crouched in front of him, eye level, his voice soft… almost gentle.

“I’m only going to ask you this once.”

His tone was soft enough to scare a god.

“Who sent you?”

The spy coughed, spitting blood.

“And you think I'll tell you… in your dreams Dante.” he smirked.

Dante tilted his head. “You mean you won’t.”

Silence.

Dante sighed, a disappointed, quiet exhale. “Bring her in.”

The guards pushed the door open again and dragged in a little girl about ten years old.

“Padre (father)?” she whimpered, voice shaking.

The spy’s eyes widened instantly. He began screaming, struggling violently against the restraints.

“Leave her! She knows nothing, please! Dante, she’s just a child….”

Dante stood upright, adjusting his cufflinks as calmly as if he were preparing for a business meeting.

“You have two seconds to tell me who you work for.”

He raised his gun and aimed at the girl’s head.

The spy sobbed, panicking.

“No…no, please…please, wait…Dante, I’ll talk, I swear…just don’t hurt her…she’s all I have…she’s all…”

“Two.”

“I’ll talk! I’ll—”

One.

A gunshot cracked the air.

The girl fell instantly.

The spy’s scream shook the walls, raw, animalistic, broken.

“Maledetto bastardo (You fucking bastard). I'll make you pay for this.”

Dante didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Didn’t look away from the blood spreading across the ground.

He flicked the gun around his finger slowly, like he’d simply crossed an item off his to-do list.

Then he leaned down, gripping the spy’s jaw with gloved fingers, forcing him to look up.

His voice dropped to a whisper that felt colder than a grave.

“Hai 24 ore per confessare. Se non mi dici chi ti ha mandato... tua madre morirà dopo (You have 24 hours to confess. If you don’t tell me who sent you… your mother dies next).”

Dante released him and turned to Massimo.

“Clean this up.”

And without a backward glance, he walked out.

___

Vittorio pushed the door to Arabelle’s room wide open, not caring what she was doing inside.

“Father!” she flinched backward on the bed, heart pounding.

Vittorio held her gaze as he strode toward her, hands clasped behind his back. When he reached her, he raised a hand as if to caress her cheek then slapped her, hard.

Arabelle’s head snapped to the side.

Fucking hell, she cursed under her breath.

“I never knew you were so useless,” Vittorio growled, “that you’d allow yourself to fall into the hands of an enemy.”

“What are you talking about, Father?”

“Lucia Romano.” He spat the name like poison. “You’ve been seeing her. Not just seeing her, you’re in a forbidden relationship with her. How could you, Arabelle?”

For a moment, Arabelle couldn’t breathe. How did he find out?

“But that doesn’t give you the fucking right to storm into my room,” she snapped. “And it’s none of your business who I’m seeing. It’s my life. I’ll live it how I want.”

“Never.” His voice thundered through the room. “I won’t watch you ruin what I’ve built for decades with your stupidity. Macro.”

The guard entered immediately.

“Lock her up. No food. No water. Until I say otherwise.”

“Don’t you dare touch me.” Arabelle scrambled back on the bed, but Macro seized her and yanked her down.

“Let go of me, you fucking bastard!” she shrieked, twisting violently. 

“Father, what are you doing?!”

“Locking you up until your husband arrives.”

“What?” her voice cracked. “What husband? What are you talking about?!”

“Get her out of my sight,” Vittorio said coldly, walking away as Arabelle’s screams echoed down the hallway.

___

A WEEK LATER.

“Boss, the car is ready,” Massimo announced as he entered Dante’s bedroom.

“Where are we going again?” Dante muttered, smoke trailing from his lips as he exhaled his joint.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.” Massimo chuckled.

“Just say it, fucker.”

“We’re going to Vittorio’s house to meet your fiancée,” Massimo said. Apart from being Dante’s right-hand man, he was also his best friend, more like a brother.

“Oh, that.” Dante scoffed. “I suddenly don’t feel like going anymore. Tell Vittorio plans changed.”

“Don’t be a dickhead,” Massimo shot back. “Get your ass off the bed and meet me in the car.”

“Fuck off, idiot,” Dante laughed, tossing the joint aside and heading for the shower.

Minutes later, he stepped out dressed in black pants and a crisp white shirt, the top three buttons undone to reveal his chest. After fixing his hair and putting on his Rolex, he left the room.

“How long before we get there?” Dante groaned, leaning back in the passenger seat.

Silence. Then,

“We’ve arrived.”

The gate swung open without question. The car halted in front of the entrance. A valet took the keys, and before they could knock, the door opened.

“Dante,” Vittorio welcomed with a smile. “Please, come in.”

Dante entered with Massimo behind him. His eyes swept the interior, expensive, tasteful, meant to impress.

“You’ve got a nice place,” Dante said as he settled into a seat without being invited.

“Thank you. I hope the trip wasn’t stressful. You insisted on coming yourself, we could’ve met at your residence instead,” Vittorio replied, giving a sly smile.

“I don’t want my wife to be stressed.

Vittorio chuckled quietly.

“Where is she?” Dante asked, scanning the room.

“You seem more interested in her than I expected.”

“And what exactly were you thinking?” Dante raised a brow.

“In situations like this… some men don’t see the need—”

“I am not some men Vittorio ” Dante cut in.

Vittorio faltered. “Don’t misunderstand, Dante. It’s not—never mind. Let’s head to lunch. She’ll join us shortly.”

He signaled the maids to prepare Arabelle.

Arabelle stared at her reflection in the mirror. Pale. Weak. Thinner than she’d ever been.

A week without proper food had carved new bones into her face.

Today she would meet the stranger they planned to marry her off to.

She didn’t care. She had no intention of loving, trusting, or obeying any man.

The knock on her door interrupted her thoughts.

“Miss Arabelle? Your father wants you downstairs now.”

No response.

The maid entered.

“You’re not dressed?” she gasped softly. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you.”

“Mia,” Arabelle whispered, still staring at her reflection. “How would you feel if your father married you off to a stranger because you fell in love with the wrong person?”

The maid hesitated. “I… I don’t know.”

“Forget it,” Arabelle muttered. “Just help me get dressed.”

Mia dressed her carefully and applied light makeup to hide the week of suffering.

When Arabelle entered the dining room, Vittorio and Dante were already seated. She ignored them both and sat down gracefully.

“If you don’t respect me, at least respect the man seated here.” Vittorio snapped.

“I’m disappointed in you, Father.” Arabelle exhaled. “If you were going to sell me off, you could’ve at least picked someone more handsome and well-built than this boy.” She eyed Dante with open disdain.

Massimo choked on his food, fighting laughter.

Arabelle shot him a glare. “What’s funny, you fowl? I’m only telling the truth.”

Dante’s lips curved into a slow smile. Her fire intrigued him.

“Arabelle,” Vittorio groaned. “Will you behave yourself for once? This is Don Dante Valerio. Has a nut gone loose in your head?”

“Fortunately, I know exactly who he is, padre.” She turned to Dante again. “If I were you, I wouldn’t accept this marriage. You’ll get nothing from me. And in case you’re unaware—I’m not into men.”

Dante smirked. “You’re intriguing. I like that.” He lifted his glass. “Proper introduction—I am Dante Valerio, Don of the Valerio family.”

“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes. “You probably know everything about me anyway. Father must have fed you every detail. Lastly, I do not look forward to this marriage.”

She stood to leave.

“How about you show me around, Arabelle? Your home is beautiful. I’d

like to walk around.”

“If that’s what you want,” she said coldly, heading for the door. “I might just kill you and bury you somewhere no one will ever find.”

She murmured it just loud enough for him to hear.