Page 27 of Marked for Life

I guide her to the sofa, to the window she once visited, now just a distant view through glass. That’s all she has now. Her world is mine—her body, her mind, everything reshaped by my hands.

“I’d burn the world for you,” I tell her, the words falling from my lips with a religious intensity. This isn’t just metaphor. It’s truth. “I would destroy everything, everyone, if it meant keeping you. Possessing you. Owning you completely. In every way. It’s the only thing that matters.”

Her breath catches, but it’s not fear. Not completely. It’s the beginning of understanding. She’s starting to get it. Starting to feel it—the depth of my claim on her.

“This isn’t a metaphor,” I say, taking her hands in mine, holding her with the kind of certainty that roots her to me. “This is reality. There is nothing, no one, that will stand between us. I’ll burn everything to keep you.”

I stroke the tattooed ring on her finger, the mark of ownership that goes deeper than a simple symbol. It’s everything. It’s forever.

“I’ve already started,” I tell her, the truth spilling out without restraint. “The burning. The sacrifice. I’m already sacrificing everything that doesn’t belong to me. Everything that competes with what’s ours.”

Confusion flickers across her face. She doesn’t fully understand yet. But she will. Because this—we—are more than anything else. The rest of the world is nothing. And I’ll make sure she knows that, too.

I motion toward the pile of forgotten work, the unanswered emails, the kingdom I once held close and now couldn’t care less about. It’s all just noise, the remnants of a life I used to breathe for, but now…it means nothing. What matters, whatonly matters, is her—Hannah. My complete and utter possession of her. Everything else is expendable.

"My empire," I growl, voice rough, raw with need, "my wealth, my power, my influence—all the things that once made me feel like I had control of the world? They’re nothing now. The Costello territory? Gone. The Milano deal worth billions? Lost, all of it, because none of that could pull me away from you. You, Hannah. You’re all I see. You’re my obsession. My addiction. My everything.”

I lean into her, my breath warm on her skin, every inch of my being craving proximity, craving to consume her. There’s no space between us—no room for anything except us.

"Do you get it now?" I murmur, my voice like molten steel, my gaze burning. "The Costello territory? It’s theirs now because I didn’t care enough to fight. You…you are my fight. You are my war. I would tear the world apart for you. This empire? It’s a joke, compared to what I have with you. To what you are to me."

Hannah's eyes flicker with the slightest surprise, but I don’t miss it. She didn’t expect this, didn’t expect me to rip my world apart just to keep her. To make her mine.

"You’re destroying it all," she whispers, her voice low, not with fear, but with that raw curiosity I can see now, cutting through the layers she’s built to survive my world. She wants to understand, wants to know what I’m really saying.

"Because of you," I hiss, my fingers gripping her face as if I could make her feel every ounce of my need. "For you. All of it. The world outside? It’s nothing. It’s all empty. What I have with you? That’s the only thing that matters now. The only thing I’ll ever fight for."

I let my hands roam, my fingers tracing the curve of her face, her neck, pulling her in closer, as if I can just draw her into me, make her a part of me. "I don’t care about the money. I don’t careabout the power. I only care about you. About us. About what we are together."

Hannah’s breathing quickens, but she doesn’t pull away. She lets me touch her, lets me own her, and I feel a rush of satisfaction course through me. She’s mine. She’ll always be mine.

"You understand what I’m telling you?" I ask, the intensity in my voice palpable. "I would burn the world to keep you. Would wipe out everything for the chance to keep you, to own you, to make you mine. Because nothing else matters. Not the empire, not the wealth. You’re what I need, what I live for."

She swallows, her pulse racing under my fingertips, but still she doesn’t pull away. And it makes my blood burn hotter. I lean in, forehead pressed to hers, every inch of my body wanting more, needing more. "And when I say I would burn the world? I mean it. I would destroy everything to have you, to keep you. Because that’s what love is to me. It’s you, Hannah. It’s owning you completely."

Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to. Her eyes tell me everything I need to know. She’s starting to get it, starting to understand just how deep my need for her runs.

"I’ll make you see," I growl, my hand sliding down her body, over the curve of her belly where our child grows. My son. My legacy. "Everything. Everything I’ve done—the taking, the claiming, the possession—it’s all been for you. All of it. You’re my world now. You and that baby inside you. That’s the future. That’s everything."

I press my palm harder into her stomach, marking her with my touch. "And if anyone tries to take you from me? I’ll destroy them. I’ll burn the earth to keep you. To make sure you never escape me. Because that’s what love is to me. That’s what this is."

I look into her eyes, and she meets my gaze. Not with fear, not with resistance, but with something closer to understanding.She’s starting to realize that there is no world beyond me and her. There’s only us.

"You get it now, don’t you?" I ask, my voice low, hungry. "You understand what I’m saying? That nothing, no one, will ever come between us. I would burn the world down to make you mine. And if you think that’s not love?" I smirk, the darkness in my gaze sharpening. "Then you don’t understand love at all."

She doesn’t respond at first, but when she finally whispers, "I understand."

I don’t think she really does, but I”m trying to make her.

CHAPTER 18

Hannah

Ican't breathe around the horror crawling up my throat. What's happening to me? The realization that I'm developing feelings for my captor sits like poison in my veins, corrupting everything. Three days have passed since Dante's confession of vulnerability, since I admitted feeling something for him, and I've barely slept. Every time I close my eyes, I see his face—not cruel or controlling, but broken open, revealing something human beneath the monster. And that's more terrifying than any punishment he's ever inflicted.

I pace the perimeter of my suite, hands pressed against my swollen belly. Twenty-eight weeks. Our son kicks against my palm as if he senses my agitation, my confusion, my desperate need to escape not just these walls but the twisted emotions taking root inside me.

"This isn't real," I whisper to myself, nails digging half-moons into my palms. "It's Stockholm Syndrome. It's survival. It's anything but genuine."

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