Page 27

His hand finds my back as we walk, the heat of his palm guiding me. The penthouse corridors feel endless, my heart rate accelerating with each step closer to my room.

We stop outside my bedroom door, and Dante turns me to face him, his expression unreadable in the dim corridor lighting.

"Have you decided what to do with it yet?" he asks casually.

My blood freezes in my veins. "With what?"

His smile is predatory, knowingly cruel. "The knife, princess. The one you've hidden beneath your mattress for twenty-three days now."

"How did you—"

Of course he knows. The realization shouldn't shock me, and yet it does. Has there ever been a moment in this place when I wasn't completely exposed to his scrutiny?

"I know everything that happens in these walls," he interrupts, his voice gentle despite the menace beneath his words. "Every breath you take. Every move you make. Every object you touch or hide or consider using against me."

Our eyes lock in silent battle. Another test. Another game. Another layer of the strange dance we've been performing since my capture.

"Not to mention the fact that you never take your eyes of your knife every single night at dinner."

"So what now?" I ask, voice steady despite my racing heart. "Will you take it from me? Add it to the list of small freedoms you've stripped away?"

Dante studies me, his head tilting slightly. "No. I'm curious. After these weeks together, after our conversations, after the ways I've touched you... will you still try to kill me, Francesca?"

The question hangs between us.

Shit.

WhatwouldI do?

"I don't know," I answer honestly, surprising us both.

His expression shifts. "Well… let's find out, shall we?"

He opens my bedroom door, gesturing for me to enter first. I step inside, suddenly too aware of the knife's presence beneath my mattress, calling to me like a siren song of potential freedom.

Dante follows, closing the door. "Show me where it is."

"Like you don't know already."

He shrugs as my choices crystallize in my mind: surrender the knife and admit defeat, or commit to the violent path I've considered since my arrival.

I cross to the bed, reaching beneath the mattress to extract the blade. It gleams bright in the light of the room, wickedly sharp and full of deadly promise.

"Well?" Dante asks, standing a few paces away, his posture relaxed despite the weapon in my hand. "What will it be, princess? Freedom through violence? Or something else entirely?"

I grip the knife tighter, its weight familiar after nights of holding it, contemplating its purpose. "I just… I don't get it. You knew all along. And you let me keep it."

"I did."

"Why?"

His smile is unexpectedly genuine. "Because I believe that choice is the most powerful illusion. And I wanted to see what you would choose, when the moment finally came."

I draw a deep breath, centering myself.

His eyes narrow slightly, lips curving into that cruel smile I've come to accept, rather than hate.

"What's wrong, princess? Still afraid to get your hands dirty?" He smirks darkly. "Like father, like daughter... always making others do the killing for you."