Chapter 3 The Game Begins.

Elena barely slept that night.

Even with her apartment door locked, her windows shut, and the city noise humming outside, she felt watched. Not in a paranoid way. No, this was something different.

Something darker.

Dante Moretti had gotten into her head.

She hated it. Hated that a single encounter had unsettled her so much. That she could still hear his voice in her mind, smooth and possessive.

You can keep running, tesoro. But I don't mind chasing.

Elena exhaled sharply and pushed back the covers.

It didn't matter. She wouldn't see him again. He was just another arrogant man used to getting his way, and she had no intention of being collected like some prize.

Shoving the thoughts aside, she got ready for the day.

By the time she arrived on campus, the world felt normal again. Law school was demanding exhausting, even and she welcomed the distraction.

For hours, she buried herself in legal texts and case briefs, surrounded by the quiet hum of the library.

But then, just as she was packing up her things her phone buzzed.

A single message.

Unknown Number: You shouldn't walk alone at night.

Elena's breath caught. Her fingers tightened around the phone.

Her first instinct was to ignore it. To delete it, pretend it didn't exist.

But her second instinct the one fueled by sharp defiance was to respond.

Elena: You shouldn't text strangers.

A pause. Then

Unknown Number: We're not strangers, Elena.

A chill ran through her. She had no proof, but she knew it was him.

Her pulse pounded. How the hell did he get her number?

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, debating whether to ask. But that would be giving him the satisfaction of knowing he'd rattled her.

Instead, she locked her phone and shoved it into her bag.

She wouldn't engage and ouldn't play whatever game he was trying to start.

But as she left the library, stepping onto the bustling campus, a heavy sensation settled over her.

Like she was being watched.

And deep down, she knew the chase had already begun.

Elena forced herself to keep walking, her fingers gripping the strap of her bag tightly.

She wouldn't turn around.

Wouldn't check if he was actually there, watching.

That was what he wanted for her to acknowledge him, to give in to the paranoia creeping under her skin.

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

Campus was crowded. Students filled the walkways, their voices blending into a dull hum. She wasn't alone. He wasn't here.

Probably.

Still, her body remained tense, her steps brisk.

The moment she reached the coffee shop near the law building, she stepped inside, inhaling the familiar scent of espresso and fresh pastries.

Safe.

The line was short, and within minutes, she had her coffee in hand. But as she turned toward the door, her phone buzzed again.

Unknown Number: You're a creature of habit, aren't you?

Elena's blood ran cold.

Her grip on the cup tightened, the warmth doing nothing to chase away the chill spreading through her.

She shouldn't respond. She knew that.

But her fingers moved before she could stop them.

Elena: How did you get my number?

A pause. Then

Unknown Number: I told you, tesoro. I make it a point to know the things I want.

Her stomach twisted.

She clenched her jaw, willing herself to stay calm.

Elena: And if I'm not one of those things?

This time, the response came almost immediately.

Unknown Number: Then you shouldn't make yourself so tempting.

A slow, sharp breath filled her lungs.

This wasn't just a game to him.

Dante Moretti was hunting her, and the worst part?

She wasn't sure she hated it.

Elena spent the rest of the afternoon forcing herself to focus on her coursework, but her thoughts kept drifting back to him.

To his words.

To the way his presence lingered, even when he wasn't around.

By the time evening fell, she was exhausted-from thinking, from feeling, from resisting the pull of something she couldn't quite name.

She packed up her things and left the library, her body moving on autopilot toward the subway station.

The streets were quieter now, the campus settling into its nighttime rhythm.

And then a whisper of movement.

Not loud. Not obvious.

But there.

Elena's heart slammed against her ribs.

She swallowed hard and forced herself to keep walking, her pulse roaring in her ears.

She wasn't alone.

Don't turn around. Don't give him the satisfaction.

But her body betrayed her.

She glanced over her shoulder and there he was.

Dante.

Standing at the edge of the street, dressed in black, his presence cutting through the night like a blade.

He didn't move. Didn't speak.

Just watched like he was waiting for something.

Elena's breath came fast and shallow.

A choice lay before her.

She could keep walking, pretend he wasn't there. Pretend this wasn't happening.

Or

She could confront the devil in the dark.

