Lucia's POV
The moment I stepped out of that conference room, I sucked in a shaky breath. But it did little to steady the pounding in my chest. The murmurs of the reporters faded, but I could still feel Dante's sharp and cold gaze on me.
I had made a terrible mistake challenging him in front of his people, and in front of the media. I knew the rules. Knew what it meant to speak out of turn, to embarrass a man like him. Yet, I had done it anyway, unable to hold my tongue when they dragged my father's name through the mud.
"My father is innocent." I could still hear my own voice echoing in my head.
Foolish.
I had barely made it down the hall when I heard heavy footsteps behind me. My breath caught as a firm grip closed around my wrist, yanking me into an empty room before I could react.
Dante.
The door banged shut behind us, cutting off the noise from the hallway. The air between us felt charged, as his fingers remained wrapped around my wrist—not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to remind me who was in control. I wrenched my arm away, but even without his touch, I could still feel him, like a lingering heat on my skin.
"Do you have any idea what you just did?" His voice was quiet, but I recognized the storm brewing beneath the surface.
I lifted my chin. "I defended my father."
Dante exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening. "You interrupted me. In front of the press. Do you think that was wise, Lucia?"
"I—"
"You embarrassed me." His voice was razor-sharp, cutting through my defiance. "That alone is enough to warrant punishment."
A shiver ran down my spine. I hated that word—punishment. It wasn't the first time he had used it, but it still sent a chill through me.
"What are you going to do?" My voice was steadier than I felt.
Dante stepped closer, forcing me to tilt my head up to meet his gaze. The dim lighting caused shadows across his face, making his expression unreadable. "I haven't decided yet. But rest assured, Lucia, you will be punished for your insolence. At a time of my choosing."
My stomach twisted. I wanted to ask him what he meant.. how far he would take it, but I refused to let him see my fear. Instead, I bit my tongue and nodded once.
Dante's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Good girl. Now go to your room and stay there."
I turned sharply on my heels, shoving the door open with more force than necessary. My pulse thundered in my ears as I made my way down the hall.
Stay in my room? Like hell I would.
I paced the length of my bedroom, my mind racing with possibilities.
What kind of punishment was Dante planning? Would he lock me away? Take away my freedom even more than he already had? I pressed my lips together, trying to smother the panic rising in my chest.
I needed to talk to Daniel. He had to know I was fine and alive. I doubt my father was able to give him my letter.
I searched every drawer, every inch of my room, looking for a phone. Nothing. Not even a burner.
Damn it.
I wasn't naive. Dante had made sure I was cut off from the outside world, but I had hoped—just hoped—he would have slipped up somewhere.
Anger coiled in my chest like a spring ready to snap. If he thought he could keep me locked away like some caged pet, he was mistaken.
I stormed out of my room, marching down the hall toward Dante's study. The guards outside barely spared me a glance as I pushed the doors open without knocking.
Dante was seated behind his desk, his long fingers drumming lazily against the polished wood. He didn't look surprised to see me.
"I need a phone," I said, not bothering with pleasantries.
He leaned back, exuding the kind of effortless control that made my blood boil. "No."
I clenched my fists. "I'm not your prisoner."
A slow smirk tugged at his lips. "But you are."
I stiffened.
"You belong to me, Lucia." His voice was low and dark. "And as long as you do, you don't get to make demands. You don't get to 'want' things. You only get what I allow."
Heat crawled up my skin, with a mix of frustration and something else—something I refused to name.
"You can't just—"
His hand shot out, gripping my chin as he pulled me toward him. My breath hitched as his face hovered inches from mine.
"You keep fighting me," he murmured, his thumb grazing my jaw. "Tell me, does it make you feel powerful?"
I swallowed hard, refusing to look away. "I won't stop."
Dante exhaled sharply, his grip tightening. Then, before I could react, his lips crashed against mine.
I stiffened. I wanted to push him away. To slap him. Or fight him even.
But yet, my body betrayed me once again.
A traitorous heat spread through my veins as his tongue teased the seam of my lips, coaxing a response. My heart pounded, and for a brief moment, I felt weightless.
Then reality slammed back into me.
This man… this monster had stolen my freedom, threatened my father, and yet, my body responded to him as if it belonged to him. The realization made my stomach twist.
I wasn't ready to lose my virginity and dignity to a man like Dante. So I gathered every ounce of strength I had, and shoved him away, my breath coming out fast and uneven. "Go to hell."
He chuckled, his amusement infuriating. "You're already in my world, cara mia. Hell is wherever I decide it to be."
I turned sharply, ready to storm off, but Dante's voice stopped me cold.
"What did you mean?" His tone had shifted—no longer amused or condescending. Just sharp and demanding. "When you said your father was innocent."
I swallowed, my pulse quickening. "I don't have proof," I admitted. "Not yet. But I know there's more to that fire. Someone was behind it."
His brows furrowed ever so slightly. It wasn't much, but it was enough to tell me that my words had caught him off guard. He hesitated, his curiosity clearly piqued. But then, just as quickly, his expression hardened again.
"My business, my way of life… it's never free of enemies," he said, his voice even. "But you shouldn't go around making assumptions, Lucia. To me, your father is guilty."
I clenched my fists at my sides, unnerved by his words. I wanted to tell him about Vincenzo, about the man I had seen at the warehouse. But I stopped myself. Dante wouldn't believe me. Not now.
So instead, I nodded.
His gaze lingered on me for a moment longer, then he stepped back, as if dismissing me entirely.
I turned and walked away, my mind racing with everything I couldn't say. When I returned to my room, something was different.
A large television had been mounted on the wall. I clearly hadn't noticed it when I stormed in earlier.
I stared at it for a long moment, my emotions tangled. Did this mean Dante considered me someone who at least deserved to be entertained? Or was this another way of keeping me contained?
Shaking off the thought, I grabbed the remote and turned it on.
The screen flickered to life, and I barely had time to settle before the news anchor's voice filled the room.
"…the Castellano name has long been associated with criminal activities, and this latest incident only raises further suspicion. Some sources claim that Antonio Castellano's mental stability has been in question for years…"
My blood ran cold.
I watched in horror as they dragged my father's name through the mud, painting him as an unstable man… as a liability.
My hands curled into fists.
No. I wouldn't let them do this. I would clear my father's name.
No matter what it took.