The room was a cathedral of shadows and expensive silence. Dante stood over the bed, his silhouette cutting a jagged line against the moonlight filtering through the heavy velvet curtains. He was still stained with the blood of the traitor, a grim reminder of the violence he was capable of, yet his eyes held a different kind of lethality now.
Anna lay on the silk sheets, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She should have run. She should have fought. But the betrayal of Leo had left a hollow ache in her chest that only Dante's dark gravity seemed to fill.
"You look at me like I'm a ghost," Dante rasped, his voice dropping to that vibration that felt like velvet over gravel. He sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his immense weight.
He reached out, his thumb tracing the line of her lower lip, still swollen from their impulsive kiss in the library. "Are you still thinking about him? About the boy who was going to sell you for a handful of silver?"
"I'm thinking about how much I want to hate you," Anna whispered, her voice trembling.
"Hate me, then," Dante commanded. He leaned over her, his chest inches from hers. The scent of him—smoke, blood, and that intoxicating cedar—swirled in her senses. "Use it. Let it burn you up until there's nothing left but this."
He captured her wrists, pinning them above her head with one hand. His grip was firm, a silent promise of the possession he had claimed weeks ago. With his free hand, he began a slow, agonizing journey. He traced the column of her throat, his fingers lingering on the pulse point where her life force thrummed in panic and desire.
"You're yawning for it, Anna," he mocked, his eyes Dilated. "The darkness. The danger. You've been running from the slums your whole life, only to find that the king of the slums is the only one who can make you feel alive."
He leaned down, his lips ghosting over the sensitive skin beneath her ear. He didn't kiss her. He teased the skin with his breath, his teeth grazing her lobe until she let out a soft, broken whimper.
"Dante... please," she breathed.
"Please what?" he growled against her skin. "Please stop? Or please show you what it means to be mine?"
He moved his hand lower, his palm sliding over the curve of her ribs, his thumb brushing the underside of her breast through the thin fabric of her shirt. Anna arched into his touch, a traitorous heat blooming in her belly. She hated herself for the way her body responded to him, for the way her breath hitched when he tightened his grip on her wrists.
He shifted, his heavy thigh sliding between hers, pinning her to the bed. The friction of his tactical trousers against her bare skin was a raw, electric torment. He looked down at her, his expression a mask of agonizing restraint.
"I could break you right now," he whispered, his face inches from hers. "I could take everything you are and leave nothing behind. And you would let me. Wouldn't you?"
Anna didn't answer. She couldn't. She reached up, her fingers tangling in the dark hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him down. This time, when their mouths met, it wasn't a collision—it was a consumption. He tasted of iron and salt, his tongue demanding her total submission.
His hand moved to the hem of her shirt, his fingers grazing the skin of her stomach, sending a jolt of pure fire through her nerves. He began to lift the fabric, his eyes fixed on hers, a dark promise of the end of her innocence.
Then, the world shattered.
The heavy oak doors of the bedroom didn't just open; they were slammed back against the stone walls.
"Dante! We have a problem."
Luciana's voice cut through the heat like a blade of ice.
Dante froze. For a split second, the predator remained, his grip on Anna's wrists tightening until she gasped. Then, the mask of the King snapped back into place.
He rolled off her in one fluid motion, standing up and shielding Anna from view with his massive frame. He turned toward his sister, his face a mask of such terrifying, cold fury that even Luciana took a half-step back.
"You have ten seconds to justify your life, Luciana," Dante hissed, his voice so low it was almost a snarl.
Luciana, dressed in a black silk suit, looked from the disheveled bed to her brother's blood-stained shirt. A slow, mocking smile spread across her lips. "I see I've interrupted your 'study' of the witness. How domestic."
"Speak," Dante commanded.
"The Council found out about Leo," Luciana said, her tone turning sharp and business-like. "They know he was working for isabella. And they know you broke him. They're calling an emergency summit at the Bastion. They think you're losing your mind over a gutter-rat, Dante. They're moving to strip you of the brand."
Dante's jaw tightened. He looked back at Anna, who was sitting up, clutching her shirt to her chest, her eyes wide with shock and the lingering haze of desire.
The irritation in Dante's eyes was palpable. He wasn't just angry at the interruption; he was disgusted by the vulnerability Luciana had just witnessed. He looked at Anna, and for the first time, he didn't look at her with possession. He looked at her with a cold, strategic calculation.
"Get out, Luciana," Dante said. "I'll be in the war room in five minutes."
As Luciana walked out, throwing one last victorious glance at Anna, Dante turned back to the bed. He didn't reach for her. He didn't touch her.
"The game is over, Anna," he said, his voice devoid of the husky warmth from moments before. "My sister is right. You are a distraction I can no longer afford."
"Dante?"
"Mrs. Halloway will be here in ten minutes," he said, already walking toward his closet to pull out a fresh suit. "She will help you pack. There is a private transport waiting at the South Dock. It will take you to a safe house in the city—outside of Syndicate territory."
"You're... you're letting me go?" Anna asked, her voice cracking.
Dante stopped, his back to her. His shoulders were tense, his hands balled into fists. "I am getting you off my island before the Council turns it into a graveyard. You wanted freedom, Anna? Here it is. Don't make the mistake of coming back."
He walked out of the room without looking at her once.
Anna sat alone in the massive bed, the silence of the room heavier than the darkness. She should have felt relieved. She should have been happy. But as she looked at the door he had just walked through, she felt a hollow, aching void.
He hadn't saved her. He had discarded her. And as she began to pack her things, she realized that even if she left the island, she would never truly be free of the man who had branded her soul with his silence.