Page 20 of Marked for Life

“The design,” Dante says. “See for yourself.”

I force myself to look.

My name—Hannah—scripted in elaborate ink, surrounded by thorned roses that mirror the Severino crest tattooed on my back. But beneath it, smaller text chills me to the bone:

My heart. My soul. Mine eternal.

My breath catches.

“Do you approve?” Dante’s voice is soft, but there’s nothing gentle in the way he watches me, every flicker of emotion on my face analyzed, cataloged.

What choice do I have? What answer won’t lead to punishment? To consequences I can’t afford?

I nod.

Dante exhales, satisfaction curling around the edges of his words. “Proceed, Anton.”

The tattoo gun hums to life. Dante remains perfectly still as the needle presses into his skin, ink embedding itself into flesh, blood welling in its wake. But his gaze never leaves mine.

“Does it hurt?” I ask, the words slipping out unbidden.

“Yes,” he answers without hesitation. “Pain is part of marking. Part of claiming. Part of proving what cannot be undone.”

I say nothing. There’s nothing to say.

Minutes stretch into hours. Letter by letter, my name takes shape on his chest. Roses bloom around it, sharp and beautiful. Blood mixes with ink, sealing me into his skin the way he has sealed himself into my life.

All the way Dante’s eyes never leave me. He stares at me obsessively. Pain never registers on his face. Only…devotion.

When it’s finally done, Dante rises, stepping toward the mirror. He studies his reflection, fingers grazing the fresh tattoo, eyes dark with satisfaction.

“Perfect,” he murmurs.

And somehow, I know he isn’t talking about the ink.

CHAPTER 14

Dante

Ican’t sleep. The fresh tattoo on my chest throbs with every beat of my heart, Hannah’s name pulsing against my skin like a second heartbeat. But the pain is nothing—irrelevant compared to the compulsion that keeps me awake, keeps me watching, keeps me locked onto the surveillance monitors where Hannah sleeps in our bed.

Her pregnant belly rises and falls with each breath, her hand resting protectively over our son, even in sleep. Twenty-four weeks. The tracking app shows she hasn’t moved in three hours and seventeen minutes. Exactly where she should be. Exactly where I need her to be. And yet, I can’t look away. Can’t blink. Can’t risk missing a single breath, a single movement, a single second of her existence.

What if I look away and something changes? What if I blink and someone takes her? What if I sleep and she stops being mine?

The security room hums softly, screens flickering with a constant feed from every corner of the mansion. But my focus never wavers from Hannah—the four monitors dedicated solely to her, to our bed, to the woman who carries my child and my obsession in equal measure.

She shifts slightly, her hair slipping across her face. My fingers twitch with the need to brush it back, to touch her, to feel the warmth of her skin and confirm that she’s real—not just pixels on a screen. I zoom in, tracking the flutter of her eyelids. What does she dream about? Me? Us? Our future? Or escape? Freedom? A life beyond the walls I built for her?

The uncertainty burns through me. I need to know. Need to see. Need to understand every thought behind those closed eyes. The tattoo on my chest throbs again, her name etched into my skin just as she’s etched into my mind—an ache that never fades.

Three hours, twenty-one minutes of stillness. Just the gentle rhythm of her breathing, the occasional shift, the subtle flutter beneath her skin where our son grows. It’s not enough. It’s never enough.

I rewind the footage, scanning through the hours I wasn’t physically there. I watch her read by the window—twenty-seven pages in two hours, forty-three minutes. She touched her belly fifty-three times. Spoke aloud twice—once to the doctor, once to me.

Not enough data. Not enough details. Not enough of her.

I keep going back, analyzing every movement, tracking the way pregnancy is slowing her steps, the way she lingers longer by the window. What does she think about when she stares outside? What does she want? Does she feel trapped? Or is she finally settling into the life I created for her?

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