Page 22 of Bound to Him

I should do something. Say something. Scream, perhaps, alert someone to the danger that man is in. But my body refuses to move, paralyzed by fear and the certainty that any intervention would only make things worse—for him, for me, for anyone who tried to help.

Minutes pass, stretching like hours. I push food around my plate, unable to swallow past the knot in my throat. The door at the back of the restaurant remains closed. No sounds emerge, no signs of what's happening behind it.

When Dante finally returns, he looks exactly the same—suit unwrinkled, expression composed, not a hair out of place. But there's something different in his eyes, a satisfied darkness that makes my blood run cold. He sits, picks up his napkin, and continues eating as if nothing happened.

"Where..." My voice fails me. I swallow hard and try again. "Where is he?"

Dante looks up, his expression mildly curious, as if I've asked about the weather. "Who?"

"The man. The one you took through that door."

"Ah." He takes a sip of wine, unhurried. "He won't be bothering us again."

The implication hangs in the air between us, heavy and horrifying. I set down my fork, unable to pretend at normalcy any longer. "What did you do to him?"

"I explained the rules," Dante says simply. "Sometimes explanations require…practical demonstrations."

My stomach lurches, bile rising in my throat. "Did you kill him?" The question comes out barely above a whisper.

Dante reaches across the table, taking my trembling hand in his. His skin is warm, dry, showing no evidence of violence. "Does it matter? He looked at what belongs to me. He needed to learn that has consequences."

"He just looked at me," I say, unable to keep the horror from my voice. "It was just a glance."

"It was disrespect," Dante corrects, his grip tightening painfully on my hand. "And in my world, Hannah, disrespect is punished swiftly andpermanently. Everyone here knows that. Now you do too."

I stare at him, truly seeing the monster beneath the polished exterior. This man—this creature who holds my life in his hands—has likely just murdered someone for looking at me. The casual nature of the violence, the utter lack of remorse or concern, makes it all the more terrifying.

"You're pale," he observes, releasing my hand to stroke my cheek. "Perhaps this outing was premature. You're still adjusting to your new reality."

New reality. As if my captivity, his ownership, his violence, are simply facts to be accepted, like gravity or the changing of seasons.

"I'd like to go back," I say, fighting to keep my voice steady. "Please."

Something like disappointment flickers across his face. "We haven't finished dinner."

"I'm not feeling well." It's not a lie. My stomach churns with nausea, my head spins with the horror of what's happened.

Dante studies me for a long moment, then nods. "Very well."

He signals for the bill, which appears instantly. No one asks about the unfinished meal, about the man who disappeared. There are no questions, noconcerns. Just silent, efficient service that speaks of long practice in not seeing, not knowing.

Outside, the car is waiting, as if it never left. The same valet opens my door, his eyes carefully downcast, avoiding even accidental eye contact. Did he know what would happen to the other man? Is this a familiar enough occurrence that the staff have protocols for it?

The return journey passes in silence. I press myself against the door, putting as much distance as possible between myself and the monster beside me. Dante allows this small retreat, watching me with a mixture of amusement and calculation.

"You're afraid of me now," he finally says as the mansion comes into view. "More than before."

It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "Yes."

“At least fear is honest,” he says simply, though his eyes hold an emotion I can’t quite name. Sadness? Disappointment?

The car stops at the mansion's entrance. Before the driver can open our doors, Dante reaches across the space between us, taking my chin in his hand, forcing me to look at him.

"What you saw tonight—what you think you understand—is only the surface," he says, his voice low and intense. "I protect what's mine, Hannah. With whatever means necessary. That man's fatewas sealed the moment he looked at you with desire. Remember that."

Then we're walking into the mansion, his hand at the small of my back, guiding me through halls that once seemed merely my prison but now feel almost like sanctuary. Better the familiar cage than the outside world where people die for a glance.

Back in my suite, Dante dismisses the guards, closing the door behind him. We're alone, and despite everything, despite the horror of the evening, my body responds to his proximity with learned fear, with the anticipation of whatever he might demand.

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