Dante took a long sip of his drink before answering. "Then I'd have to punish you. But I'm hoping it won't come to that."
"Because you'd hate to kill me after spending ten million dollars?"
"Because" He set down his glass and moved closer, until he was standing right in front of me. "Despite everything, I find myself wanting you to survive this. To adapt. To maybe even thrive."
"Why?" I searched his face for any hint of softness, any crack in that icy exterior. "Why do you care?"
"I don't know." And for the first time since I'd met him, Dante Moretti looked uncertain.
"I've been asking myself the same question since I saw you on that stage. I should have let someone else buy you. Should have walked away. But something about you…" He reached out and touched my face, his fingers gentle despite the blood still staining his other hand. "Something about you makes me want to protect you. Even from myself."
My breath caught. This close, I could smell his cologne mixed with gunpowder and something darker. This close, I could see that his grey eyes weren't empty they were haunted.
"You're still a monster," I whispered.
"Yes." He didn't deny it. "But maybe you could be the beauty that tames the beast."
"This isn't a fairy tale."
"No. It's much more dangerous than that." His thumb brushed across my cheekbone, catching a tear. "But fairy tales had truth in them, Isabella. Even monsters can be saved by the right person."
"I'm not here to save you."
"I know. You're here because you had no choice." He pulled back, putting distance between us again. "But maybe, in time, you'll choose to stay. Not because you're forced to, but because you want to."
"That will never happen."
"Never is a long time." He moved back to his desk, the vulnerable moment disappearing behind his usual cold mask. "It's late. Rosa will take you back to your room. We'll continue your education tomorrow."
"What education?"
"How to survive in my world. How to defend yourself if needed. How to recognize my enemies and allies." He looked up from the papers he'd begun sorting through. "You're Dante Moretti's property now, Isabella. That makes you a target. The least I can do is teach you how to not get killed."
"How generous."
"I think so." His tone was dry. "Most men who buy women don't bother teaching them anything except obedience. I'm offering you survival skills."
Rosa appeared at the door as if summoned. "Come, child. Let's get you cleaned up and back to bed."
I stood on shaking legs, desperate to escape the room that still smelled like blood and gunpowder. But at the door, I looked back at Dante.
He was already focused on his work, as if killing a man and having an intense conversation with me had been nothing more than minor interruptions to his evening.
"Dante?" His name felt strange on my lips.
He looked up. "Yes?"
"Are you going to have nightmares about what you did tonight?"
Something flickered across his face. "No, Isabella. I stopped having nightmares about killing a long time ago. The nightmares I have now are about the people I couldn't save."
Back in my room, Rosa helped me change into clean pajamas and brought me tea that I couldn't drink.
"I know that was hard to witness," she said gently, sitting on the edge of my bed. "But Mr. Moretti was right to show you. You needed to see."
"I needed to see him murder someone?"
"You needed to see the truth of this world." Rosa's expression was sad but firm. "Sugar-coating it would have been crueler. At least now you know what you're dealing with."
"I'm dealing with a killer."
"You're dealing with a man who survives by being more dangerous than his enemies." She poured the tea I wouldn't drink into a cup anyway. "Mr. Moretti wasn't always like this, you know. He was different before."
"Before what?"
Rosa was quiet for a moment. "Before his sister died. Before he had to become hard to survive."
"Tell me." I don't know why I wanted to know. Maybe because understanding him would make this nightmare make sense. "Tell me about who he was."
"That's his story to tell, child. Not mine." Rosa stood, tucking the blanket around me like I was a child. "But I will say this the man you saw tonight, the one who killed without hesitation? He's necessary for survival in this world. But he's not all of who Dante Moretti is. There's still humanity in him, buried deep. You saw a glimpse of it tonight, didn't you? When he touched your face?"
I had. In that moment when he'd looked uncertain, vulnerable, almost hopeful I'd seen something other than the monster.
"I can't stay here," I whispered. "I can't be part of this world. I'm not strong enough."
"You're stronger than you think." Rosa moved toward the door. "Your mother was sick for two years, yes? And you took care of her while going to school and working? That takes strength, Isabella. You have your mother's steel in you. You just haven't needed to use it until now."
After she left, I lay in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep despite my exhaustion.
I kept seeing Marco's face. The blood. Dante's cold eyes. The way he'd looked at me after like he was hoping I'd understand.
Did I understand? Could I?
He was right about one thing: I was trapped here. Running wasn't an option, not with guards and walls and enemies waiting outside. My only choice was to survive.
And maybe, if I was very smart and very lucky, to find a way to reclaim some control over my life.
The question was: how do you survive a monster's house without becoming a monster yourself?
I didn't have an answer. Not yet.
But as I finally drifted into uneasy sleep, I found myself thinking not about Marco's death or my fear or my desperation to escape.
I found myself thinking about the way Dante's hand had trembled just slightly, almost imperceptibly when he'd touched my face.
The way he'd said "I don't know" when I'd asked why he cared.
The way he'd looked almost… lost.
Monsters didn't get lost. Monsters didn't question themselves.
Which meant maybe, just maybe, Dante Moretti was more complicated than I'd thought.
And that complexity might be the key to my survival.
Or my destruction.
Only time would tell which.