I knew something was wrong the second I stepped into my father's study.
The atmosphere was thick with cigar smoke, and the scent of whiskey was sharp in the air. The dim lighting cast deep shadows across the room, and the only real illumination came from the city skyline outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. My father sat behind his massive mahogany desk, his hand trembling as he poured himself another drink.
But I wasn't looking at him. I was looking at the man standing in front of him.
Dante Castellano.
I had never met him before, but I knew who he was. The name carried weight in this city, it was whispered in fear and reverence. He was the devil in an Armani suit. The man who ran New York's underworld, and the shadow behind every bullet fired in the dark. The Castellano's family didn't ask for money back. They took payment in blood.
And he was here. In my home.
This was bad. This was very bad.
I forced my legs to move as I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. The heavy silence that followed was suffocating. My father wasn't looking at me, instead his gaze flicked between me and Dante, like he knew something I didn't.
My fingers tightened around my purse. Something was definitely wrong.
"You're late," my father muttered, his voice raw.
I ignored him, my eyes locked onto Dante Castellano's perfect poker face. He looked calm. Too calm. Dante didn't speak right away. He simply stood and watched me. His suit was black, perfectly tailored, and the dim light casted sharp shadows along the angles of his very gorgeous face. Then, finally, he spoke. "Your father can't pay his debt."
His words sent a chill down my spine.
Debt?
I turned sharply to my father. "What is he talking about?"
My father swallowed hard. "Elena, listen—" But Dante didn't give him a chance to explain. "He owes me ten million dollars." His said, his voice calm. Too calm. "And he can't pay."
The world tilted beneath me.
Ten million dollars?
I stared at him, my heart pounding. "Then what the hell does that have to do with me?"
Dante smirked, a slow, knowing smile curved up on his lips. "Simple. I'm taking you instead."
The words barely registered. "What?"
"You'll marry me, and your father's debt disappears."
I laughed. Actually laughed. This had to be a joke. "You're insane if you think I'm agreeing to that." Dante's smirk didn't fade. If anything, it deepened. Like he expected me to say that. Like this was all part of a game he was playing, and I was the piece he had already moved into position.
Then, my father slammed his glass down, spilling whiskey across the desk. "Elena, just listen—"
"No!" My voice came out sharp and cutting. "You're selling me off like some kind of property?"
My father looked away.
My stomach twisted.
"Dad!"
The silence that fell over us felt suddenly suffocating.
Oh my God. He already agreed.
My pulse pounded wildly in my ears. "You can't do this to me."
Dante stepped forward. His presence was overwhelming. He didn't need to raise his voice. He didn't need to touch me. He was all power, all control. "I can," his dark eyes held mine. "I have."
I backed up until my back hit against the door. "You can't just take people."
He tilted his head, his dark eyes locked onto mine, studying me, analyzing, calculating. "I don't take," he said. He let the words hang between us, waiting for them to slowly sink in. "I own."
Rage and panic tangled inside me, tightening around my throat like a noose. "I'm not yours."
For the first time, his jaw clenched. Like I'd just challenged him.
"Yet."
My breath hitched.
No. No.
I turned to run.
I didn't make it two steps before a strong hand gripped my wrist. It happened so fast, one second, I was reaching for the doorknob, and the next, my back was against the cold wooden door with Dante's body close enough that his warmth brushed against me.
Too close. My breath caught. Jesus, he was fast.
His fingers were still wrapped around my wrist, strong, steady. But he wasn't squeezing, wasn't hurting me. Just holding me there. Controlling me.
My pulse thundered against my ribs.
"I suggest you stop fighting, Elena." His voice was softer now. Darker.
I lifted my chin. "Or what?"
His gaze dropped to my lips. Then lower. When it came back to my eyes, there was something else there. Something sinister. "Or I'll make sure you regret it."
Heat shot through my veins. Not from fear, but from something worse. Something I didn't want to name.
I tried to yank free, but his grip only tightened. "I hate you." I spat.
Dante leaned in, just enough for his breath to ghost against my skin. His scent was all expensive cologne and quiet dominance. It filled my lungs, making it impossible to think.
"Good."
I opened my mouth to curse at him, to scream, to fight, to do anything..
Then, everything went black.
***
The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the softness beneath me.
The second thing I noticed was that I wasn't in my room.
My body jolted upright, and panic slammed into me like a freight train. The bed was massive and covered in black silk sheets. The walls were dark gray, sleek. A penthouse.
Not mine.
His.
A deep voice came from the doorway. "You're awake."
I turned, and there he was, Dante Castellano, leaning against the doorframe like he hadn't just kidnapped me. Like he hadn't just ripped my life apart.
His next words made my stomach drop.
"Welcome home, wife."