But Mom's face is still there, burned into my vision.
"Yes," I force out. "We have an agreement."
"Good." Dante signals to the guard, who finally releases my arm. "You'll move into my house tomorrow. Bring what you need. Everything else will be provided."
"Tomorrow? I can't just?—"
"You can. You will." He heads for the door, pausing at the threshold to look back. "Oh, and Miss Mancini? Try not to look so miserable. You're mine now. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be."
The door closes behind him.
And I'm left standing in a stranger's apartment, surrounded by men who look at me like I'm already a ghost, trying to figure out how my life fell apart in less than ten minutes.
The scarred man clears his throat. "Someone will drive you home."
"I have a car," I say numbly.
"Not anymore."
Of course not.
Because Dante Vitale doesn't just own my debt now.
He owns me.
CHAPTER FOUR
Dante
I'm halfway to the door when I hear her move.
Not toward the exit like a smart woman would. No, I hear her stomping footsteps right behind me.
"Wait!”
I pause, hand on the doorknob, and glance back.
Bianca stands in the center of the room, surrounded by my men who suddenly look too large, too rough next to her small frame. She can't be more than five-one, maybe five-two in those modest heels.
She’s supposed to look weak but there’s nothing weak about the way she's standing there, chest rising and falling with eachsharp, angry breath, her long chestnut hair slightly disheveled. Her hazel eyes—greener than brown in this light—are locked on me with such emotion that most men would be uncomfortable.
I'm not most men.
And I'm noticing things I shouldn't. My eyes trail down the curve of her neck where it meets her collarbone, zone in on the way her modest blouse has come untucked slightly on one side, exposing soft, creamy looking sides. The flush spreading across her cheeks has nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with rage.
She's beautiful in that understated way women are when they don't know it. When they're not trying. No makeup to speak of, just natural skin and full lips pressed into a tight line.
Adrian is an even bigger idiot than I thought.
I notice the way her eyes water but not with tears, rather with anger.
Good. Anger I can work with. Tears would be tedious.
"You can't just walk away," she says, her voice shaking. "You drop this… this bomb on me and then leave? What kind of?—"
"What kind of man am I?" I turn fully, casually sliding my hands into my pockets and shrug. "The kind who doesn't waste time onpointless conversations. You agreed to the terms. What else is there to discuss?"
"Everything!" She takes a step forward, and Marco shifts, ready to intervene. I wave him off with a little scoff. "You say I belong to you now, that I have to obey you, but you haven't told me what you actually want. What am I supposed to do? Be your—your maid? Your?—"
