With unsure steps, Mila followed him inside, looking around to see if someone was going to jump out and scream 'got you!'.
This had to be a joke. Cinderella was reserved for fairy tales, and there was no way she would qualify for that role anyways.
Things like this didn't happen to girls like her.
But the soft bang of the massive doors closing behind her made her doubt her own thoughts. The sound was so final that she knew this was her reality.
Taking in a deep breath, Mila studied the front entrance. As if it was possible... the interior was even worse than the outside.
Everywhere she looked, everything was polished within an inch of its life. The front entrance was bright, open, and made her feel even worse than she currently was. Like even the house was judging her for her life choices.
The ceilings were high enough that her voice echoed faintly when she spoke and she could only imagine the size of the Christmas tree it could fit. A crystal chandelier hung above the entryway, casting warm light over furniture that looked expensive enough to make her afraid to touch it.
Was it weird that the only thought in her head was 'what happened when one of those lights burnt out?'
There was no easy way to change the lightbulbs after all.
"This is insane," she said.
"Yes."
"I don't belong here."
"You belong wherever I tell you that you belong."
Mila almost scoffed at the confidence in his statement, but decided to hold it back at the last minute. It was probably not wise to piss off a man with a gun and enough acreage to hide an entire cemetery of dead bodies.
She took a few steps forward, then stopped again. "How many rooms does this place have?" she asked, dragging her mind away from dead bodies.
"Ten bedrooms. Fifteen bathrooms."
Mila pinched the bridge of her nose. "Who needs fifteen bathrooms?"
He didn't answer.
A woman approached them from a side hall, dressed neatly, her posture straight. She nodded respectfully to Dante, then glanced at Mila with open curiosity.
"The doctor is ready," the woman said. "And your room has been prepared."
Mila stiffened. "My room."
Dante looked at her. "You're injured."
"I'm not staying."
"You are."
Her chest tightened. "You don't get to decide that."
"I do," he replied calmly.
The woman waited, clearly used to this dynamic. Dante motioned once with his hand, and she turned, leading them down a wide hallway.
Mila followed because there were guards behind her and nowhere else to go.
They passed rooms that looked like showpieces. A sitting room with floor-to-ceiling windows. A dining hall longer than her entire apartment building. A library with shelves she couldn't reach without a ladder.
This should have been a dream.
But instead, it felt like a trap.
They stopped at a bedroom door. The woman opened it, revealing a space bigger than Mila's old studio apartment by at least five times. A large bed sat in the center, dressed in white. A seating area by the window. Another door leading to what was clearly a bathroom larger than any she'd ever used.
"I don't need all this," Mila said.
"You'll use it," Dante replied.
The woman gestured toward the bathroom. "The doctor will be in shortly." She never once bothered to speak to Mila before she turned and left.
Mila turned on Dante. "You can't keep me here."
"I can," he sighed like he was dealing with a child. "And I will."
"Why?"
He watched her for a long moment, like he was deciding how much to tell her.
"You saved my life," he repeated, the same answer to the same question she asked in the car. "You were seen with me. And you don't know enough to protect yourself."
"I didn't ask for protection."
"I didn't ask if you wanted it."
She clenched her fists. "This is a prison. You can't just kidnap me and think that it is okay."
His gaze didn't waver as he let out a tired sigh... like he was dealing with a child instead of a pissed off woman. "Kidnapping is reserved for situations where party A, the kidnapper, is demanding payment or ransom for Party B in order to facilitate a safe return. That isn't what is happening here. You aren't leaving."
"Did you just really Party A and Party B me? What are you? A lawyer?" Mila would fully admit that her mind jumped from one thing to another... but Dante seemed to be on a whole other level.
Who qualified what kidnapping was to their victim?!?
"Besides, this is hardly a prison. Consider it a... vacation..." he corrected taking her out of her thoughts.
She laughed bitterly. "I lived in a studio apartment with no heat and lights that worked when they felt like it. This isn't a vacation, this is me waiting for the other shoe to drop."
Dante took a step closer, his eyes flashing as his presence filled the room without effort. She noticed, with a jolt of anger and confusion, that her breathing slowed and her heartbeat increased when he was near.
"You won't be hurt here," he continued. "You won't be hungry. You won't be cold. There is no other shoe to drop. This is your life now."
"But I won't be free."
"No," he agreed. "Not until we deal with the people who think that I am that easy to kill."
Mila stared at it, then back at him. "How long?"
Dante's expression didn't change. "Until it's safe."
"And who decides that?"
"I do."
She sank onto the edge of the bed, exhaustion finally catching up with her anger. The sheets were soft. Too soft. Everything about this place was too much.
"This is a nightmare," she said quietly.
Dante studied her, his hand lifting briefly before settling at the back of her neck again. Not tight. Not gentle. Grounding.
"It will keep you alive," he said.
Mila closed her eyes for a second, swallowing the lump in her throat.
She had never been surrounded by so much wealth in her life.
She had never felt more trapped.