Page 73 of Ruthless Desire

As we wind up the cypress-lined drive, the villa comes into view - a sprawling stone estate imbued with centuries of history and secrets. Beside me, Natalie draws in a sharp breath, her artist's eye no doubt drinking in every detail of the timeworn façade and the lush gardens spilling out around it.

Waiting at the door is a familiar figure - Enzo, my oldest friend and confidante. His sharp gaze takes us in, a subtle furrow forming between his brows as he no doubt notes the shadows haunting Natalie's eyes, the tension that radiates from her like a palpable force.

"Benvenuto, amico mio," he greets me warmly, enfolding me in an embrace that feels like coming home. For a fleeting moment, the weight of the world seems to lift from my shoulders.

Turning to Natalie, Enzo takes her hand, his smile gentle and disarming. "Signorina, it's a pleasure. Welcome to our little slice of paradiso."

I watch, an irrational flare of jealousy licking through my veins, as Natalie offers a tentative smile in return, a hint of color rising in her pale cheeks. Even now, stripped bare and remade by my hands, she is still so responsive, so achingly alive.

Inside, Enzo leads us through the villa's grand halls and light-filled chambers, his easy charm and cultured anecdotes filling the spaces between Natalie's hesitant responses and my own calculated silences.

He shows Natalie to her room, a haven of airy linens and antique furnishings overlooking the rolling Tuscan hills. For a fleeting moment, I see a spark of something in her eyes - wonder, perhaps, or a desperate sort of longing.

It stirs a dark resolve within me. Soon, I vow silently. Soon, she will look at me with that same depth of emotion. Not with fear or revulsion, but with need. With hunger. With a craving so profound, it will obliterate everything else.

Enzo and I retreat to the study, the somber weight of our impending conversation settling over us like the gathering dusk.

"She is more than just a plaything to you." It's a statement, not a question, Enzo's eyes piercing in their intensity.

I swirl the amber liquid in my glass, considering my response. "She is...everything," I admit at last, the words feeling raw and unfamiliar on my tongue. "My muse, my obsession. The key to unlocking something within myself I hadn't even realized was locked away."

"And what happens when you've unlocked it?" Enzo presses, leaning forward in his chair. "When you've possessed her so completely, there is nothing left to conquer?"

A slow smile spreads across my face, dark and full of cruel promise. "Oh, but don't you see? The beauty of it is...there will always be more to take. More to own. Natalie is an endless well of inspiration, of potential. I will never tire of breaking her and remaking her in my image."

Enzo sighs, a sound laden with heavy understanding and an undercurrent of resignation. "I hope, for both your sakes, you know what you're doing, Dante. The human heart is a labyrinth. One can become lost within its twists and turns."

"I don't intend to lose myself," I retort sharply, draining the last of my scotch and feeling its fire blaze a path down my throat. "I intend to become found. To emerge from this reborn, with Natalie's soul entwined with mine for eternity."

If Enzo replies, I don't hear him, my mind already spinning out, tangled in visions of Natalie - broken and remade, a dark queen to rule at my side.

No, this is not about love, I assure myself, my grip tightening on the empty glass until my knuckles bloom white.

This is about possession. About power. About the heady rush of holding another's soul in my hands and knowing I can shape it, mold it, shatter it and resurrect it as I please.

Chapter 23 Natalie

The scent of salt and citrus hangs thick in the air as I wander the narrow streets of the Italian town, the sun dipping low on the horizon, casting everything in hues of gold and crimson.

It’s beautiful—breathtaking, even—but all I can feel is the knot tightening in my chest... The beauty of this place is a cruel taunt to the turmoil roiling inside me, a constant reminder that I’m not here for pleasure, no matter how Dante dresses it up.

He’s been playing the perfect gentleman these past two days, a dangerous game I’m all too aware of. When he’s not working, he’s doting, attentive, and charming in a way that makes it easy to forget who he really is.

But I’ve seen him in action—watched him cut the Corsini’s off at every turn with the precision of a master strategist. It’s like watching a chess grandmaster, every move calculated, every outcome already known.

It also terrifies me because I know there’s no mercy in him, not really. Not when it comes to what he wants.

And what he wants is me.

I shiver, despite the warm breeze, as the memory of that night at Club Lusso flickers behind my eyes. The Corsinis trying to take me from him, the violence that followed, and the man I thought I saw—my father.

Why would he be there? Could he have been the reason Luca Corsini went to war with Dante? No. My father wouldn’t be involved with men like that. Monsters masquerading as men.

I keep telling myself it was just my imagination, but doubt clings to my sanity, gnawing at the edges. The questions circle in my mind, a relentless loop that keeps me awake at night, staring at the ceiling of our lavish suite.

Dante doesn’t ask, doesn’t pry, but I feel his gaze on me, even when he’s not looking. He knows something’s wrong. He always knows.

The cobblestones under my feet give way to the polished wood of the yacht’s deck as I step on board, the luxurious vessel swaying gently beneath me. The Mediterranean stretches out in every direction, an endless expanse of blue that feels both liberating and suffocating at the same time.

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