Chapter 2 PROPERTY OF NO ONE

DOMINIC'S POV

She's light in my arms. Too light.

I carry her through the back door of the club, ignoring the way my men glance at her, then quickly look away. They know better than to ask questions when I walk in bleeding and silent, with a girl clinging to life in my arms.

She smells like blood, rain, and the street. Her skin is freezing. Hair soaked. Lips cracked.

She shouldn't be alive.

I should've left her in the alley.

I don't do this. I don't save people. I kill them, interrogate them, or use them. But I saw the necklace. The same one I gave my sister ten years ago-the same one she was wearing the night she disappeared.

And this girl... this broken, hollow-eyed thing on my couch... is wearing it like it means nothing.

But it means everything.

"Luca," I bark.

My cousin steps into the room, sharp as ever in a tailored suit, expression blank. "Who the hell is she?"

"I don't know."

He raises a brow. "You don't usually take in strays, Dom."

"She's not a stray," I mutter, kneeling beside her. "She's a question that needs an answer."

Her clothes are soaked and ripped. Her wrists are torn open from rope. She's been used, maybe trafficked, maybe worse. There are bruises that aren't fresh.

She survived something-barely.

"Do we need to call Adrian?" Luca asks, already pulling out his phone. Adrian's our private medic. Quiet. Loyal. Doesn't ask why his patients are usually shot or stabbed.

I nod. "Tell him to bring sedation. She's going to panic when she wakes up."

Because I would.

If I were her.

I stand, my hand still wrapped around her necklace. It takes everything in me not to rip it off and demand answers from her unconscious body.

If she's tied to Isabella-

If she knows what happened to my sister-

If she's lying-

I'll get it out of her. One way or another.

But first... she'll need to live.

AVA'S POV

The bed is too soft. Too warm.

The room smells like cedarwood, smoke, and something darker underneath-something sharp. Clean sheets. Dim lighting. No windows.

I bolt upright.

Pain slices down my ribs, but I force myself to move, to assess. I'm not in an alley anymore. Not chained. Not tied. Dressed in clean clothes-black T-shirt, drawstring pants that aren't mine. My body is clean. Someone scrubbed the blood away.

Panic surges through me.

I push back against the headboard and scan the room-minimalist, modern, cold. A leather armchair, fireplace. Security cameras in two corners. I spot them instantly.

My heart hammers. Where the fuck am I?

The door creaks open.

And then he's there.

The man from the alley. Same black shirt. Same eyes-obsidian, unreadable, dangerous. He doesn't say anything at first. Just walks in like he owns the air.

"Where am I?" I ask, voice scratchy.

"My house."

My mouth goes dry. "Why?"

"You passed out in my arms," he says simply. "I brought you here."

I hate how calm he sounds. I hate that I can't read him. I hate that he hasn't stopped looking at me.

"You could've dropped me at a hospital."

"You had a necklace that belonged to someone I care about." His voice shifts. Still flat, but with a thread of steel underneath. "That makes you interesting."

I instinctively reach for my neck.

It's gone.

His expression darkens slightly. "I have it."

"You stole it."

"I took it." He steps closer. I flinch. He sees it-and stops. "You were dying in an alley. I think I earned the right to some questions."

I swallow hard.

This isn't a man who asks. This is a man who takes.

"You going to torture it out of me?" I snap, more bravado than truth.

He smiles. It's faint. Not kind.

"Not unless you lie."

I don't know why I believe him-but I do.

He walks to the fireplace, picks something off the mantel, and tosses it to me.

The necklace.

I catch it with shaking hands.

"Who gave it to you?" he asks again.

I hesitate. "I don't know."

"You wore it like it meant something."

"It's the only thing I had left."

He nods once, slowly. Like he understands what that means. I don't expect him to.

"What's your name?" he asks.

"You already know."

"I want to hear you say it."

I take a breath. "Ava."

He steps toward me again. This time, slower. Like he's testing my limits. He stops beside the bed.

"You're safe here," he says.

I almost laugh. "Nothing about this feels safe."

"No," he agrees. "But you're safer here than anywhere else in this city. The men who hurt you-what family were they with?"

I freeze.

He saw too much.

"They didn't say," I lie.

His eyes narrow. I can tell he doesn't believe me-but he doesn't push it. Not yet.

"You can stay here as long as you don't lie to me."

I swallow the rising fear. "And if I do?"

"You won't like what happens next."

He turns to leave. Stops at the door.

"Ava."

I look up.

"I'm Dominic Voss."

The name hits like a slap.

I've heard it whispered before. Voss. The kind of name people don't say out loud unless they want to disappear.

"You're a monster," I breathe.

He tilts his head.

"Maybe. But I'm your monster now."

Then the door shuts. And I'm left with the necklace in my hands-and the echo of something I can't quite name.