And see what happened when you played with fire.

Elena's breath came sharp and shallow.

Dante Moretti stood at the edge of the street like a shadow carved from the night itself. His posture was relaxed, but there was nothing casual about the way he watched her.

Measured. Possessive. Waiting.

For what? For her?

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides.

No.

She refused to be afraid.

With a steadying breath, she turned on her heel and marched straight toward him. If he expected her to ignore him, to cower or pretend he wasn't there, he was about to be disappointed.

Dante's smirk deepened as she approached, as if amused by her boldness. "You came to me."

His voice was smooth as silk, dark as sin.

Elena stopped a few feet away, lifting her chin. "No. I came to end this little game of yours."

His gaze flickered with something unreadable. "Game?"

Her heartbeat was wild, but she forced her voice to stay even. "You've been watching me. Following me. Texting me." She folded her arms. "Whatever you think is happening between us? It's not."

Dante took a slow step forward. Not touching her. Just close enough to remind her that he could. That he would, if he wanted to.

"You're right," he murmured. "This isn't a game."

Elena swallowed hard.

Everything about him was calculated his movements, his words, even the way his presence seemed to consume the space between them.

She should walk away. She should.

But instead, she asked the question burning on her tongue. "Why me?"

Dante tilted his head slightly, studying her like she was something rare. Something that belonged to him, even if she didn't realize it yet.

"I saw you." His voice was almost thoughtful. "And I knew."

Her stomach tightened. "Knew what?"

"That you were mine."

The words were spoken so simply, so confidently, that a shiver ran through her before she could stop it.

But she masked it with a sharp glare. "You don't own me."

His lips twitched. "Not yet."

Her breath caught.

Damn him.

She needed to leave. Needed to end this before she drowned in whatever dark current he was pulling her into.

Elena took a step back, then another. "Stay away from me."

Dante didn't move to stop her. But the way he watched her, the knowing smirk on his lips.

It told her everything.

This wasn't over.

Not even close.

And as she turned and walked away, she knew.

She might have left him standing in the dark.

But she hadn't escaped him at all.

Elena forced herself to walk away, every step measured, every breath controlled.

She wouldn't run.

Wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

But she felt him his gaze like a touch, branding her even as she put distance between them.

The moment she turned the corner, she exhaled sharply, the tension in her shoulders uncoiling just enough to remind her how tightly wound she'd been.

This was insane.

Dante Moretti was the kind of man women warned each other about ruthless, powerful, dangerous. The kind of man you didn't let into your life, because once he was in, he would never leave.

So why was her pulse still racing?

Why did a part of her, one she hated, one she refused to acknowledge want him to chase her?

No.

She wouldn't let this get into her head.

Shoving the thought aside, she reached the subway entrance and descended the stairs quickly. It was late, and the station was mostly empty, the overhead lights buzzing softly as a train rumbled in the distance.

Elena paced the platform, forcing herself to focus on anything but him.

She pulled out her phone, ignoring the lingering text messages.

She wouldn't text back. Wouldn't engage.

But then a presence.

A shift in the air.

Slowly, stiffly, she turned her head.

Her stomach dropped.

Dante stood at the top of the stairs, his figure a silhouette against the dim glow of the station lights.

Her breath caught.

He didn't move right away. Didn't rush to her like some desperate man who couldn't stay away.

No, Dante Moretti was patient.

He simply stood there, watching her, waiting for her reaction.

Her fingers curled around her phone. "Are you serious right now?"

His smirk was slow, deliberate. "I told you, tesoro. I don't mind chasing."

Elena clenched her jaw. "You're stalking me."

He took a step forward, descending the stairs with effortless grace. "If I were stalking you, you wouldn't see me."

The casual way he said it sent a chill down her spine.

The train screeched into the station behind her, the doors hissing open.

Her heart pounded.

She could get on. Leave him standing there.

But something in his expression-something dark, unreadable told her it wouldn't be that easy.

Still, she refused to let him control this moment.

Elena squared her shoulders, stepping onto the train without another word.

The doors slid shut behind her, separating them.

She expected relief. Expected her pulse to slow, her breathing to even out.

But Dante Moretti had already burrowed beneath her skin.

And deep down, she knew this was far from over.

This was just the beginning.