Chapter 3 CAGED DOLL

LILIANA'S POV

When I wake up, the first thing I notice is that I'm not dead.

The second thing I notice is that I wish I were.

My eyes snap open, heart pounding. For a second, I don't recognize the ceiling above me was vaulted, carved wood, lit by a golden chandelier. The sheets beneath me are silk, smooth and cool, nothing like the hotel sheets at the bridal suite I should've been in last night.

And then it all comes back.

The gunshots. The blood. Ethan screaming. Dante Moretti's hand gripping my arm.

The chloroform.

I jolt upright, breath ragged. My dress is torn at the seams, one strap hanging by a thread, my veil gone. My bouquet... gone. My fucking wedding, gone.

Instead, I'm in a gilded cage.

The room is bigger than my entire apartment in the city-velvet drapes, marble floors, mirrors with golden frames. Everything screams wealth, power, danger. And the door is locked. Of course it is.

I stumble out of bed, my legs weak. My bare feet sink into the plush carpet as I rush to the door. I twist the handle-solid, unmoving. I pound against it with both fists.

"Let me out! You can't fucking keep me here!" My voice cracks, echoing back at me.

Silence.

Panic claws at my throat. I whirl around, searching for another way out. The balcony. I shove the curtains aside, step out into the cold night air. High walls stretch around the estate, guards patrolling with rifles slung across their chests. The gates are steel, the kind that doesn't open for anyone but the Devil himself.

My knees buckle. I grip the railing, nausea rising.

This isn't real. This can't be real.

I'm supposed to be on my honeymoon. Ethan's supposed to be holding me, telling me everything will be okay. But instead, I'm trapped in the mansion of a man whose name makes grown men piss themselves.

And Ethan didn't even fight for me. He just... let them take me.

Tears burn my eyes. I scrub them away furiously. Don't cry, Liliana. Don't you fucking cry.

The door clicks.

I freeze, breath caught in my chest.

Then he walks in.

Dante Moretti.

Tall. Broad. Darkness wrapped in a tailored black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, tattoos curling over his forearms, veins visible as he runs a hand through his messy dark hair. He looks like sin, like violence, like every bad decision I've ever been warned against.

And his eyes find me instantly.

"Well, good morning, princess," he drawls, a smirk tugging at his mouth. "Sleep well?"

I glare at him, my heart pounding so hard I feel it in my ears. "Go to hell."

He chuckles, low and mocking, as he shuts the door behind him. "Sweetheart, I brought hell to you."

He strolls further in, casual as if he owns me already. Maybe he does.

"Stay the fuck away from me," I snap, backing up until the edge of the bed hits the back of my legs.

He tilts his head, eyes gleaming. "Or what? You'll scream? Go ahead. Everyone here works for me. They'll just enjoy the show."

My stomach twists.

He's right. I'm alone.

"What do you want from me?" My voice cracks despite how hard I try to steady it.

He stops in front of me, so close I have to tilt my head back to look at him. His presence fills the room, heavy and suffocating.

"What do I want?" he repeats, his smirk fading into something darker. He leans down, his breath brushing my ear. "I want Crawford crawling on his knees, begging me for your life. I want him choking on the blood of his empire while he watches me keep what's his. And I want you...." His fingers hook under my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. ".....to understand that you belong to me now."

My breath hitches. His touch is rough, his grip unyielding, and still, my skin tingles where he holds me. My body is a traitor.

I slap his hand away, my voice shaking. "I'll never belong to you."

He laughs, low and cruel. "That's what they all say."

Something in his eyes makes my stomach flip. It's not just hunger it's possession. A predator staring down prey.

I push past him, moving toward the balcony again, desperate for space. "Ethan will come for me," I whisper, clinging to the last shred of hope I have.

Dante barks out a laugh that chills me to the bone. "Your groom?" He shakes his head, smirking. "Sweetheart, Ethan didn't even look at you when I dragged you out. He was too busy pissing himself over a bullet in his arm. That man wouldn't crawl through hell for you. He wouldn't even crawl across the fucking floor."

The words slice through me.

I shake my head violently. "Shut up! You don't know him."

He stalks toward me, eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. "I know men like him better than you ever will. I know he only stuck his dick in you long enough to get your shares. I know he compared you to your sister every chance he got. And I know that right now, he's thanking God I took you, because it means he doesn't have to keep pretending to love you."

Tears spill over before I can stop them. My chest caves, my knees threatening to give out.

And Dante watches me crumble with a smirk that makes me want to claw his eyes out.

"Fuck you," I whisper, voice broken.

He steps closer, crowding me against the railing. His hand grabs my chin again, rough, forcing my wet eyes to meet his.

"That mouth," he growls. "Careful with it. Unless you want me to find a better use for it."

My stomach knots. Heat flushes my skin, equal parts fear and something darker I don't want to name.

I shove at his chest. "You're disgusting."

He smirks. "And yet, you're still breathing because of me. You think your pretty little fiancé would've kept you alive if our positions were reversed? No, doll. He'd have sold you himself."

I hate him. God, I hate him. But I can't deny the sick twist inside me when he's this close.

"I want to go home," I whisper, hating the way my voice trembles.

His eyes harden. "This is home now."

And before I can protest, he grabs me by the waist and tosses me back onto the bed. I gasp, silk sheets sliding under me as he looms over me, his shadow swallowing me whole.

My heart thunders as his hand brushes the torn strap of my dress, pushing it off my shoulder. My breath stutters, my skin burning.

He doesn't touch further, just leans down, lips inches from mine, his voice a dark promise.

"You offered yourself to me last night," he murmurs. "Said you'd do anything. Don't think I've forgotten. And don't think I won't collect."

My throat goes dry.

He pushes off the bed, straightening. His eyes rake over me one last time before he turns toward the door.

"Get some rest, doll. Tomorrow, I decide how far you're willing to go to keep that little fiancé of yours alive."

The door slams behind him, the lock clicking in place.

I curl into the sheets, shaking, hating him.

And hating myself more for the heat still lingering between my thighs.