Chapter 5 You won't break me.

The lock snapped shut behind him. The corridor fell quiet, broken only by the steady tap of his shoes on the marble floor. He did not look back.

Rose's defiance still echoed in his ears. You won't break me.

Foolish girl. Everyone broke. It was only a matter of time.

He reached the end of the corridor and turned. A guard opened the door without being asked. Dante stepped inside.

Soft lamplight spilled across the space, painting her in warm tones. She sat upright on a chaise, a book on her lap, her cane leaning within reach.

She was petite and neatly dressed, hair pinned back with careful precision-she looked like the very opposite of the world he carried on his shoulders.

Her green-grey eyes lifted to him. She studied him, as she always did, sharp and unhurried. "You're late."

He loosened his cuffs, set his jacket over a chair. "I was occupied."

"Occupied," she echoed, closing the book with delicate fingers. "Which means you've done something reckless."

His jaw ticked. "Discipline isn't reckless."

"On the contrary, with you it usually is." She shifted slightly, the movement careful with her spine. "Was it Rose?"

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he crossed to the sideboard, poured himself a measure of brandy, and took a slow sip. The silence was answer enough.

Bella's gaze sharpened. "What did you do to her?"

"She forgot her place," he said flatly. "In front of our father."

Bella's lips pressed into a thin line. "So you punished her."

"She had to learn."

Bella's cane tapped once against the floor, her gaze never leaving him. "And what did you learn?"

His jaw tightened. "That weakness is not tolerated."

Her eyes softened, but her voice was steady. "No. You learned to repeat him."

The words hung heavy, it was sharper than any accusation. For a moment his shoulders stiffened, the mask threatening to crack. He despised hearing Vittorio's reflection in her tone, but he didn't deny it.

"I am nothing like him," Dante said at last, his voice low and dangerous.

Bella leaned back, measured and composed despite the tremor in her hand against the cane. "Okay."

Dante stood at the window, the brandy untouched in his hand, the reflection of his own storm-grey eyes staring back at him. Bella shifted on her chaise, adjusting her posture with the help of her cane.

"When will you start coming outside again?" he asked suddenly, without turning.

She tilted her head, lips curling with something that wasn't quite a smile. "When Vittorio finally dies."

Dante's gaze flicked toward her, sharp. He scanned the corners of the room, the shadows, even the door. "Don't say that aloud."

Her soft chuckle broke the tension. "What? Afraid one of Father's loyal dogs is listening at the walls?" She sighed, leaning back, eyes clouding with a mix of amusement and resignation. "Tell me, Dante... why did you bring her here? Of all people, why an innocent girl?"

His jaw tightened. "She was the debt repayment."

"You knew exactly what you were dragging her into." Her tone lost its lightness. "You know how misogynistic Vittorio is. You remember how he was with our mother, with-" she stopped, the words pressing against old wounds, "-with me."

The muscles in Dante's forearm flexed, his fist curling tight at his side. He said nothing.

"Vittorio will break her," Bella continued, her eyes unflinching on his. "And if he can't, he'll make you do it for him."

Dante's head turned sharply, his voice low and edged. "I have to be married, with a son, before I can claim the seat. He gave me two years to secure it or else Luca gets it."

Bella's lips parted in quiet acknowledgement. "Yes. I know." She tapped her cane lightly against the marble, the sound sharp in the hush of the room. "But still, you could have chosen differently. At least one of the daughters of the old families. Women bred for this life. Not someone like her."

Dante finally met her gaze, storm meeting storm's echo. His voice was calm, but it carried the steel of inevitability. "She was the easiest move to make."

****

When the door finally opened, the scent of roasted meat and fresh bread drifted in, taunting Rose's hollow stomach. A tray was set down on the table. For two days she had been given nothing but water, the ache in her belly twisting into sharp knots.

She didn't hesitate this time around. She sat and ate with desperate hunger, tearing through each bite as though the food might vanish if she slowed. Her throat burned as she gulped down the water, but she didn't care. By the time she was finished, she leaned back in the chair, weak but steadier than she had felt since that cursed dinner.

