The elevator felt like ascending into another world.
I watched the numbers climb. Twenty floors. Thirty. Forty. The higher we went, the further I got from everything I knew.
Dante stood beside me in silence. His presence filled the small space. I was hyperaware of him. The way he stood perfectly still. The way his suit fit like it was made for his body. The faint scent of his cologne, expensive and clean.
I hated that I noticed.
The elevator stopped at the fifty-second floor.
The doors opened directly into the penthouse.
My breath caught.
Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the entire space, offering a view of Manhattan that looked unreal. The city sprawled beneath us, tiny and distant. Furniture was modern and expensive, all clean lines and neutral colors.
Beautiful and cold and absolutely terrifying.
Dante walked in like he owned the world.
Three people stood waiting in the living room. Two men in suits who looked like security. One woman in professional clothes holding a tablet. They all stood at attention when Dante entered.
"Leave us," Dante said without looking at them.
They disappeared immediately. No questions. No hesitation.
The door closed with a soft click.
I was alone with him.
Dante turned to face me. He released my hand for the first time since the funeral home.
Without his touch anchoring me, I felt unsteady.
"You're safe here." His voice was calm. Factual. "You will not leave without my permission. You will not ask questions about my business. You will not attempt to contact anyone from your previous life. In exchange, you stay alive."
The words hit like slaps.
Safe. Permission. Alive.
Like I was a child being given rules.
Something inside me snapped.
"Did you kill him?" The words exploded out. Loud. Raw. Four days of numbness shattered in an instant. "Did you kill Marcus? Is that why you took me? To keep me quiet?"
Dante didn't flinch. Just watched me with those dark eyes that gave away nothing.
"Answer me!" I screamed. My voice echoed off the windows. "You show up at his funeral. You take me from my family. You bring me here and tell me I'm your prisoner. The least you can do is tell me if you killed the man I was supposed to marry!"
"Are you finished?"
"No! I want answers! I want to know why Marcus is dead! I want to know why you were at the crime scene! I want to know why everyone at that funeral looked at you like you were the devil!"
"Because I am." He said it simply. "In their world, in this world, that's exactly what I am. The devil who decides who lives and who dies."
"So you did kill him." My voice broke.
Dante took a step closer. I backed up instinctively but he kept coming until I was pressed against the cold window with nowhere to run.
He didn't touch me. Just stood close enough that I could feel heat radiating off his body. Close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
Close enough that my heart raced for reasons that had nothing to do with fear.
"If I wanted you dead, Isabella, you would be dead." His voice was quiet. Deadly. "You wouldn't get the mercy of captivity. You wouldn't get explanations or protection or a penthouse with a view. You would simply cease to exist. Do you understand me?"
I understood.
He could kill me right now and nobody would find my body.
"The fact that you're standing in my home," he continued, "breathing my air, protected by my name, means I want you alive. That's all you need to understand."
"That's not enough." My voice came out as a whisper. "I need to know if you killed him."
Dante studied my face. Something flickered in his expression. Not guilt. Not sympathy. Something else I couldn't name.
His hand lifted. For one terrifying second I thought he was going to grab my throat.
Instead he touched my face gently. His palm was warm against my cheek. His thumb traced along my jaw.
Heat flooded through me. Unwanted. Inappropriate. Undeniable.
"No," he said finally. "I did not kill Marcus."
"You're lying."
"I don't lie about business."
"Then who did? Who killed him?"
"That's what I'm going to find out." He dropped his hand and stepped back, giving me space to breathe again. "But until I do, you stay here. You stay safe. You stay alive."
He turned and walked toward a hallway that led deeper into the penthouse.
"Wait!" I pushed off the window. "You can't just leave! I need more answers!"
Dante stopped at a doorway but didn't turn around.
"What you need is to survive the next forty-eight hours. Everything else is secondary." He opened the door. "A woman will show you to your room. Stay there tonight. Tomorrow we'll talk."
