The penthouse was silent, but it was the silence of a bomb shelter after the sirens had stopped.
Dante shoved Evelina through the front door. He didn't push her hard enough to make her fall, but hard enough to make her stumble, her heels catching on the polished concrete.
He slammed the heavy door shut behind them. The lock engaged with a sound like a gunshot.
Evelina spun around, her chest heaving. The green silk dress felt heavy now, suffocating, like it was coated in lead.
"You're hurting me," she hissed, rubbing her arm where his fingers had dug in.
Dante threw his tuxedo jacket onto the grey sofa. He didn't look at her. He walked straight to the wet bar, the movement sharp and violent. He poured a glass of amber liquid, no ice, and downed it in one swallow.
He slammed the glass down on the counter. The crystal cracked.
Only then did he turn to face her.
"You invited him," Dante said. His voice was low, a rumble of thunder that shook the room.
Evelina blinked, confused by the sheer irrationality of the accusation. "What? I didn't invite anyone. I stood there. I didn't even speak!"
"You didn't have to speak," Dante walked toward her, hunting her down in the open space of the living room. "You stood there in that dress, with your skin exposed, projecting availability. You looked at him."
"I looked at a stranger who tapped me on the shoulder!" Evelina shouted, her fear momentarily eclipsed by outrage. "You dressed me in this! You put me on display! You can't parade meat in front of wolves and then get angry when they bite!"
Dante stopped inches from her. His eyes were blown wide, the pupils swallowing the gray irises. He looked unhinged. Not messy unhinged, but dangerously, coldly unhinged.
"I am the only wolf in this room, Evelina," he whispered. "And you forget who holds the leash."
He reached out and grabbed the strap of her dress, his knuckles grazing the sensitive skin of her shoulder.
"Julian Vance," he said, the name tasting like poison in his mouth. "That was who you smiled at."
"I didn't smile," she argued, trembling.
"You softened," Dante corrected. "I felt it. You were rigid against me, cold as ice. And then he touched your arm, and you… melted. You looked at him like he was a lifeboat."
He yanked the strap, pulling her forward until her chest bumped against his.
"There are no lifeboats," he snarled. "The ship has already sunk. You are at the bottom of the ocean with me."
He pushed her away, dismissing her with a flick of his hand. "Get out of my sight. Take that dress off. It smells like other men's eyes."
Evelina stumbled back, catching her balance. She didn't wait to be told twice. She turned and ran to the bedroom, her heels clacking frantically on the floor.
She slammed the bedroom door and locked it. It was a futile gesture, it was his house, his door, but she needed the illusion of a barrier.
She stood in the middle of the vast, cold room, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She felt dirty. The memory of the gala, the lie she told Sforza, the way Luca Rossi had looked at her with pity, the way Dante had looked at her with ownership, it was all crawling on her skin like insects.
She needed to get clean.
She rushed to the en suite bathroom. It was a palace of white marble and chrome. She turned on the shower, cranking the handle all the way to hot. Steam began to fill the room.
She turned to the mirror. Her reflection was a stranger. The red lipstick was smeared slightly at the corner of her mouth. Her hair was coming loose from its pins. The green dress, so beautiful an hour ago, now looked like a reptile's skin.
Get it off.
She reached behind her back for the invisible zipper.
Her fingers brushed the metal tab. She pulled.
It didn't move.
She pulled harder, twisting her arm at an awkward angle. The fabric strained, but the zipper held fast. It was caught on the delicate silk lining.
"No," she whimpered. "No, please."
She yanked at it, panic rising in her throat. She clawed at the fabric, her nails tearing into the silk. She felt like she was suffocating. The dress was shrinking, tightening around her ribs, squeezing the air out of her lungs.
Trapped. I'm trapped in his clothes. I'm trapped in his house.
A sob broke from her chest. She spun around, trying to see in the mirror, trying to force the mechanism, but her hands were shaking too badly.
She grabbed the scissors from the vanity counter. Heavy, silver shears.
She raised them, intending to cut the dress off her body, to shred the expensive silk until she was free.
The bathroom door handle turned.
Evelina froze, the scissors poised in the air.
The lock clicked. Click.
Of course. He had a master key.
The door pushed open. Dante stood there. He had removed his tie and unbuttoned the top of his shirt. He looked calm now, the rage banked down into a cold, simmering ember.
He saw her standing there, chest heaving, scissors raised like a weapon, the steam swirling around her legs.
He looked at the scissors. Then he looked at her eyes.
"Put them down," he said. quiet. absolute.
"Get out," Evelina gasped, backing up until her legs hit the edge of the bathtub. "I'm taking a shower."
"You are having a panic attack," Dante observed. He stepped into the room, the humidity instantly clinging to his shirt. "And you are about to destroy a twenty thousand dollar garment."
"I don't care about the money!" she screamed, the hysteria finally breaking through. "I want it off! It won't come off!"
She raised the scissors again, aiming for the fabric at her waist.
Dante moved.
