The routine had set in like rigor mortis. Wake up. Eat the tasteless porridge Mrs. Halloway provided. Type until her fingers bled. Sleep. Repeat.
But on the fifth day, the routine broke.
Anna was halfway through transcribing a ledger regarding a shipment of uncut diamonds from Sierra Leone when a heavy box landed on her desk. It was black velvet, tied with a silver ribbon.
She looked up. Dante was standing by the window, adjusting the cuffs of his tuxedo. He looked devastating. The sharp tailoring emphasized the width of his shoulders and the dangerous taper of his waist. He looked like a prince of hell.
"Put it on," he commanded, not turning around.
"What is it?"
"Your armor for the evening." He turned then, his eyes sweeping over her shapeless grey uniform with disdain. "I have a meeting with the Syndicate Heads at the Obsidian Gala. You will accompany me. You will record every name, every bet, and every whisper you hear."
"I'm a typist, not a spy," Anna said, crossing her arms.
Dante crossed the room in two strides, his hand slamming onto the desk next to the box. The violence of the motion made her jump. "You are whatever I say you are. Open the box."
Anna's fingers trembled as she undid the ribbon. Inside lay a dress of emerald green silk. It was barely there—a slip of fabric that looked like it would slide off if she breathed too deeply. Beside it lay a pair of stiletto heels that looked more like torture devices than shoes.
"I can't wear this," she whispered. "It's..."
"It's distraction," Dante cut in smoothly. "While they look at you, they won't look at me. Go to the adjoining bathroom. You have ten minutes. If you aren't out, I will come in and dress you myself."
The threat hung heavy in the air. Anna grabbed the box and fled to the bathroom.
When she looked in the mirror ten minutes later, she didn't recognize herself. The dress clung to every curve, the emerald silk contrasting with her pale skin. The back was entirely open, dipping dangerously low. The slit in the skirt went up to her thigh. She looked expensive. She looked vulnerable.
She stepped back into the library.
Dante was pouring a drink. He paused, the glass halfway to his mouth. His eyes started at her feet and traveled up, slow and agonizingly thorough. He didn't smile. He didn't compliment her. His gaze darkened, his jaw tightening as if he were in pain.
"Adequate," he muttered, downing the drink in one swallow. He walked over to her, circling her. He stopped behind her, his hand hovering over the exposed skin of her back.
Anna held her breath.
"You look like a trap," he whispered, his voice husky near her ear. "Beautiful bait for ugly fish."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a diamond choker. He clasped it around her neck. It was heavy. It felt cold.
"Don't speak tonight unless spoken to. Don't leave my side. And do not," he tightened the necklace slightly, "let anyone touch what is mine."
The Gala was held on a massive yacht anchored off the coast. It was a sea of champagne, diamonds, and murderers in tuxedos.
Anna walked slightly behind Dante, clutching a small clutch that concealed a notepad. She felt naked in the crowd. Men stared. Their eyes felt like greasy hands on her skin. But every time someone looked too long, they saw Dante.
Dante moved through the crowd like a shark. People parted for him. He radiated a cold, dark aura that screamed power.
"Vane!" a voice boomed.
A man with a gold tooth and a scar running down his nose approached. This was Kael, a rival drug lord known for his brutality. He was surrounded by bodyguards.
"I didn't think the Ghost of the Isle came to parties," Kael sneered, his eyes immediately sliding to Anna. "And who is this dessert?"
"Staff," Dante said, his voice bored.
Kael stepped closer, invading Anna's personal space. He smelled of sweat and expensive cologne. "Pretty staff. You don't mind if I sample the merchandise, do you, Vane?"
Kael reached out, his thick fingers brushing against Anna's bare arm.
Anna flinched, stepping back, but Kael grabbed her wrist. "Feisty. I like that."
The air dropped twenty degrees.
Dante didn't shout. He didn't draw a gun. He simply moved.
One moment Kael was holding her wrist; the next, there was a sickening crack.
Kael screamed, dropping to his knees. Dante had twisted the man's finger back until it snapped, holding him there by the broken digit. The music in the ballroom stopped. Silence rippled outward from them.
Dante looked down at the kneeling man, his face a mask of bored indifference, though his eyes were burning with a cold, blue fire.
"You touched my property, Kael," Dante said, his voice low enough that only those close could hear, but it carried the weight of a death sentence. "I don't share."
He released the finger, and Kael scrambled back, cradling his hand, his face pale with shock.
Dante turned to Anna. He didn't ask if she was okay. He gripped her elbow, his fingers digging into her skin, possessing her.
"We're leaving," he growled.
He dragged her out of the ballroom, past the stunned crowd, and onto the deck. The night air was cool, but Anna's skin was burning.
He pushed her against the railing of the yacht, caging her in with his arms. His breathing was heavy, his composure cracking for the first time.
"I told you," he hissed, his face inches from hers, "not to let them touch you."
"I couldn't stop him!" Anna yelled back, the adrenaline making her bold. "You dragged me here! You dressed me like this! This is your fault!"
Dante stared at her, his chest heaving. The violence in his eyes shifted into something else—something hungry. He looked at her mouth, then back to her eyes.
"You have no idea," he whispered, "how much self-control it is taking not to throw you over this railing... or to take you right here against it."
He pushed off the railing and turned away, running a hand through his hair. "Get in the boat. We're going back to the Isle."
Anna stood there, trembling in the sea breeze, watching his back. She should be terrified. She was terrified. But as she touched the spot on her wrist where Kael had grabbed her, and then the spot on her elbow where Dante had held her... she realized something twisted.
She felt safer with the monster who broke fingers than she did with anyone else in the room.
And that thought scared her most of all.