Chapter 3 - The Price of Defiance
The second day inside the Valente fortress proved that gold-plated cages were still cages.
Emily paced the length of the expansive guest suite assigned to her, her bare feet silent against the expensive Persian rug. The room was larger than her entire apartment back in the city, decorated in muted tones of charcoal, silver, and deep crimson. A king-sized bed dominated one wall, flanked by minimalist titanium lamps, while a massive floor-to-ceiling window showcased the relentless, gray waves crashing against the cliffs far below.
A soft scratching at the heavy oak door caught her attention.
She pulled it open to find Brutus sitting heavily in the hallway, his tail giving a weak, rhythmic thump against the hardwood floor. A fresh bandage wrapped his flank where the wound had been stitched, but his dark eyes were bright and intensely focused on her.
"Guard dog of the century," Emily muttered, kneeling down to scratch him behind the ears. "You realize your boss is a lunatic, right?"
"He prefers the term 'realist'."
Emily jerked her hand back and spun around. Dante stood a few yards down the dimly lit corridor, leaning casually against the wall with his hands shoved into the pockets of his tailored trousers. He had discarded his suit jacket, wearing only a crisp white shirt with the top two buttons open, revealing the faint edge of dark ink crawling up his neck.
"Do you always sneak up on people?" Emily asked, standing up and brushing her hands off.
"Only the ones who try to ignore my security protocols," Dante replied evenly, pushing off the wall and walking toward her. He stopped a few feet away, his gaze dropping momentarily to Brutus before rising back to meet her eyes. "How is he?"
"He's healing. Better than I am, considering I'm trapped in a concrete bunker."
"It's a home," Dante corrected, stepping past her into the suite without an invitation. He walked over to the window, looking out over the churning ocean. "A home designed to keep out the filth that rots this city from the inside out."
"And yet you brought me in," Emily pointed out, following him with a defensive posture, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "If I'm filth, why am I here?"
Dante turned slowly, his expression unreadable. He walked toward her with that slow, predatory grace that made every alarm bell in her mind ring. "You aren't filth, Emily. If you were, you’d be floating in Port Aurelia harbor right now. You're an anomaly. And in my line of work, anomalies are either destroyed or locked away where they can't disrupt the balance."
"So why didn't you destroy me?" she challenged, holding her ground as he stopped just inches away. She had to tilt her head back to look him in the eyes.
Dante reached out, his fingers lightly brushing a stray lock of auburn hair back from her forehead. The touch was impossibly tender, completely at odds with the cold, lethal reputation that preceded him. Emily’s breath hitched, her body betraying her by leaning slightly into the warmth of his hand before she jerked back.
"Because," Dante whispered, his voice dropping into a husky, dangerous register, "for the first time in ten years, I saw something in that dog’s eyes that I thought had died a long time ago. Loyalty. Real, unforced loyalty. And when he chose you over my command, he showed me something I've been searching for my entire life."
"And that makes me what? A trophy? A pet project?"
"That makes you my future wife," Dante said, the words falling into the quiet room like a falling anvil.
May you like
Emily stared at him, the sheer absurdity of the statement hitting her like physical force. "You've lost your mind. I don't even know you!"
"You know enough," Dante replied calmly, turning toward the door. "Dinner is at eight. Wear the dress left in your closet. Don't test my patience tonight, Emily. The guards outside your door have strict instructions not to let you leave, but they also have strict instructions to keep you alive. Let's keep it that way."