He disappeared inside before I could respond.
I stood there shaking. My hands trembled. My chest felt too tight. Everything that had been locked inside for four days was clawing its way out.
The woman from earlier appeared silently beside me.
I jumped.
"Miss Rossi." Her voice was gentle. "I'm Elena. I'll show you to your room."
"My room?"
"Yes. Mr. Caruso has prepared a suite for you."
She guided me down a different hallway. The penthouse was massive. Room after room of expensive furniture and art. We passed closed doors I desperately wanted to open.
What was Dante hiding?
Elena stopped at the last door on the right.
"This is yours."
She opened it to reveal a bedroom that looked like a luxury hotel. King-sized bed with white linens. Private bathroom with marble. A closet filled with clothes in exactly my size.
How long had he been planning this?
"There are toiletries in the bathroom," Elena continued. "Food will be brought three times a day. If you need anything, press the button by the bed."
"What if I need to leave?"
Elena's professional smile faltered slightly.
"Mr. Caruso has asked that you remain in your suite tonight. Tomorrow you'll have more freedom."
"Freedom." I laughed bitterly. "Funny word for a prison."
"It's for your safety, Miss Rossi. Please try to rest."
She left before I could respond.
I stood in the middle of this beautiful room and felt the walls closing in.
This couldn't be real.
Twenty-four hours ago I was planning a funeral. Now I was locked in a penthouse with a man who might be a murderer.
I walked to the door Elena had exited through.
Turned the handle.
It didn't move.
I tried again. Nothing.
Locked from the outside.
"No." I pulled harder. "No, no, no."
The handle wouldn't budge. The door was solid wood, expensive and heavy.
I pounded my fists against it.
"Let me out! Let me out right now!"
Nobody came.
I kicked the door. Screamed until my throat was raw. Threw myself against the wood until my shoulder ached.
Nothing changed.
I was trapped.
Trapped in a gilded cage with a man I didn't know. A man everyone feared. A man who claimed he didn't kill Marcus but wouldn't tell me who did.
I slid down the door until I was sitting on the floor. My black funeral dress pooled around me. My carefully applied makeup was probably streaked down my face.
I looked like a ghost.
Felt like one too.
Finally, the tears came.
Four days of holding everything inside and it all poured out at once. I cried for Marcus. For the lies. For the future we'd never have. I cried for myself. For the girl who thought she could escape this world. For the woman sitting on a locked floor with no idea how to survive.
Time stopped meaning anything.
Then I heard it.
Footsteps in the hallway.
Coming closer.
They stopped outside my door.
I held my breath.
The lock clicked.
My heart pounded so hard I thought it would break my ribs.
The door didn't open.
But the lock had released.
I scrambled to my feet. Pressed my ear against the wood. Listened to footsteps walking away down the hall.
Slowly, carefully, I turned the handle.
It moved.
The door opened.
The hallway was empty.
Dante had unlocked my door.
But he hadn't come in. Hadn't spoken to me. Just unlocked it and walked away.
A test, I realized.
He was testing me to see what I would do.
Stay in the cage and live.
Or run and take my chances with whoever was hunting me.
I stood in the doorway staring at the empty hallway.
Every instinct screamed at me to run. To find an exit. To escape while I could.
But Dante's words echoed in my head.
Someone wanted me dead.
Someone who might succeed if I ran.
And the only person offering protection was the man who threatened my fiancé two weeks before someone killed him.
I looked down the hallway toward where Dante had disappeared.
Then I looked back at the beautiful prison of my room.
Slowly, I stepped back inside.
Closed the door.
Turned the lock from the inside.
Not because I trusted him.
But because I was starting to realize something terrifying.
The man I should fear most might be the only one who could keep me alive.
And I hated that I noticed how his hand had felt against my face.
Hated that my heart had raced when he stood close.
Hated that part of me wanted him to come back.
I was trapped in more ways than one.
And I had no idea how to escape.