The moon cast its silver glow over the estate, bathing the balcony in a ghostly light. Caroline stood at its edge, her arms crossed, her mind warring with the chaos Dante Valenti had brought into her life. His presence was an unspoken threat, a whispered promise of destruction wrapped in the elegance of a man who knew exactly what he wanted.

And he wanted her.

Dante leaned closer, his voice a silk-wrapped blade. "You're afraid of me."

She scoffed, tilting her chin higher. "I'm not afraid of you."

His fingers ghosted over her wrist, lingering just enough to make her pulse betray her. "Liar."

Caroline yanked her hand back, her nails digging into her palm. "I don't belong to you, Dante."

His smirk was slow, knowing. "Not yet."

Something dangerous flickered in his gaze, something deeper than mere arrogance. Control. He wasn't just a man used to power—he was power. And Caroline knew men like him didn't take no for an answer.

A movement in the doorway caught her attention. Her father stood there, watching. A reminder that her defiance had limits, that her rebellion was a battle she could never truly win.

Dante followed her gaze, then turned back to her with a quiet chuckle. "You hate this, don't you?"

Caroline swallowed down the bitter truth. "I hate you."

Dante sighed as if her words were amusing rather than threatening. Then, before she could react, he reached for her, fingers curling around her throat—not enough to hurt, but enough to make her breath catch. Enough to remind her of the brutal world they both lived in.

"You don't hate me, cara mia," he murmured. "You hate that you don't know how to fight me."

Her pulse thundered against his palm. She should have pushed him away. Should have slapped him. Should have done anything except stand there, drowning in the darkness he wrapped around her like a noose.

He leaned in, his lips a whisper from her ear. "Lesson one, Caroline: In our world, hate and desire often wear the same face."

Then, just as quickly as he had touched her, he let go, stepping back as if she no longer interested him. But his smirk—his knowing, arrogant smirk—told her everything.

This was just the beginning.

And Caroline wasn't sure whether she would survive the fire—or if she would let it consume her whole.

Caroline's breath came in short, uneven waves as Dante stepped away, his presence still thick in the air between them. Her throat burned—not from pain, but from the way his touch had unsettled something inside her, something she wasn't ready to name.

She should have felt victorious when he let go, when he stepped back as if she was no longer worth his attention. Instead, all she felt was his absence, like a ghost of something that had barely begun.

She turned toward the doorway where her father stood, his expression unreadable. Salvatore Ricci did not tolerate weakness. His gaze flicked between her and Dante before he spoke, voice as cold as the steel of a gun barrel.

"Walk with him."

It was not a request.

Caroline stiffened. "Why?"

Her father raised a brow. "Because you need to learn, figlia mia."

Learn what? That she was nothing more than a pawn? That her future had already been decided? She already knew that lesson. She had been living it her entire life.

Dante didn't wait for her to protest. His hand was at her lower back before she could resist, a silent command to move. And to her horror, she did.

The hallway was dimly lit, the sconces casting flickering golden light on the deep mahogany walls. Each step echoed in the silence, a slow rhythm of inevitability.

Caroline swallowed the lump in her throat. "Where are we going?"

Dante's lips curved into a smirk. "You'll see."

His fingers still rested against her spine, guiding her like he had every right to touch her. She should have pushed him away. She should have told him exactly what she thought of him. But there was something in the way he carried himself—something that made her stomach tighten with an emotion she refused to name.

They stopped in front of a heavy door at the end of the corridor. Dante pushed it open, revealing a room bathed in soft candlelight. A study—her father's, judging by the dark wooden desk and the collection of aged books that lined the walls.

And then she saw it.

A single chair in the center of the room.

Her pulse spiked. "What is this?"

Dante stepped inside, his expression unreadable. "Sit."

Caroline didn't move. "No."

His gaze darkened, but not with anger. With something worse. Amusement.

He took slow, deliberate steps toward her, closing the distance until there was nothing but heat and tension between them. His voice was softer this time, but no less commanding. "Sit, Caroline."

Her heart pounded in her chest. She didn't know what game he was playing, but she knew one thing—she wasn't going to lose.

So she sat.

Dante exhaled, his smirk deepening as he circled her like a predator assessing its prey.

"Good girl."

She clenched her fists in her lap, her nails biting into her skin. "Don't patronize me."

Dante chuckled, leaning down until his face was level with hers. His scent—whiskey, smoke, and something darkly masculine—wrapped around her, making it hard to think.

"I'm not," he murmured. "I'm teaching you."

She narrowed her eyes. "Teaching me what?"

He reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his knuckles barely grazing her skin. The touch sent a shiver through her, and he caught it—he felt it. His smirk told her as much.

"That in this life, cara mia, obedience is a matter of survival."

Caroline swallowed, willing herself not to react. "And if I refuse?"

Dante's smile was slow, deadly. He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he whispered,

"Then I'll just have to break you."

The words sent a shock of heat through her veins, twisting into something that terrified her. Because the worst part wasn't the threat.

It was that some dark part of her wondered what it would feel like to let him try.

Caroline's breath caught, but she didn't flinch. She didn't let him see the way his words coiled around her like a noose, tightening with something that wasn't just fear.

She should have been disgusted. She should have slapped him. But instead, she stayed perfectly still, her pulse betraying her in the quiet space between them.

Dante tilted his head, watching her like she was a puzzle he was eager to take apart piece by piece. "No response?"

She swallowed. "I don't break."

His lips curved. "Everyone breaks, bella. The only question is how."

The room suddenly felt smaller, the candlelight flickering against the dark wood, casting shadows that whispered of things unsaid. She could feel the weight of his presence, the quiet power he carried with every breath.

She refused to let him win.

Caroline lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with fire. "And what makes you think you'll be the one to do it?"

Dante let out a low chuckle, deep and amused, but there was something sharper beneath it. He reached out, his fingers brushing the column of her throat, lingering at the pulse point where her heartbeat betrayed her.

"Because," he murmured, "I can already feel the war inside you."

Her skin burned where he touched her, and she hated it. Hated that he was right.

But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much he was getting under her skin.

She grabbed his wrist and shoved his hand away, standing so fast the chair scraped against the floor. "You're arrogant."

Dante's gaze flicked to where she touched him, then back to her eyes. He didn't seem angry. No, he looked entertained. Interested.

"That's not an insult, cara mia. It's just the truth."

Caroline clenched her jaw, fighting the frustration clawing at her throat. "Is this what you do? Play games with people, test them, see how far they'll bend before they break?"

He stepped closer, slow, deliberate. "No, Caroline." His voice was softer now, but it was no less dangerous. "I don't play games."

She didn't move as he reached for her again, this time tracing his fingers along her jaw, his touch featherlight, almost cruel in its gentleness.

"I win them."

Her breath hitched.

Dante studied her for a long moment, his dark eyes drinking her in like he already knew every thought running through her head. Then, just as quickly as he had closed the distance, he stepped back, his smirk still in place.

"This was just a lesson," he said casually, adjusting the cuffs of his suit as if he hadn't just turned her entire world upside down. "But don't worry, bella. We have plenty of time."

"For what?" she demanded, hating how breathless she sounded.

His smirk deepened.

"For me to teach you exactly what it means to belong to me."

Then, without another word, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving Caroline standing there—furious, shaken, and with a terrifying realization twisting in her chest.

Dante Valenti was a threat.

Not just to her freedom.

But to the one thing she had never given any man before.

Her soul.