Valentina's POV:
Valentina stood in front of her full-length mirror, turning slowly. The coffee-colored satin dress shimmered under the soft light, clinging to her curves in all the right places. It was elegant, subtly seductive, and a stark contrast to the turbulent emotions churning inside her. She needed this night out. She needed to feel something other than frustration and anger. She needed to forget.
She met Isabella at the cinema, the familiar buzz of popcorn and hushed conversations a welcome distraction. The theatre wasn't particularly crowded, allowing them to sink into their seats, the darkness a comforting shroud. The horror flick, with its predictable jump scares and cheesy dialogue, was exactly what Valentina needed – a manufactured terror to overshadow the real one. She screamed, she laughed, she even threw popcorn at Isabella when a particularly gruesome scene unfolded. For a few hours, Dante was a distant, unwelcome whisper. Just for a few hours, Val. Just pretend he doesn't exist.
As the credits rolled, Isabella turned to her, eyes bright. "Okay, that was surprisingly fun! But I think we need something stronger than a B-movie to truly exorcise those demons. Club?"
Valentina hesitated for only a second. The idea of loud music, flashing lights, and a strong drink was suddenly incredibly appealing. "You know what? Yes. Absolutely. I need a drink. Or ten." Anything to drown him out. Anything to feel normal again.
The club was a pulsating beast of sound and light. The bass vibrated through the floor, thrumming against Valentina's chest, drowning out the incessant whispers of her anxiety. She ordered a potent cocktail, then another, and another. The alcohol warmed her, loosening the tight knot in her stomach, blurring the sharp edges of her reality. She danced, letting the rhythm take over, swaying and spinning, trying to lose herself in the crowd. This is freedom. This is what he can't touch. My choices. My body.
At some point, a young man, all confident smiles and eager eyes, approached her. He was harmless, charming in a fleeting sort of way. Valentina, fueled by alcohol and a desperate need to feel alive, to feel anything but Dante's suffocating presence, found herself laughing, leaning in, and then, without conscious thought, grinding against him on the dance floor. It was reckless, defiant, and a desperate act of rebellion against the man who claimed to own her. Let him watch. Let him see I'm not his. I'm not afraid.
The music, for a split second, seemed to falter. The lights, for a terrifying instant, seemed to freeze.
Dante.
He stood at the edge of the dance floor, a dark, immovable force amidst the swirling chaos. His eyes, usually pools of obsidian, were now blazing infernos, fixed on her, on the man she was dancing with. The predatory smile that usually played on his lips was gone, replaced by a chilling mask of pure, unadulterated rage. Oh, he's here. Of course he is.
The young man, oblivious, chuckled, leaning closer to Valentina. That was his mistake.
Dante moved. Not a walk, but a glide, a terrifyingly swift predator closing in on its prey. Before Valentina could even register his presence, he was there. His hand shot out, grabbing the young man by the collar, hauling him backward with a force that made him gasp. The man's feet left the ground, his eyes wide with shock and confusion.
"You touch what is mine," Dante's voice was a low growl, barely audible over the music, yet it cut through the din like a razor. "You will regret this."
He didn't wait for a response. With a brutal shove, he threw the man into the waiting arms of two of his hulking guards who had materialized out of the shadows.
"Basement," Dante commanded, his voice devoid of emotion, yet laced with an unspoken promise of torment. "He goes to the basement."
The guards dragged the terrified young man away, swallowed by the crowd.
Valentina, suddenly sobered by the sheer audacity of the scene, stumbled back. Dante turned to her, his eyes still burning, but now with a possessive heat that made her shiver with disgust. He grabbed her arm, his grip like steel, and pulled her through the throng of bewildered club-goers. He thinks he can just do that? Not on my watch.
He dragged her out of the club, past the bouncers who wisely averted their gaze, and pushed her roughly against a cold brick wall in a dimly lit alley. The sudden quiet after the club's roar was deafening.
"What were you doing?" he demanded, his voice low, dangerous, and laced with a terrifying edge of pain. "With him? What in God's name were you doing, Valentina?"
Valentina, despite the lingering haze of alcohol, snapped. Her eyes, though still a little unfocused, blazed with fury. "What was I doing?" she spat, shoving against his chest, though it barely moved him. "I was living my life! Something you wouldn't understand, you controlling monster! You don't own me! You don't get to tell me who I can or can't be with!" Let him see it. Let him see how much I despise him.
Dante froze, his chest heaved. A slow, dark smile stretched across his face, a terrifying mixture of triumph and possessiveness. His eyes, still blazing, stared down at her, not with fury, but with an almost gleeful adoration. This fire, this defiance... it was even more intoxicating than he'd imagined. "My little firecracker," he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "So beautiful when you're angry." He's enjoying this. He's actually enjoying this! The sick bastard.
Valentina's chest heaved, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Beautiful?" she scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "You think this is beautiful? You just had a man dragged away, probably to be tortured, because I dared to dance with him! You're sick, Dante! Twisted!"
