She stands and pulls away from my touch. "This is insane."
"Probably."
"You can't just keep me here."
"Watch me." I let my hand drop. "The Bratva knows about you now. They'll use you to get to me. So you stay here. With me. Where I can see you. Where I can control who gets close to you."
"For how long?"
"Forever." I hold her gaze. "The Bratva threat just makes it easier to justify."
She looks away from me, jaw tight. She's thinking, processing, trying to find the angle that makes this make sense.
There isn't one.
"What happens now?" she finally asks.
"Now you stay. You adapt. You survive." I move up behind her. Not touching, but close enough that she can feel my presence. My heat. "I know what this is. I'm not going to lie to you about it. You're here against your will. You can't leave. That makes this a cage no matter how nice the bars are."
"Then why pretend otherwise?"
"Because I don't want you to hate me. Not forever." I rest my hands on her shoulders. She tenses but doesn't pull away. "I want you to want this eventually. To want me. To forget there was ever a time before."
"And if I never do?"
"Then I'll settle for having you anyway." I turn her to face me. "But you will. You already are. Last night proved that."
Color floods her cheeks. "Last night was a mistake."
"Last night was inevitable. We both wanted it. We both needed it." I cup her face, thumb brushing over her bottom lip."And we're going to do it again. And again. Until you stop lying to yourself about what this is."
"Which is?"
"Obsession. Possession. The only thing that matters." I tighten my grip slightly. "You're mine, Francesca. Not because you chose it. Because I decided it. And I don't let go of what's mine."
She should pull away. Should slap me. Should tell me to go to hell.
She doesn't.
We stand there in the morning light, the city sprawling beneath us, and something shifts. Not surrender. Not yet. But an acknowledgment. An understanding.
She's not going to fight me. Not today.
I take it as the victory it is.
"Are you hungry?" I ask.
She blinks at the sudden change of subject. "What?"
"Morning. You need to eat." I step back, giving her room to breathe. "I'm making breakfast. Sit down and wait."
She stares at me. "I'm not hungry."
"You will be." I move to the fridge and start pulling out ingredients. "Eggs, pancetta, bread. Real food."
"You know what I eat for breakfast."
"I know everything you eat." I set a pan on the stove. "You skip lunch half the time because you're too busy at the hospital. You eat too much takeout. Your nutrition is shit, Francesca. I'm fixing that."