He was fast. He caught her wrist mid swing. His grip was bruising. He squeezed, hitting a pressure point, and her fingers went numb. The scissors clattered to the marble floor.
He kicked them away.
"Stop," he commanded.
He spun her around, forcing her to face the mirror. He pinned her hips against the vanity with his own body, trapping her.
"Look at yourself," he whispered against her ear.
Evelina stared at her reflection, wild eyes, flushed skin, trapped in the embrace of the monster.
"The zipper is stuck," she sobbed. "Just cut it."
"We do not destroy assets because we are frustrated," Dante murmured.
He reached behind her. His hands were warm, steady, and infuriatingly calm. He brushed her hair aside, exposing the nape of her neck.
He found the zipper. He didn't yank. He used his fingers to gently, methodically work the silk lining free from the teeth. He was close enough that she could feel the movement of his chest against her back.
Zip.
The sound was loud in the steamy room. The tension released. The dress pooled loose around her waist.
Evelina slumped forward, the relief so intense it made her dizzy. "Thank you," she whispered, hating herself for saying it.
Dante didn't step back. He kept his hands on her bare shoulders. He looked at her reflection in the mirror, his eyes traveling down the curve of her spine exposed by the open dress.
"You are beautiful when you are desperate," he said. It wasn't a compliment. It was an observation of a flaw.
He trailed his fingers down her spine, tracing the vertebrae one by one. Evelina shivered violently.
"Don't touch me," she said weakly.
"I own the dress," Dante said. "And I own what is inside it."
He leaned in, his gaze meeting hers in the glass.
"I have something for you," he said.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, silver flash drive. He placed it on the vanity counter, next to her hand.
Evelina looked at it. "What is that?"
"Insurance," Dante said. "Go ahead. Play it. The laptop is in the bedroom."
He stepped back, finally releasing her. He walked to the door, pausing at the threshold.
"Clean yourself up, Evelina. You smell like fear."
He left.
Evelina let the dress fall to the floor. She stepped out of the pool of green silk and kicked it away. She wrapped a towel around herself, snatched the flash drive, and ran into the bedroom.
She opened the secure laptop on the desk. Her hands were trembling as she plugged the drive in.
A video file popped up.
She clicked play.
The screen showed the private conference room from the gala. The camera angle was high, hidden in a light fixture or a vent.
On the screen, Dante sat across from Count Sforza. Evelina stood beside Dante.
The audio was crystal clear.
"It is breathtaking, Count," Evelina's voice on the recording said. She sounded confident, professional. "The brushwork on the hands… the luminosity… it is undeniably the work of a master."
Then, Dante's voice. "Then we have a deal?"
Sforza: "Yes. Yes, absolutely."
The video cut.
Evelina stared at the frozen image of her own face lying.
A new window opened on the screen. A document.
It was a legal brief.
Subject: Fraudulent Authentication and Conspiracy to Defraud. Defendant: Evelina Thorne.
It detailed the statute. Art fraud. Grand larceny. Conspiracy. The prison sentence listed was fifteen years.
Evelina stopped breathing.
The bedroom door opened. Dante leaned against the frame, watching her read.
"You see?" he asked softly.
"You recorded me," she whispered, turning to look at him with horror. "You made me lie… and you recorded it."
"I documented the transaction," Dante corrected. He walked into the room, looking relaxed, victorious. "I told you, Evelina. I don't leave loose ends."
"Why?" she asked, tears spilling over. "You already have the contract. You already have Chloe. Why do this?"
"Because contracts can be challenged in court," Dante said, circling her. "And money can be replaced. But complicity… that binds you forever."
He stopped in front of her.
"If you ever try to leave," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "If you ever try to go to the police about me, or contact a lawyer, or run away with your sister… I release that video."
He leaned down, brushing a tear from her cheek.
"I won't just ruin you financially, Evelina. I will send you to federal prison. And while you rot in a cell for fifteen years… who will pay for Chloe's treatment then?"
Evelina fell to her knees. The towel slipped, but she didn't care. The weight of the trap was crushing her.
He hadn't just bought her. He had criminalized her. He had made her a partner in his corruption.
"You're the devil," she choked out.
Dante knelt in front of her. He lifted her chin.
"I am your partner," he whispered. "We are in this together now. The lie is ours. The sin is ours."
He stood up, towering over her broken form.
"Get dressed. We have a meeting with the legal team in the morning to finalize the Sforza transfer. I expect you to be sharp."
He walked to the door, turning off the light as he left, leaving her in the dark with the glowing screen of her own crime.
"Sleep well," he mocked softly, though they weren't married yet. The word hung in the air like a guillotine blade.
The door clicked shut.
Evelina curled into a ball on the rug, the light from the laptop illuminating her shaking shoulders. She realized then that the cage wasn't just gold bars and contracts anymore.
He had stained her. He had dragged her down into the mud so she could never pretend to be clean again. She wasn't just a victim. She was an accomplice.
And that was a chain she could never break.