Declan is quiet for a long moment, studying my face. "I think you deserve better than being traded like livestock. But I also think you're tougher than Kieran gives you credit for."
"Tough enough to survive him?"
"Tough enough to make his life hell if you put your mind to it." This time he does smile, and it transforms his whole face. "Eat. You'll need your strength for tomorrow."
After he leaves, I force myself to eat even though everything tastes like ash. I need to think, to plan, to find some way out of this nightmare.
But every escape route I consider leads back to the same dead end. I'm in an unfamiliar building, probably miles from the city, surrounded by armed men who have no reason to show me mercy.
The door opens again, and Kieran himself enters. He's changed out of his expensive suit into dark jeans and a black sweater, but somehow looks even more dangerous in casual clothes.
"How are the accommodations?" he asks, settling into the room's single chair like he owns the place. Which, I suppose, he does.
"Lovely. Five stars. Would definitely recommend to other kidnapping victims."
He laughs, but there's no humor in it—just the sound of someone who enjoys others' pain. "Kidnapping? Is that what you think this is?" He leans forward, elbows on his knees, studying me like I'm a particularly interesting insect. "This is a business transaction, sweetheart. Your family owes a debt, and you're the payment."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Just that ungrateful little girls who run away from their families tend to learn hard lessons about the real world." His voice drops to something softer, more dangerous. "Tell me, Sofia—did you enjoy your little adventure? Playing house with Dante Mancini? Because I have to say, the idea of Vito's attack dog rolling over for some spoiled princess is... amusing."
The way he says Dante's name makes my blood boil. Like he's something dirty, disposable.
"Dante's worth ten of you."
"Dante's a hired dog,” Kieran says with casual cruelty.
Before I can stop myself, I'm on my feet, hands balled into fists.
"Don't you dare?—"
"Sit. Down." The command cracks through the air like a whip. When I don't immediately comply, his expression turns arctic. "I said sit down, Sofia. Best you learn to follow orders now."
I remain standing, glaring at him with every ounce of hatred I can muster.
"Defiant. I like that." His smile returns, cold and calculating. "It'll make breaking you so much more satisfying. Tell me, do you think about how it will feel when I fuck you? Because I've been thinking about it for months."
The crude threat hangs in the air between us. I feel sick, violated just by his words, but I refuse to let him see how deeply they cut.
"Even if the Commission votes yes," I manage, proud of how steady my voice sounds despite my churning stomach, "Vito would never actually hand me over."
"Vito Rosso is a businessman above all else. He knows the cost of war versus the cost of one ungrateful sister-in-law who's already proven she can't be controlled." Kieran's smile turns predatory. "Besides, you made his choice easy by running away like a spoiled child. Hard to protect someone who spits in the face of protection."
He stands, moving toward me with deliberate slowness. "But don't worry, princess. I'll take very good care of you. Train you properly. By the time I'm done, you'll be the perfect wife—quiet, obedient, grateful for whatever scraps of affection I choose to give you."
"I'd rather die."
"Oh, you won't die." He reaches out and traces my jawline with one finger, and I have to fight every instinct not to recoil. "But you might wish you had. See, I've learned that broken toys are so much more interesting than new ones. They have... character."
"The wedding is tomorrow afternoon," he continues, finally stepping back and straightening his sweater with precision. "I suggest you get some rest. Think about whether you want to walk down that aisle willingly, or whether I need to have you dragged. Either way works for me, but one option is significantly more pleasant for you."
He moves toward the door, then pauses with his hand on the handle. "Oh, and Sofia? That little scar on your wrist—the triangle ones from dear old daddy? I plan to add a few of my own. Consider it a wedding gift."
The lock clicks into place with a sound like a death knell.
I collapse onto the bed, finally allowing myself to feel the full weight of my situation. Tomorrow, I'll be forced to marry a manwho treats me like property. The Commission is probably voting on my fate right now. My own family might sell me to buy their peace.
I don't know if anyone's coming to save me. But I refuse to go down without a fight.
