The word hit like a slap. Not precious. Not protected. Leverage.
"You're lying."
"Am I?" He moved to the sitting area, gesturing to the chaise as if we were at a cocktail party instead of a gilded prison. "Your father built his empire on strategic alliances. The Altieri-Suarez marriage wassupposed to cement his power in the southern territories. But I killed Miguel. That alliance died with him."
My stomach twisted. "So you took me to—what? Punish him?"
"To pressure him." He settled into the chair across from the chaise, even though I remained standing, his body language deliberately relaxed. It only made him more threatening. "Lorenzo's been expanding into my territory for months. The northern distribution routes. He thinks I won't push back because starting a war would be bad for business."
"And kidnapping his daughter is good for business?"
His smile was cold. "It's a statement. Lorenzo Altieri can't even protect his own blood. When word gets out—and it will—his rivals will smell weakness. His empire will fracture. And when he comes begging for your safe return, I'll have everything I want."
"The routes."
"The routes," he confirmed. "And his acknowledgment that I own this city, not him."
I pressed my back against the closet door, my mind spinning through what he was saying, searching for the lie in it. But somewhere in my chest, something recognized the truth. I was a tool. A bargaining chip. My father had raised me for three years not as a daughter, but as an asset.
And now I'd been stolen by another man who saw me exactly the same way.
"This is kidnapping," I said flatly.
"Yes."
At least he didn't lie about it.
"You can't keep me here."
"Watch me."
His eyes held mine with the kind of intensity that made my skin prickle. I'd seen that look before—in boardrooms where deals were made, in my father's office when he discussed "problems" that needed solving. This was a man accustomed to taking what he wanted and keeping it. He wasn’t any better than the other men in my life.
"My father will find me," I said.
"Your father can try." He stood, and I watched his hands carefully, tracking them the way I'd learned to track every threat in my life. Empty. Controlled. "But he won't succeed. Not here. Not with me."
"You're treating me like property." The accusation came out fierce, all the impotent rage I'd been swallowing since my eighteenth birthday suddenly finding a target. "I'm not a possession. I'm not an asset. I'm not—"
"You're a woman your own father was willing to sacrifice for territorial expansion." He moved closer, and my body tensed, every muscle coiled to fight or flee. "You're smart enough to recognize that. You're strong enough to survive it. But you're not strong enough to survive him alone."
"I don't need your help."
"No. You need your freedom." He stepped closer, and I couldn't back away without leaving the closet wall. "I'm offering you that."
"In a locked suite with no windows?" The words dripped with acid.
"In a place where he can't reach you." His voice dropped lower, and something in the timbre of it made my breath catch. "Where no one can reach you except me. You want freedom? This is what freedom looks like when you're born into a war."
I was pressed against the closet door now, his body close enough that I could smell him—something citrus, spicy, with a depth to it like dark leather My heart was hammering against my ribs, and I couldn't tell if it was fear or something else entirely.
"I don't even know your name," I whispered.
"Dante."
Just one word. A name that somehow made everything feel more real and more impossible at the same time.
"Dante what?"
