Chapter 3 Three

{Nico's POV}

Elena Ricci.

The name meant something to me. Yet, something about her had kept my hand raised when I should have walked away. Something about her had made me put a bullet in Dante Romano's leg instead of letting him have her.

I hadn't planned to start a war over a woman.

And yet, here we were.

She was watching me.

Assessing. Calculating.

Smart girl.

But instead of demanding answers, she simply asked, "What do you want from me?"

A smirk played on my lips.

She already knew. Not the full picture, maybe, but enough. The name Moretti meant something to her-I could see it in the way her pupils shrank, the way her breathing hitched.

I stepped inside, my presence filling the room like a storm cloud.

I didn't speak at first. I simply stood there, watching her eat. Her gown-silk, delicate-was still intact, though the chaos of the auction had left her in disarray. Strands of dark hair clung to her skin, her emerald-green eyes sharp despite the exhaustion she tried to hide.

I met her gaze. She swallowed, forcing herself to mask whatever fear crept up her throat. She didn't want me to see it.

Too late.

"You're awake." My voice was smooth, and controlled.

She lifted her chin. "Obviously."

A hint of amusement sparked in her eyes, only to vanish instantly.

I stepped further inside, closing the door behind me with eerie calm. The soft click of the lock sent a shiver through her, though she kept her shoulders squared.

I was in control. And I wanted her to know it.

I walked toward her, my steps slow, deliberate. She didn't shrink away, even as the air between us grew impossibly heavy.

"Do you know why you're here?" I asked.

She held my gaze, defiant. "Because you bought me."

"That's one way to put it." I lowered myself into the chair across from her, one ankle resting on my knee, perfectly at ease. "Tell me, Elena. What do you remember?"

Her jaw tensed. "Does it matter?"

Her fingers clenched into fists and fleeting emotions-more than fear-crossed her face.

Rage.

Interesting.

I had expected terror, and submission. Maybe even desperation. But anger? That was unexpected.

"Why did you buy me?" she asked. Her voice was steady, but beneath it, I heard the strain. The question she really wanted to ask was: What are you going to do to me?

But she was too proud to say it out loud.

"I don't like leaving things with Dante," I said smoothly, watching her reaction. "You should be thanking me."

Her jaw tightened. "Thanking you?"

There it was again-that fire.

Most women in her position would tread carefully, weighing their words. But not her.

"I don't think you get it," she said, her voice edged with heat. "I was bought like an animal. I'm still a prisoner, no matter who holds the leash."

I tilted my head, considering her. "Is that what you think?"

She scoffed. "What else am I supposed to think?"

She was angry. Not just at me, but at the entire situation. At her helplessness.

I could respect that.

"Tell me, Elena," I murmured, my voice low, almost coaxing. "If I hadn't bought you, do you think you'd be sitting here, unharmed?"

She flinched-just barely-but I caught it.

She knew exactly what kind of men had been in that room. What they would have done to her.

A shadow of uncertainty passed through her eyes, but she buried it quickly.

"And what about you?" she challenged, forcing steel into her voice. "What do you want from me?"

The corner of my lips lifted, more amused than anything else.

What did I want from her?

That was the real question.

I had walked into that auction intending to observe, nothing more. I had no reason to involve myself in the filth of human trafficking. And yet, the moment I saw her, I acted.

Impulsively.

I wasn't one to make sudden decisions.

"I suppose you'll have to wait and see," I finally said, leaning back into the seat.

She laughed, dry and humorless, shaking her head. "That's not an answer."

"No," I agreed, "it's not."

She met my gaze, unwavering. "I'm not going to beg you."

I smirked. "I don't care what you do."

Her chin lifted. "But I won't beg."

I studied her for a long moment, letting the silence stretch.

"I don't want you to beg, Elena." My voice was quiet, lethal. "I want you to understand."

A frown creased her brow. "Understand what?"

I pushed to my feet, stepping closer, letting my presence consume the space between us.

"That I own you now."

Her breath hitched.

Not with fear.

With fury.

A slow, knowing smile spread across my face.

She had no clue what she'd just gotten herself into.

Elena didn't speak at first. Instead, she reached for the glass of water beside her plate and took a slow, deliberate sip. A calculated move.

Not fear. Not submission.

Defiance.

I watched her with mild interest, letting the silence stretch. Most people couldn't hold eye contact with me for long. But she did.

I could almost hear her thoughts. If you think I'm going to break, you're mistaken.

Amusing.

I leaned in slightly, just enough to crowd her space. "You're not afraid of me."

Her lips pressed into a firm line. "Should I be?"

The question was bold. Reckless.

But it wasn't a real question. It was a challenge.

I chuckled, dark and quiet. "Yes."

She didn't react, but I saw the way her grip tightened around the glass, knuckles whitening just slightly. She wasn't as unaffected as she wanted me to believe.

Good.

"Fear keeps people alive, Elena." I studied her, tilting my head. "You don't seem to have much of it."

She set the glass down with a soft clink, then leaned back against the chair, matching my posture.

"I learned a long time ago that fear is a weakness," she said. "People use it to control you."

Something about the way she said it made my interest deepen.

I leaned forward, resting my forearms on my knees. "And what do you think I will use?"

She stared at me, unblinking.

"The same thing every man in that auction house wanted to use," she said coldly.

I held her gaze, letting her words settle between us.

Then, I smirked.

"I don't need to force a woman, Elena." My voice dropped to a dark whisper. "They come to me willingly."

A flicker of something crossed her face-disgust, maybe.

But beneath it, there was something else.

Curiosity.

She would deny it. She would fight it.

But I saw it.

This was going to be fun.