Her reprieve didn't last long. A pair of women entered the chamber with towels, soap, and a fresh dress. They worked silently, washing away the grime of herimprisonment, combing through her tangled hair, fastening her into clean clothes.

"Don't linger," one of them muttered finally, adjusting the collar of her dress. "Padrone is waiting."

Rose's pulse quickened. She hated the thought of seeing him again, hated that she had no choice but to obey. If she refused, her father might pay for it, or worse-her own life might be snuffed out before she had a chance to fight for it.

She clenched her jaw, silently vowing that she would not stay here forever. One way or another, she would find her way out of this fortress and away from Dante Moretti.

The hallway outside was wide and cold, lined with oil paintings of stern-faced men who bore the same storm-grey eyes as Dante.

When she stepped out, he was already there, leaning against the stone arch. He now wore a black shirt and trousers, the top buttons undone, casual in a way that unsettled her more than his formality. He looked less like a don and more like a predator at ease.

"Follow me," he simply said.

Rose obeyed, each step echoing against the marble. She kept her eyes forward, but her mind tracked everything-the number of doors, the way the light pooled in certain corners, the men stationed in shadows. Every detail was another piece of a puzzle she would one day use to free herself.

He led her through the atrium, its high ceiling domed with carved stone. She slowed a little, her eyes drawn to the grand council chamber that sat at its center, sealed behind tall double doors.

"That," Dante said, catching her hesitation, "is not for you. Ever."

Rose's eyes darted over the closed doors, her curiosity tugging against her fear. "And if I do?"

He stopped just long enough to look at her. The pause was heavier than any threat. Then he turned and kept walking.

"You won't."

She bit back the retort that rose in her throat and trailed after him as he led her down a staircase into another hall.

They passed the doors leading to his own suite, directly opposite hers. He didn't stop, but she could feel his eyes on her as they walked by. The closeness of their rooms made her stomach twist.

"This is mine," he said simply. "You don't come near it."

She forced her expression blank. "Believe me, I won't."

He didn't respond, only turned her toward the opposite wing. He gestured briefly at another set of doors, darker wood reinforced with iron.

"My father's suite. If you value your life, you won't cross that threshold unless you're summoned." His voice dropped lower, colder. "And even then, you'll wish you hadn't."

A chill skated down her spine, but she lifted her chin. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear.

He took her next to the far wing, where the atmosphere seemed lighter. A suite with a carved door stood slightly ajar, pale light spilling into the hall.

"Bella's wing," Dante said. His tone shifted, just slightly, gentler than before. "She doesn't need disturbance. You'll leave her in peace."

Rose glanced at the doorway, she's prompted to ask who Bella was, but his look said otherwise.

They turned again, coming to the last suite, across from Bella's. The door was wide, polished, and flanked by two guards.

"Luca's," Dante said flatly.

Something in his tone made Rose's heart pick up. She filed it away, not daring to ask.

Finally, he stopped in the center of the atrium, where the corridors intersected like the spokes of a wheel. He faced her fully for the first time, his storm-grey eyes unreadable.

"You've seen enough," he said. "These halls are not yours to roam. You stay in your wing, and you leave when I tell you to. Nothing else."

Rose's voice broke into a bitter laugh before she could stop herself. "You expect me to sit quietly in my room like some pet waiting for scraps?"

His head turned slowly toward her, his grey eyes narrowing just enough to freeze the smile on her lips. "You seem to forget your place often. Perhaps you need another reminder."

Her stomach tightened. She swallowed hard, but forced herself to keep her chin lifted. "I haven't forgotten. I just don't accept it."

The faintest curve of his mouth appeared, more shadow than smile. "Acceptance isn't required. Obedience is."

Rose folded her arms, her voice sharp with defiance she couldn't contain. "You can map out every wall and lock every door, but you won't cage me forever."

For a long moment, he simply stared at her, his expression carved from stone. Then, slowly, he leaned closer, his voice dropping so low only she could hear.

"Try," he murmured. "See what happens."

Her breath caught, her stomach knotted with anger, but she forced herself not to flinch. She wouldn't give him that.

When he turned and walked away, she stood in the atrium alone, fists clenched, vowing that one day she would walk these halls free...without him and without chains.