I laugh softly. “If I wanted you silent, you would be. If I wanted you erased, you’d be dust in the wind. You’re here because I chose you. Because you matter, because you’re valuable—sharp, difficult, and smarter than anyone gives you credit for.”
She flinches at the praise, hatred and confusion warring in her expression. “I don’t want anything to do with you.”
My smile is slow, deliberate. “That’s no longer your decision.”
I move to her front again, watching the way she draws herself up as much as the bindings will allow. Her chest heaves, each breath uneven. Not just exhaustion, I realize, but the slow, dawning horror that I’m not just a nightmare she can shake. I’m here. I’m real. And I have no intention of disappearing.
“I’m not like the others,” I say. “The ones who vanish when you start looking. I am not a shadow, Seraphina. I am the cage you stepped into.”
The words settle over her, heavy and final. She wants to look away, but she can’t—not when my presence fills every inch of the small room. Her knuckles are white, her mouth a flat line of defiance.
“What do you want from me?” she spits.
“Loyalty,” I answer simply. “Obedience. Use that clever mind of yours for me, and I will give you safety, purpose, life. Or refuse, and you will lose everything you think you have left.”
She glares at me, biting out, “You’re delusional.”
I step closer, so near she can’t escape the heat of my breath, the iron of my voice. “You already lost, little raven. You lost the moment you caught my eye. You just haven’t admitted it yet.”
She trembles, whether from rage or terror, I can’t tell. Maybe both. I want to touch her—just to prove how completely she belongs to me now—but I let the moment hang, keeping her on the edge.
“You kept searching, even when you knew it was dangerous,” I murmur. “You ignored every warning, everyclosed door. You even tried to trust the feds. The same ones who are more interested in using you than saving you. Now you see the truth. There’s no escape. Not from me. Not from what you’ve found.”
She’s breathing hard, eyes shining with frustration and a desperation that’s almost beautiful. Her words come out raw, a final, furious refusal: “I’ll never be yours.”
I let her rage hang between us, savoring it. “You’ll change your mind,” I reply, quiet and certain. “Everyone does, eventually.”
I circle her once more, slow and patient. She spins to keep her front to me, ropes creaking as she moves, never letting herself be exposed. She spits words like poison, curses in English and Italian, but I only smile. Her defiance makes this all the sweeter. The more she fights, the more mine she becomes.
“My world is rules and consequences,” I remind her. “You broke the rules, Seraphina. Now you pay the price.”
The room is silent but for her breathing and the soft, menacing shift of my men at the edges. No sirens, no hope of rescue. Just me, the man from her nightmares and her puzzle-box dreams, standing before her at last.
I lean in, voice pitched for her alone: “Tonight, you’ll learn how small the world really is when I want it to be.”
I straighten, savoring the way she flinches. For now, I let her have her anger, her hope. Soon enough, she’ll understand that she has nowhere left to go.
Chapter Nine - Seraphina
The ropes bite deeper each time I flex my wrists, the coarse fibers digging into skin already rubbed raw. I stare down at my hands, the marks blooming red and angry, and clench my jaw. He wants me to break. He expects me to beg. I won’t give him that.
The chair he’s chosen for me is just uncomfortable enough to remind me I’m a prisoner, not a guest. My back aches; my legs are going numb.
Across the small, high-ceilinged room, Miron watches, perfectly relaxed in his own chair, hands folded in his lap. His men linger at the edges, silent and heavy-lidded, but all my focus narrows to the man in front of me.
He waits, patient as a cat with a trapped bird, eyes sharp and unblinking. I match his stare, refusing to look away, heart pounding so loud I wonder if he can hear it. I search for the part of myself that can handle this—my father’s stubbornness, my mother’s bite, the part of me that’s never once let a bully win.
“So this is it?” I say, forcing my voice steady. “You drag me here, tie me up, and what? Wait for me to cry? If you’re after an apology, you’ll be waiting a long damn time.”
His mouth quirks, not quite a smile. “You have nothing to apologize for. Except perhaps your poor taste in self-defense.”
I snort, nodding at the knife they left gleaming on the table between us. “Sorry it wasn’t sharper. Next time, I’ll bring a bigger one. Maybe a chainsaw.”
A laugh slips from him, genuine and low, and it throws me. I expected anger, not amusement. “I admire your spirit, Sera. Most people in your position would be sobbing by now.”
“Yeah, well,” I say, rolling my eyes, “I guess you haven’t met many women who know how to handle a bad date.”
He leans forward, elbows on his knees, interest bright in those cold blue eyes. “You see this as a date?”
