Chapter 2 Welcome To Hell

ISLA

My body jerked upright with a sharp gasp.

Panic. Disorientation. The sharp scent of leather and cologne.

Where the hell was I?

The bed beneath me was too soft, the sheets too smooth. Velvet drapes lined the high windows, casting the room in a crimson glow. Ornate gold fixtures glittered in the dim light. A chandelier shimmered overhead.

This wasn't my apartment. This wasn't even in the same universe as my shitty apartment.

Then I remembered-the men in suits. The black car. Him.

Dominic Moretti.

The bastard who claimed I was collateral.

I scrambled out of the bed, legs trembling. My shoes were gone. So was my phone. My hoodie had been replaced with a silk robe that clung to my body like water.

The door opened before I could even reach for something to throw.

"You're awake," came his deep, smooth voice. Like whiskey over ice. Cold. Sharp. Dangerous.

He stepped inside like he owned everything, from the marble beneath his shoes to the air I breathed.

Dominic Moretti.

All black suit. All arrogance. His dark hair slicked back. Sharp jaw dusted with stubble. And those goddamn eyes-ice and fire, both.

I backed up instinctively, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Where am I?"

"My home," he said. "Your new home."

"No." I shook my head. "Absolutely not."

"I'm not offering a choice," he said, crossing the room. "Your father took something from me. You're the only thing he left behind that has any value."

I slapped him.

I didn't even think. My hand just flew up and met his cheek with a sharp crack.

He didn't flinch. Didn't even blink.

"You done?" he asked coolly.

I took a shaky step back. "You can't keep me here. That's kidnapping."

"In my world, that's leverage."

"Call the police, then," I snapped. "Let's see what they think."

He smirked. "I am the police, darling. In case you haven't figured it out, no one is coming for you."

That's when the panic started to bloom in my chest. Real and raw.

"I don't belong to you," I whispered, backing toward the corner.

He followed slowly. "Not yet. But you will."

---

DOMINIC

She was fire, this one.

Most girls in her position would cry, beg, plead. Isla Monroe squared her jaw and looked me in the eye like she was daring me to flinch.

It made me want her even more.

She had no idea the kind of men her father had betrayed. He knew the rules. You don't steal from the mafia and expect to disappear.

I should've cut off her fingers and sent them to him, but instead... I'd chosen this.

Her.

I wanted to break her pride. Bend it. Strip her down and make her mine-body, mind, and soul.

"I'll give you a choice," I said, watching her chest rise and fall. "You can stay here under my protection, under my rules. Or I can throw you to the men your father stole from. I guarantee, they'll be less... gentle."

Her lip curled. "So I'm supposed to just... what? Be your prisoner?"

I leaned in close, my breath brushing her ear.

"You're not a prisoner," I murmured. "You're a payment. And if you play nice, I might even let you enjoy it."

She shivered, and not just from fear.

I saw it. That flicker in her eyes.

Attraction, no matter how unwanted, was still real.

I turned and walked to the door. "You'll have everything you want here. Clothes. Food. Art supplies."

"I want freedom," she snapped.

"You'll earn it."

"By doing what?"

I paused, hand on the doorknob.

"Obeying."

---

ISLA

I didn't cry.

Not even after he left and locked the door behind him with a click that sounded like the start of a nightmare.

I paced the room like a caged animal. The window didn't open. The hallway was silent. The walls were too thick for sound to travel.

But I wasn't going to roll over and become some twisted mafia man's plaything.

No matter how sinfully good he looked in a suit.

I needed a plan. A way out.

He said I was leverage-but leverage had a purpose. Which meant I had time. Time to escape. Time to think.

I searched every inch of the room. No phone. No sharp objects. No cameras that I could see-but that didn't mean they weren't there.

I curled up on the bed eventually, fully dressed in the silk robe and fear, my thoughts spinning like a broken carousel.

---

The next morning, a knock came.

A woman entered-older, stern, in a navy blue maid uniform.

"Breakfast is in the east wing," she said without looking me in the eye. "Mr. Moretti expects you dressed."

"Let him expect disappointment," I muttered.

She didn't answer. Just left a black dress on the bed and walked out.

---

DOMINIC

I watched her enter the dining room like a storm about to break.

She wore the black dress I sent. Tight. Elegant. The neckline dipped just enough to tempt. Her lips were bare, but her eyes glared at me like daggers.

Good.

Let her rage.

It made the surrender sweeter.

She sat across from me in silence while my men stood guard at the door.

"This isn't dinner," she said after a long moment. "It's a power play."

"You're sharp," I said, cutting into my steak. "You'll survive longer that way."

"You kidnapped me."

"No," I said, meeting her glare. "I claimed you."

"You're insane."

I leaned back in my chair, wine glass in hand. "Your father thought I wouldn't find him. He's wrong. And if he has a heart, he'll come back the moment he realizes what I've done."

"And what happens if he doesn't?"

I smiled.

"Then you stay."

---

ISLA

I shoved the plate aside. "I'm not eating. Not with you."

His smile faded. Just a little.

"Then you'll go hungry."

He stood, walked over, and knelt beside my chair.

His fingers wrapped around my wrist, and I felt the cold press of a silver bracelet around it-a tiny, elegant shackle.

"What are you doing?" I asked, panicking.

He clipped the bracelet into place, then stood.

"That's not jewelry," he said. "It's a tracker."

I stared at him, horrified.

"If you try to run, it sends an alert. If you go too far from the property... it shocks."

My mouth went dry.

"You're insane," I breathed.

"No, sweetheart. I'm thorough."

---

DOMINIC

I leaned in, close enough for her to feel the heat of my words.

"Here's the thing, Isla. You can fight me. Scream. Run in circles if you like. But in the end, you'll belong to me. Not because I want to punish you..."

My hand grazed her cheek.

"...but because I want to keep you."

---

ISLA

He walked away, leaving my heart racing and my skin burning with confusion and fear.

What kind of man wanted to keep someone he stole?

What kind of twisted part of me wasn't entirely repulsed by it?

I hated him.

I hated how he looked at me. How he talked like he could rewrite the rules of the world just because he wore a suit and had money.

But most of all?

I hated how my body responded to him.

Even now, alone in this beautiful prison, I felt the ghost of his touch.

And I hated myself for shivering.