Chapter 2

Waking up trapped in a stranger's bed is usually where most heiresses panic.

I just checked my pulse. Seventy-two beats per minute.

I sat up slowly, the soft glide of heavy black silk sheets sliding against my skin. The room was massive—a minimalist sanctuary of dark slate, polished chrome, and floor-to-ceiling glass that looked out over a sprawling, rain-drenched skyline.

I swung my legs out of the bed, testing my limbs. My emerald dress was gone, replaced by an oversized, obsidian shirt that stopped at my thighs, smelling heavily of spicy men’s cologne.

How chivalrous.

I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling glass doors leading to the balcony. I tapped the reinforced frame. A red digital sensor hummed to life.

Biometric lock. Solid titanium reinforced.

"I wouldn't try throwing yourself off," a low, smooth voice rumbled from the doorway. "It’s a long drop, fiammella, and I prefer my hostages intact."

I turned around slowly, crossing my arms over my chest.

Vittorio stood framed in the doorway, looking infuriatingly handsome. He’d dropped the wolf mask. A white tactical bandage covered the high ridge of his cheekbone where my stiletto had carved its mark.

He wore a crisp, dark navy dress shirt with the top two buttons undone, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing dark ink tracing up his veined forearms.

"Disappointing," I said smoothly, tilting my head. "I was hoping the drop would be high enough to land on your car."

A dark, amused smirk played on his lips as he walked into the room, tossing a leather dossier onto the glass coffee table. "You're surprisingly cheerful for a woman in a gilded cage."

"It's not a cage until you lock the door, Don De Marco.” I gestured to the silk shirt draped over my thighs. "Though your taste in hostage attire is surprisingly domestic."

Vittorio’s dark eyes swept over me, lingering on the exposed skin of my legs before rising back to meet my gaze. The air in the room suddenly felt thin, charged with a heavy, dangerous heat.

"My housekeeper changed you," he said, taking a slow, deliberate step toward me. "Though I was tempted to leave you in that green dress. But it made you far too easy to track."

"And here I thought a big, scary mob Don like you wouldn't mind a challenge."

"I like challenges, Alessandra," he purred, closing the distance between us until he stood barely an inch away. "I just prefer them when they're bound to my bed."

He leaned down, invading my personal space with terrifying ease. He placed one hand on the glass wall behind my head and the other on his hip, trapping me. The dark, masculine scent of him wrapped around my senses.

My breath hitched—just for a fraction of a second—but I refused to step back. I looked straight up into his dark, piercing eyes.

"You're standing very close for a man who already has a scar on his face from getting too near," I murmured, my voice steady, sharp, and dripping with venom.

Vittorio chuckled, a low, gravelly vibration that rattled straight through my ribs. He reached out, his long, calloused fingers catching a lock of my dark hair and tucking it behind my ear. His knuckles brushed against the sensitive skin of my neck, sending a sharp, electric shiver down my spine.

"A souvenir," he whispered, his thumb lightly tracing my jawline. "Every time I look in the mirror, I'll remember the little cat who tried to claw my eyes out."

"Keep touching me like that and I'll give you a matching one on the other side."

His dark eyes flashed with an intense light. He didn't pull away. If anything, his gaze dipped to my lips before rising back to my eyes.

Maybe this motherfucker had a pain kink.

"Fierce," he murmured. "Feisty. You really don't know how ransom works, do you? You're supposed to be trembling. You're supposed to be begging me to call your father."

I let out a soft, mocking laugh.

"Call my father?" I echoed, mockingly, raising my hands to his chest. "Go ahead. Dial his private line right now."

Vittorio’s brow twitched slightly, intrigued despite himself. "He'll hand over the eastern shipping ports the moment I threaten to send him your fingers."

"Vittorio, darling," I said, leaning up on my tiptoes so my lips were inches from his ear, "my father doesn't care about my fingers. He doesn't even care about my life. The moment you demand those ports in exchange for me, he’ll order his own snipers to sink your compound with both of us inside."

I pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, my lips curving into a cold smile.

"My father will sooner let me bleed out in your penthouse than give up a single square inch of his revenue. So if you kidnapped me expecting leverage..." I tapped his chest twice with my knuckles. "...you bought a very expensive paperweight."

Vittorio stared down at me, his hyper-observant eyes analyzing every micro-expression on my face, searching for a lie, a crack in my composure.

Slowly, the intrigue in his eyes morphed into something far more dangerous. Fascination.

"He really raised a viper in his own nest, didn't he?" Vittorio murmured, his grip on my jaw tightening slightly, holding me captive under his touch.

"He raised a tool," I corrected coldly. "And now his tool belongs to his worst enemy."

"Belongs?" Vittorio repeated the word, tasting it, a dark, wicked grin spreading across his face. "Careful, fiammella. Words like that sound an awful lot like a surrender. I’m getting turned on.”

"It's not a surrender, Don De Marco," I said, reaching up to wrap my fingers around his wrist. "It's an operational review. And right now, your strategy sucks."

Vittorio threw his head back and laughed—a rich, booming sound that shook the quiet tension in the suite. He let go of my jaw, stepping back just enough to give me room to breathe, though his dark eyes never left mine.

"An operational review from my captive," he said, picking up a leather dossier from the table and flipping it open. "Alright, fiammella. If your father won't trade the ports for you... what do you propose we do with you?"

"Simple," I said with a shrug, stepping away from the glass. "You let me go. Now you know that I’m useless to you."

Vittorio tsked and made his way to me again, crowding my space like a predator. His hand wrapped around my throat. I held my breath as his lips brushed my ear.

“Fiammella, you know I can’t do that,” he murmured. I never let my prisoners go—bad for business, I’m sure you understand.”