The darkness was absolute. I pulled against the chains until my wrists were raw, the copper scent of blood filling the small space. I was an Agent. I was trained for psychological warfare. But nothing in the manual prepared me for the way my skin still burned where his thumb had traced my lip.
Hours bled into what felt like days. I drifted in and out of a feverish sleep until the heavy door groaned open again.
There was only the click of heels and the silhouette of the man who owned my life. Santo stepped into the cell, the light from the hallway casting him in a predatory halo. He didn't speak. He simply knelt between my spread knees and began to unlock the cuffs.
"Stand up," he commanded.
My legs were numb, buckling the moment the weight hit them. I expected to hit the concrete, but Santo's arms were there, catching me with a proprietary grip that felt more like a cage than a rescue. He didn't let go. He tucked my head into the crook of his neck, his hand sliding into my hair, forcing me to breathe in his scent—expensive cologne, tobacco, and power.
"You're shaking, Dante," he murmured, his voice vibrating against my chest. "Is it the cold? Or are you finally realizing that the people you work for aren't coming to save you?"
"They'll find me," I croaked, though we both knew my tracker had been fried the moment the needle hit my neck.
Santo pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark with a hunger that made my breath hitch. "Let them try. By the time they get here, you won't want to leave."
He led me out of the cell, but we didn't go toward the exit. We went deeper into the mansion, ending in a room that looked like a sanctuary with plush rugs, a roaring fireplace, and a massive mahogany desk. On the desk sat a single glass of amber liquid and a document.
"Your agency thinks you're dead, Dante. I've already sent the 'confirmation,'" Santo said, walking behind the desk. He picked up a pen and tossed it toward me. "This is a contract. Not for your services. For your life."
I looked down at the paper. It wasn't a confession. It was a transfer of guardianship for Maya to a private boarding school in Switzerland
the safest, most elite school in the world. And below it, a non-disclosure agreement that essentially signed me over to Santo as his 'personal security' a polite term for a kept man.
"Sign it, and Maya is on a private jet within the hour. She'll never want for anything. She'll be safe from my enemies and yours."
"And the price?" I asked, my fingers trembling as I reached for the pen.
Santo stepped around the desk, closing the distance until I was backed against the edge of the wood. He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear, sending a traitorous shiver down my spine.
"The price is you, Dante. You stay in this house. You eat at my table. You sleep where I tell you to sleep. You belong to the monster now."
He tilted my chin up, his eyes dropping to my mouth with a devastating intensity.
"Now," he whispered. "Tell me you hate me again. I want to hear the lie one more time before you sign your freedom over to me."
I stared at the pen, the weight of it feeling heavier than the chains I'd just escaped. Behind Santo, on a sleek monitor, I saw a snapshot of Maya. She was sleeping in a bed with silk sheets, looking more peaceful than she had in years of us living on the run. He was offering her a life of luxury and safety, and all it cost was the one thing I had left: myself.
"I hate you," I whispered, the words rasping against my throat. "I hate every breath you take."
Santo didn't flinch. Instead, a slow, dark smirk spread across his face, one that didn't reach his predatory eyes. He reached out, his hand wrapping firmly around the back of my neck, his fingers digging into the sensitive skin there. He pulled me forward until our foreheads touched, forcing me to breathe him in, to exist only in his space.
"Good," he murmured, his thumb grazing the line of my jaw with a terrifying possessiveness. "Keep that hate. Use it to keep your heart beating when the walls of this house start to feel like they're closing in. Because from this moment on, your Agency is a ghost, your badge is trash, and your life is a footnote in my ledger."
He leaned down, his lips ghosting over mine, not in a kiss, but in a claim that made my knees feel weak for all the wrong reasons.
"Sign it, Dante. Sign it and accept the truth."
He leaned back just an inch, his gaze burning into mine, stripping away every layer of the Agent I used to be until only the man remained.
"I don't just have your secrets anymore. I own you. Body, mind, and every shattered piece of your pride. You're mine."
With a hand that shook with a mixture of fury and absolute defeat, I pressed the pen to the paper. As the ink bled into the page, the heavy silence of the room felt like a tomb. I wasn't an Agent anymore. I was a possession.