"Alright," he said finally. "I accept your bargain, with one condition."
I looked back at him, wary. "Which is?"
"That you acknowledge what this really is," he said, his voice gentle but unyielding. "Not a transaction. Not a strategy. But a choice. Your choice to explore what exists between us while maintaining the illusion of control."
The insight was so accurate, so precisely targeted, that it left me momentarily speechless. He was right. This wasn't just about getting answers. It was about finding a way to give myself permission to want him, to act on the desire that had been building since that first kiss.
"Fine," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "It's a choice. My choice."
He nodded, satisfaction flickering across his features. "Then ask your first question."
I took a deep breath, organizing my thoughts. I had so many questions for Rafe Conti—about his business, his family, his plans for me. But I needed to start somewhere meaningful, somewhere that would establish the value of his honesty.
"Why did you really take me?" I asked, echoing the question I'd asked before but never received a fully satisfactory answer to. "The complete truth, not the edited version."
He considered this, his expression thoughtful. "It began as business," he said finally. "Intelligence suggested your father was planning to ally with the Giordanos, using you as a bargaining chip. Taking you was meant to disrupt that alliance, to send a message about the consequences of crossing the Contis."
I nodded, having suspected as much. "And then?"
"And then I saw you," he continued, his voice softening slightly. "Not just in photographs or surveillance reports, but you. The real you. Playing piano in your apartment. Studying in the library. Running in the early morning. And something... shifted."
"Shifted how?" I pressed, needing more than these now-familiar words.
He was quiet for a moment, searching for the right explanation. "I recognized something in you," he said finally. "A loneliness. A strength. A determination to carve out your own space in a world that wanted to define you by your name. It... resonated. Made me want to know you, to understand you, to... possess you in a way that went beyond the original plan."
The admission hung in the air between us, raw and honest in a way I hadn't expected. This wasn't just about obsession or control. This was about recognition. Connection. A seeing of something in me that matched something in him.
"Your turn," he said softly, reminding me of our bargain.
I nodded, moving closer to where he sat. Slowly, deliberately, I reached out and brushed my fingers across his cheek, feeling the slight roughness of stubble against my skin. A small touch, but intimate in its gentleness.
His eyes darkened, but he remained still, allowing me to control the contact, the pace, the boundaries of our exchange.
"Next question," I said, my voice steadier than I expected.
"Ask," he replied, his own voice rougher than before.
"Did you know my father wouldn't come for me? Before you showed me the meeting?"
Pain flickered across his features—not physical, but emotional. A reaction I hadn't anticipated.
"I suspected," he admitted. "Your father's reputation... his history of prioritizing business over family... it made it likely. But I wasn't certain until the meeting you overheard."
"And you showed me that meeting because...?"
"Because you needed to know the truth," he said simply. "Because as long as you believed someone was coming to save you, you couldn't begin to accept your new reality."
"My reality as your prisoner," I said, unable to keep a hint of bitterness from my voice.
"Your reality as someone who belongs here," he corrected gently. "With me."
The certainty in his voice was both frightening and oddly comforting—a fixed point in a world that had become increasingly uncertain.
I took a deep breath, then leaned down and pressed my lips to his in a brief, controlled kiss. His lips were warm and soft against mine, but he made no move to deepen the contact or take control. When I pulled back, his eyes were darker than before, his breathing slightly uneven.
"Next question," I said, my own voice not quite steady.
"Ask," he repeated, the single word laden with restraint.
