Page 4 of Beneath the Thorned Crown

I blink, confused. “What… what kind of price?”

Dominic rises from his chair, walking around the desk until he’s standing directly in front of me. He’s so close now that I can see the faint stubble on his jaw, smell the clean, expensive scent of his cologne. He’s close enough to make my pulse quicken, though whether it’s from fear or intrigue, I can’t tell.

“You owe me a debt,” he says quietly, his eyes locking onto mine. “And I don’t believe in unpaid debts.”

The room feels too small, too stuffy. I want to ask what he means, but the words stick in my throat. All I can do is nod, knowing that whatever price he names, I’ll have no choice but to pay it. Because in this world, mercy is never truly free.

Dominic’s eyes remain locked on mine, cold and watchful, as if he’s weighing every possible reaction I could have to his next words.

“You will work for me,” he says, his voice smooth and unyielding, like stone against steel. “Until I say your debt is paid.”

I blink, taken aback. Work for him? That wasn’t what I was expecting. My mind instantly conjures images of what ‘working’ for a man like Dominic Castellano might entail—none of them good. Fear coils in my stomach, but I force myself to keep my expression steady.

“Work for you… how?” I ask cautiously, though part of me doesn’t want to know the answer.

His lips curl slightly, but it’s not a smile—it’s darker, more dangerous. “We’ll discuss the details tomorrow but just know that you’ll stay close to me. Very close. Just think that you belong to me now.”

I narrow my eyes, trying to mask my discomfort with defiance. “That’s it? I stay close to you, and in return, you leave my brother alone?”

“That’s it… for now,” he replies, the implication behind his words sending goosebumps racing across my skin. “But understand this, Isabella—if you betray me, if you so much as think about running… your brother won’t just have a debt to pay. He’ll have a grave.”

My heart clenches painfully at the threat. He’s not exaggerating—Dominic Castellano isn’t the type to bluff. I know this is the best deal I’ll get, and if I refuse, Demitri won’t stand a chance. Neither of us will.

I force myself to nod, though every part of me rebels against the idea. “Fine. I’ll do it. But once the debt is paid, we’re done. No more threats, no more… whatever this is.”

His eyes gleam with intrigue, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he steps back, giving me just enough space to breathe again.

“Good,” he says simply. “I’ll see you tomorrow then. 8 in the evening. Sharp”

I stand, my legs feeling like jelly beneath me, but I refuse to let him see how much he’s shaken me. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I glance at him one last time, trying to memorize the face of the man who now holds my life in his hands.

“I’ll be here,” I say, my voice firmer than I feel.

As I turn toward the door, Dominic’s voice stops me. “Isabella.”

I freeze, glancing over my shoulder. His gaze is almost predatory.

“You made the right choice,” he says softly, but there’s no comfort in his tone—only the cold finality of a man who knows he’s already won.

I leave without another word, stepping out into the cool air. My hands tremble as I grip the strap of my bag, but I keep walking, forcing my mind to focus. Demitri is safe, at least for now. That’s what matters.

Chapter 2 – Dominic

The Castellano estate has always been a place of cold perfection. The kind of place where the shadows seem to swallow every whispered secret, and power hangs thick. The main hall is an embodiment of that—dark mahogany paneling, floors so polished they reflect the occasional light, and chandeliers that seem to float in midair, casting long, fractured beams across the room. There’s an overpowering scent of wood and aged leather, mingling with the metallic tang of security systems hidden within the walls. Every inch of this place was built with purpose, and every corner is watched.

But a nagging worry lingers, gnawing at the back of my mind. If a kid managed to breach one of our highly secured properties, what else could go wrong?

I’ve spent years ensuring that everything is in place, that my world runs smoothly, but tonight, as the doors open and the guards escort Isabella into the hall, I feel a stir inside me. What if this is a mistake?

I saw her just yesterday, yet somehow, it feels like a lifetime has passed.

She’s out of breath. Her cheeks are flushed, a faint rosy hue beneath the light. Her chest rises and falls as if she’s been running, and I wonder just how far she’s gone to get here, what lengths she’s willing to go to save her brother. Her long light brown hair is braided tightly, but somehow a few strands have still managed to escape the confines of the plait. The smell of paint and turpentine lingers faintly on her, and I find it oddly calming.

I assess her immediately. Tall, lithe, a woman who walks like she’s accustomed to moving through worlds that don’t belong to her. And yet, she has a softness to her—a vulnerability that sits behind her defiant posture. Her clothes are simple, a fitted shirt and trousers that cling to her body in ways that shouldn’t catch my attention, but do. Her shirt, too thin, too revealing, makes me keenly aware of the delicate black ace of her bra underneath. There’s a moment where I can’t tear my eyes away from the curve of her collarbone, the way the light catches her tan skin just so, before I force myself to look away.

Her breath hitches as she notices me studying her, but she doesn’t retreat. Instead, she meets my gaze squarely, her eyes sparkling with defiance.

“You’re breathing heavy,” I comment, my tone purposefully indifferent. I want to see if she’ll crack under the pressure, if she’ll show weakness. But she doesn’t draw back or look down, even when I observe her with a ruthlessness that should make her uncomfortable.

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