"Oh fuck yes, I do. Because this is my reality, Renato. This is what you're condemning me to." I peel off the black dress. "So, you're going to watch every second of it."
The white dress is even more obscene than I remembered. Nearly transparent, it shows everything while pretending to hide it. When I look in the mirror, I see exactly what was ordered, a virgin sacrifice wrapped in silk. For added effect, I pull the dress up and slide my panties off before kicking them toward him.
"There," I say, turning to face him. "The complete collection. Which one makes your cock the hardest thinking about another man tearing it off me?"
His control finally snaps. He's on his feet and across the room before I can blink, his hands gripping my shoulders.
"You want to know the truth?" His voice is rough, dangerous. "Thinking about any of them touching you makes me want to commit murder."
"Then why are you doing this?"
"I don't have a fucking choice."
"Liar! Everyone has a choice."
"Not in my world." His grip tightens. "In my world, you pay your debts or you pay the consequences. And your families chose to let you pay."
"So, you're the victim here? Poor Renato, forced to sell innocent women to save his reputation?"
"I'm the man trying to keep you alive. Because if I don't sell you to one of these buyers, there are worse options. Much worse."
I laugh, sharp and bitter. "Worse than being owned by a sheik? Worse than being Kozlov's plaything until he gets bored and kills me?"
"Yes."
The simple honesty in his answer stops my laughter cold.
"Then you'd better train me well or fucking kill me now yourself," I say finally. "Because apparently my survival depends on how good a whore you can make me."
Something flickers in his eyes—pain, maybe, or regret. "You're not a whore."
"No? Then what am I? I'm what, Renato?
Chapter 12: Renato
I'm what, Renato?
The question hangs between us like a loaded gun, and for a moment I can't answer. She's standing there in that obscene white dress that shows every curve of her body, her dark eyes daring me to admit something I'm not ready to face.
What is she?
She's supposed to be collateral. Merchandise. A means to an end.
But Christ, after watching her strip with deliberate defiance, after seeing her model those dresses like she was challenging me to break, she's become something else entirely.
Something that's making me lose my fucking mind.
"You're..." The words stick in my throat because saying them gives her power I can't afford to hand over.
"I'm waiting," she says softly, and there's something almost vulnerable in her voice despite the fire in her eyes.
Or maybe I’m imagining things I want to see.
She thinks she's found a crack in my armor, thinks her little seduction show has made me soft. Time to remind her exactly who she's dealing with.
"You're my property," I say roughly, my grip tightening on her shoulders. "Mine to do with as I please."
Something flickers in her expression, not the victory I expected, but something sharper. "Your property?"