He stepped closer, his gaze unwavering, a strange, almost tender light in his eyes. "Sick for wanting what is mine? Twisted for protecting it?" He reached out, his gloved fingers tracing the line of her jaw, a feather-light touch that sent shivers of revulsion down her spine despite her rage. "You are mine, Valentina. Every beat of your heart, every defiant breath. And if I must be a monster to ensure that, then so be it. I will embrace the darkness for you." He's insane. Completely, utterly insane. And I'm stuck with him for now.
She slapped his hand away, the sharp crack echoing in the quiet alley. "Don't touch me! You disgust me! I hate you, Dante! I hate everything about you!"
His smile didn't falter, if anything, it deepened. His eyes gleamed with a chilling satisfaction. "Hate," he mused, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. "Such a powerful emotion. So close to passion, mia cara. And I can work with hate. It means you feel. It means you care. It means you are not indifferent to me." He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. "You can hate me, Valentina. As long as you are only mine to hate." He thinks this is a game. He thinks he can break me. He's wrong.
Valentina pushed against him with all her might, tears of frustration pricking her eyes. "You're delusional! I'll never be yours! I'll fight you every step of the way!"
"And I will enjoy every moment of it," he countered softly, his voice full of a dark, possessive delight. He pulled her away from the wall, not releasing her arm, and then, with a swift, effortless motion, scooped her into his arms.
"Put me down!" Valentina shrieked, kicking and struggling, her fists pounding against his chest. Her coffee-colored dress rode up, but she was too furious to care, too focused on escaping his suffocating hold. "Let me go, you monster! I'll scream! I'll fight you!" I won't let him win. I won't.
Dante held her tighter, her struggles doing nothing but pressing her closer to his hard, unyielding body. He merely looked down at her, his expression unbothered, almost amused. "Scream all you want, mia cara," he murmured, his voice a low, steady rumble. "No one will hear you. And your fighting... it's quite exhilarating, but ultimately futile." He carried her towards the waiting black car that had silently pulled up to the alley's edge. Luca was already holding the door open, his face as impassive as ever.
"Where are you taking me?" Valentina demanded, her voice hoarse from yelling, her body still squirming.
"Home," he replied simply, ignoring her protests as he maneuvered her into the luxurious interior of the car. He slid in beside her, the scent of him immediately filling the confined space. Luca closed the door, and the car glided away from the grimy alley, back into the city lights.
______________________________________________________________________________________________
The car finally pulled up to her apartment building. Luca opened the door, and Dante, without a word, got out, still holding Valentina in his arms. He didn't carry her gently this time; he held her almost like a sack of potatoes, slung over his shoulder, her head dangling awkwardly.
"Put me down!" Valentina shrieked, the indignity of the position fueling her renewed fury. She kicked her legs, pounded on his back, her voice echoing in the quiet night. "You can't just carry me like this! I can walk! Let me go!" This is humiliating. He's doing this on purpose. I will make him pay.
Dante ignored her, his stride long and purposeful as he moved towards the apartment building entrance. He pushed open the main door with his free hand, and then her apartment door, which Luca must have already unlocked.
"Stop it, Valentina," Dante's voice was a low growl, barely audible over her protests. "You are making this more difficult than it needs to be."
She thrashed harder, desperate to escape. "No! I won't stop! You're a monster! Let me go!"
As he entered her apartment, he brought his free hand down again, a sharp, resounding smack against her bottom. Valentina cried out, a mix of pain and outrage. He dared to hit me. The absolute nerve.
"That," Dante said, his voice cold and even, "is for your continued disobedience. Now, be still."
He carried her directly to her bedroom and gently placed her on the bed. The coffee-colored satin dress was rumpled and twisted. He then walked to her closet, opened it, and pulled out a soft pair of her cotton pajamas. He returned to the bed, placing them carefully beside her.
"These are for you," he said, his voice surprisingly soft. "Change into them. I will wait outside." He then turned and exited the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He thinks this is a game of politeness now? After all that?
Valentina lay there for a moment, her body still trembling with anger and humiliation, but the immediate threat of him undressing her was gone. She scrambled off the bed, snatching the pajamas. Her hands shook as she pulled off the satin dress and quickly changed into her own comfortable clothes. I have to think. I have to find a way out of this. He won't break me.
After a few moments, a soft knock sounded on the door. "Valentina?" Dante's voice, calm and impossibly close, drifted through the wood. "May I come in?"
Valentina hesitated, her jaw tight. She didn't answer, but she didn't say no either. He's trying to make me think I have a choice. I don't, but I won't give him the satisfaction of saying it.
The door opened slowly, and Dante entered, his gaze immediately finding her, now clad in her pajamas. He walked to the bed, and gently pulled the covers over her, tucking her in. He then reached for the bedside lamp, turning off the light, plunging the room into a soft darkness.
Despite her anger and the lingering effects of the alcohol, a profound exhaustion finally claimed her. She closed her eyes, the warmth of the covers and the unsettling presence of his actions lulling her into a restless sleep. This isn't kindness. This is control. He's just waiting. But I won't break. I will never break for him.
Dante did not leave. He pulled a chair from the corner of the room and sat beside her bed, watching her as the first rays of dawn began to filter through the curtains. He remained there, a silent, unmoving sentinel, throughout the night. He's still here. Always here. But I'm not afraid.