I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t—
“One.”
The pen was in his hand before I could react. He grabbed my wrist and slammed it down on the table, forcing the pen into my trembling fingers. His grip was bruising.
“Sign it,” he snarled. “Or I’ll show you what it means to have no choices.”
I thought fear had a limit—until he found new ways to unravel me.
“You know,” he started, his tone turning deceptively calm, “I didn’t think it would take this much effort to get you to cooperate. But I suppose you like being difficult.”
I didn’t respond. My body was too drained to fight him verbally, but my silence didn’t deter him. Instead, it seemed to amuse him.
“You’re afraid,” he continued, his voice dropping to a near whisper as he leaned closer. “Afraid of me. Afraid of what I can do. And you should be.”
I swallowed hard, refusing to meet his eyes.
“You’ve already lost, Dolcezza. It’s time to stop pretending you have a choice.”
He moved behind me, his hands gripping the back of the chair. I felt his breath against my hair, making my stomach churn.
“Your father’s in the hospital, isn’t he?”
My heart stopped.
I turned to look at him, my eyes wide with shock. “What did you just say?”
He smirked. “A man his age, in his condition, shouldn’t be left alone for long. Would be a shame if… something happened to him.”
My mouth parted, and I stared dumbfounded at him. How… how did he even… know about this?
“Your friend… what’s her name? Her business isn’t doing so well, is it? Those loans are piling up, and the banks are starting to circle.”
I gasped this time, my knees nearly buckling, but his hand on my waist balanced me. “How… how do you know that?”
He chuckled. “You think I don’t know everything about you, Dolcezza?”
My chest heaved as panic clawed its way up my throat. “You’re lying. You don’t know anything about me.”
His eyes darkened, the amusement vanishing in an instant. “Don’t I?”
He took a step closer, and I instinctively stepped back, my spine hitting the edge of the table.
“Your mother used to braid your hair every morning before school,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “She’d hum that awful lullaby to keep you calm when you cried. What was it again? Oh, right. La Luna Triste.”
I froze, my blood turning cold.
“Stop it!” I screamed, shoving him with all the strength I had left. “How do you know these things? How?!”
He barely moved under my assault, his expression unchanging. “I told you. I know everything about you.”
“Why?!” I cried, my voice cracking. “Why are you doing this to me?!”
He grabbed my wrists, his grip like iron as he pulled me close. “Because I can,” he growled. “And because I want to.”
I struggled against him, thrashing and kicking, but it was useless. He was too strong, too damn dominating.
“You’re a monster,” I spat, my voice trembling with rage and fear.
