Page 45 of Savage Don's Captive

I hate him for bringing up memories that cut so deep.

“I thought no one was allowed in my room,” I say, changing the subject.

“You’re not allowed to leave the house either, and yet, you still ended up at my club.”

So we’re playing that game?

“I broke the rules because you’re keeping me prisoner.”

“And I’m breaking them because I don’t trust you.”

I scowl at him. “What are you doing here?”

Before he can answer, the man on the ladder starts drilling into the wall.

Dominic gestures toward him. “Alessa, meet Rocky. My surveillance tech. He’s installing cameras in your room.”

I sit up so fast the duvet slips off my shoulder. Cold air cuts through my nightdress, and I swear to God, if Dominic’s eyes drop to my chest—

“You’re putting cameras in my room?” My voice is pure venom.

“I am.”

“That’s a violation of privacy.”

He tilts his head, amused. “Do you really think I care about that?”

Of course he doesn’t.

Dominic Gianelli doesn’t care about anything but himself.

And yet, somehow, he’s the only person standing between me and death.

I pull the duvet up, clutching it like armor. The thought of being watched 24/7 makes my skin crawl.

What if I say something in my sleep? What if I breakdown? What if I forget he’s watching—forget myself?

The vulnerability presses in, quiet and choking. There’s nowhere to hide.

Not even from me.

The thought makes me sick.

“I promise you won’t even notice them,” Dominic says, misreading my silence as acceptance.

“That’s not the point,” I hiss. “The point is, you’ll be watching me. All the time.”

His eyes darken, something unreadable flickering across his face. “That’s exactly the point, Alessa.”

The way he says my name, low and intimate, sends an unwelcome shiver down my spine. I hate my body’s reaction to him, hate how even now—trapped, hungry, terrified—some traitorous part of me remembers how his hands felt on my skin.

“What, you’re afraid I’ll try to escape again?” I ask, forcing defiance into my voice.

A muscle in his jaw ticks. “Among other things.”

“What other things?”

He stands, moving to the window. Rain streams down the glass, distorting the world outside. For a moment, he looks almost contemplative, almost human.

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