Page 29 of In His Name

CHAPTER 14

Dante

Iwatch Hannah from across the room, a slow, possessive satisfaction warming my blood at the sight of her. The dress I chose—deep emerald to highlight her delicate pallor, her ethereal beauty—drapes perfectly over her slender frame. The high neckline conceals the marks I left on her throat, a private reminder of my claim, though the tattoo at her neck remains visible. A clear declaration of ownership. She stands near the window, a glass of sparkling water in her hand, her posture flawless, her expression carefully composed.

The past few weeks since her failed escape attempt have brought notable improvement. She's learned. Not fully, not yet—but her submission is growing. This evening’s small gathering—twenty of my most trusted business associates and their spouses—is both a reward for her progress and a test of her continued compliance. My gaze never strays far from her, tracking every movement, every glance in her direction. Especially the glances.

“Everything is proceeding smoothly, sir,” Vincent approaches, his tone as professional as ever. “Dinner will be served in thirty minutes.”

I nod, my eyes still locked on Hannah. “And the security?”

“Full coverage, as requested. Every room, every angle. The feeds are being monitored in real-time.”

“Good.” It's not that I fear another escape attempt—she’s been thoroughly broken of that particular defiance—but I need to see everything. Every nuance of interaction, every potential threat to my claim.

Vincent hesitates, then adds, “Alvarez has arrived. With his son.”

That gets my attention. My gaze shifts briefly to Vincent. “His son?”

“He’s visiting from Madrid. Alvarez Senior asked if he could bring him. I allowed it to avoid any offense.”

A reasonable call under normal circumstances. But tonight is anything but normal. Not with Hannah in the room, still adjusting, still fragile. Introducing an unfamiliar element—especially one I haven’t vetted—complicates matters. I make a mental note to address the oversight later.

“Where are they?”

“By the bar,” Vincent gestures subtly.

I find them immediately. Senior I know well—steady, respectful, a valuable business associate. Junior, however, I’ve only encountered twice. Arrogant. Entitled. The type of man who’s accustomed to taking whatever he wants without consequence.

And right now, his gaze is fixed on Hannah.

I feel the shift in his posture when he sees her—straightening, sharpening—like a predator scenting prey. My blood turns cold. The appreciative gleam in his eyes is unmistakable. He’s not just looking—he’s assessing. Calculating. Imagining.

“Keep an eye on Alvarez Junior,” I order Vincent, already moving toward Hannah, drawn by the visceral need to reestablish my claim.

I reach her side, my hand sliding to the small of her back in a familiar possessive touch. She doesn’t flinch. Progress. But I feel the subtle tension ripple through her, her body still anticipating the unknown.

“You’re doing well,” I murmur, my mouth close to her ear. It’s both praise and reminder. “I’m pleased.”

“Thank you,” she answers softly, perfectly. Exactly as I’ve trained her.

Across the room, I feel Alvarez Junior’s gaze still burning into her. The cold fury in my chest hardens to steel. He’s not just observing her—he’s measuring me. Calculating the distance between my claim and his desire. I can see it. Feel it. And it’s unacceptable.

“Come,” I say, my hand firm at her waist as I steer her away from his line of sight. “There are people you should meet.”

We circulate the room. Hannah remains perfect—polite, reserved, deferential. Her touch never strays far from mine, her every interaction controlled, curated. Exactly as it should be. But still, I feel Junior’s gaze stalking her, watching her like something unclaimed.

When dinner is announced, I seat Hannah beside me at the head of the table, intentionally placing Alvarez and his son at the opposite end. Maximum distance. Minimal opportunity. Still, his gaze lingers, dragging over her like a caress. My jaw tightens.

After dinner, the guests transition to the terrace for drinks and conversation. I keep Hannah anchored to my side, my hand resting possessively at her waist. When the waiter offers her wine, I decline for her. Always water. Always clear-headed. She doesn’t question it. She knows better now.

“Severino.” Alvarez Senior approaches, his son following. “Magnificent dinner. As always.”

“Thank you,” I reply smoothly, though my attention immediately locks on Junior—who is, predictably, looking at Hannah.

“I believe you know my wife,” I say deliberately, my voice carrying the weight of ownership.

“Of course,” Senior offers politely. “A pleasure, Mrs. Severino.”

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