The silence between them stretched too long.
Dante stood slowly, towering over the table now. His cigarette was out. His patience? Getting there.
He walked toward her , calm steps, but something tight in his jaw. Something ticking behind his eyes.
Aria didn't flinch.
He stopped in front of her. Close. Too close. He was tall , way taller than he looked sitting. And broader. Solid like a wall, dressed in blackl.
Her head tilted up just enough to look him in the eyes.
That's when he said it.
"You don't talk to me, I might kill you."
Cold. Direct. No emotion.
Aria's expression changed instantly. Her lip curled slightly , not out of fear, but anger. Disgust. And then… she spoke.
"Yes. Kill me. I'd rather die than expose my body to you."
His brows lifted. Surprise flickered in his eyes.
She spoke English. And not just that , she meant every damn word.
Then came the laugh.
Low. Real. Almost... entertained.
He stepped back slightly, running a hand through his hair.
"Well shit," he said, smirking. "Good. I hate speaking Italian all the time anyway. Never really learned it right."
He sat back down on the couch, legs wide again, one arm thrown over the backrest like he wasn't planning to move anytime soon.
Then he motioned toward her lazily.
"Dance."
Aria narrowed her eyes. "I'm not a dancer."
Wrong answer.
Dante stood again , this time fast.
He crossed the space between them in two steps and grabbed her by the neck , not hard enough to choke, but hard enough to shake her.
She gasped, her hands flying up to grab his wrist, but she didn't cry or beg. Her glare was sharp, wild, burning.
"There's nothing you can do to make me dance." she snapped, breathless.
He froze.
Still holding her.
Just… stared at her. Like he couldn't decide whether to slap her or kiss her.
That fire in her chest? It didn't go out.
She meant it. She was scared, yeah , but not broken. Not like the others.
Dante's lips parted slightly. He leaned in slow, eyes locked on hers. Aria turned her head away, jaw clenched in disgust.
His mouth brushed her chin , soft, just a touch , and he dragged his tongue along the skin gently.
Aria flinched. Her whole body jerked in disgust, but she didn't scream. Didn't cry.
She just glared harder.
Dante's voice was low. Gravelly.
"You'll be mine."
Then he let go of her throat and stepped back, slow, letting the weight of his words hang in the air.
Aria stayed where she was.
Silent. Furious. Shaking , not from fear anymore, but from how powerless she felt.
Dante was still on the couch. Calm. Like nothing about tonight had gotten under his skin. His fingers tapped the armrest slowly as he picked up his phone.
"Call the manager," he said flatly.
Less than a minute later, the door opened.
Four men entered , two bodyguards, one younger assistant, and the manager.
He was in his forties, dressed too young for his age, with slick hair and a fake Rolex. The moment he saw Dante, his whole demeanor changed. The swagger dropped from his shoulders, and his face tightened with something between respect and fear.
"Mr. Moretti," he greeted quickly, trying to sound confident. It didn't work.
Dante didn't stand up. He didn't return the greeting.
Instead, he looked straight at the man and said, "How much is she worth to you?"
The manager blinked. His lips parted, but no sound came out.
Dante reached into his jacket, pulled out a card, and placed it on the table like it was nothing.
"Eight million."
The room went still.
The security guards behind the manager exchanged looks. Even the young assistant looked like he'd misheard.
"Che cazzo…" one of them whispered under his breath.
(What the fuck...)
"Now she's mine," Dante added casually, like he was talking about a car.
Aria's head snapped toward him.
Her breath caught. "What?"
The manager stepped forward, unsure. "Sir, that's a… generous offer."
"Not an offer. A statement."
There was a pause. The manager glanced at Aria , her face pale, her fists clenched , and hesitated. Just for a second. His jaw moved like he wanted to say something. Maybe protest. Maybe do the decent thing.
But then his eyes dropped to the card again.
Eight million.
And the fear in his chest was suddenly outweighed by the hunger in his gut.
He licked his lips and nodded quickly. "Then she's yours."
Aria snapped.
"NO!" she screamed. "I'm not going anywhere with him!"
Dante looked at her finally. Not angry. Just annoyed. Like her voice was a buzzing fly in the room.
"You can't just buy people!" she shouted. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"
That was it.
He waved his fingers once , and his men moved immediately.
Two grabbed her arms. She kicked and screamed, flailing as they dragged her toward the exit.
"Get off me! Let go of me!"
She turned, locking eyes with the manager.
"Please! Don't let him take me! Please!"
For a second, he looked like he might feel something. His mouth opened.
But then he stepped back and smoothed his jacket.
"I'm not getting in the middle of this."
Coward.
Traitor.
Aria spat toward the ground as they dragged her away. "You disgusting bastard!"
She turned toward Dante.
"You sick freak! I hope you rot! I'll kill you! I'll fking kill you!**"
He didn't flinch.
He stood up, adjusted his cuffs, and walked out behind them , calm, unaffected, in complete control.
Outside, the car door was yanked open.
Aria fought harder now , screaming, biting, thrashing like she was drowning.
"Shut her up," one of the men growled.
A slap.
Hard.
Her head hit the leather seat.
Another slap , her vision blurred.
Then everything went dark.
The drive back was silent. The car cruised down winding roads lined with trees, no headlights but Dante's own.
Behind the gates, the world changed.
Dante Moretti's mansion wasn't just big , it was a kingdom.
Stone walls wrapped around acres of land. There was a fountain in the front, statues of angels and lions lined the marble steps. Guards stood at every entrance, dressed in black, armed but discreet. The house itself was three stories tall, all steel, glass, and old Italian stone.
Modern power, old-world money.
As soon as the car rolled to a stop, his men jumped out.
They opened Dante's door first. He stepped out like he hadn't just bought someone's life. Calm, collected, jacket draped over his shoulder, lighting a new cigarette without a care.
Then he looked at the other car Aria was in
Aria was still out cold , her cheek red from the slap, her knees curled up like her body was trying to protect itself even in sleep.
He didn't look at her long.
"Take her to the dungeon," he said flatly.
Two of the guards blinked. One glanced at the other, unsure if he heard right. "The dungeon, boss?"
Dante nodded, exhaling smoke. "Let her wake up there. She needs to understand where she is."
Without another word, he walked into the house, steps echoing against the stone.
Inside the mansion...
As soon as the front doors shut behind him, the whispers started.
Two guards near the east hallway switched to Italian instantly.
"Otto milioni? Per una ragazza?"
(Eight million? For one girl?)
"Pazzo. È bella, ma non vale tutto questo."
(Crazy. She's pretty, but she's not worth all that.)
"Forse è un messaggio. O una punizione per qualcuno."
(Maybe it's a message. Or punishment for someone.)
They fell quiet as Dante passed by again. His presence was enough to kill any curiosity. But once he was gone, one of them shook his head.
"O forse… è solo un altro dei suoi giochi."
(Or maybe… it's just another one of his games.)
Meanwhile...
Aria's unconscious body was taken down a stone corridor , not modern, but old, cold, almost medieval.
There were no fancy lights here. Just thick walls, a solid metal door, and silence.
They opened it.
Dropped her gently onto the mattress on the floor , thin, dusty, just enough to sleep on.
One of the men looked at her, confused.
"What the hell makes her worth eight million?"
The other shrugged. "Maybe we'll find out."
They closed the door. Locked it.
And walked away.
.