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I laugh. “You can’t kill me, Dominic. I’m the only one who can help you. And the fact that you went to so much trouble to get me only shows how important this is for you.”
His jaw clenches, amusement evaporating as he stares me down.
“I’m sure there are a lot of ways we can get information from you,” he threatens.
“I’m not afraid of you, Dominic.” The lie shatters between us, sharp and unforgiving.
The pilot’s voice crackles over the speaker. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning our descent and should be landing shortly.”
Staff appear to clear our breakfast as Luca approaches, setting a syringe filled with clear liquid on the table. My stomach drops.
Dominic watches me. “Here’s what’s going to happen. We’re going to put you to sleep right now for your safety more than ours. When you wake up, you’ll be in the safe house.”
He picks up the syringe, extending his hand toward me. I recoil instinctively.
“You’re not going to touch me?” I ask, hating the tremor in my voice.
“Not while you’re unconscious. Not when it’s against your will,” he promises. “You have my word.”
I slowly extend my arm. His fingers wrap around my wrist, the needle sliding into my vein with practiced precision.
“I hate you,” I whisper, just for him.
“Feeling’s mutual,” he says, but his thumb brushes over my pulse. “But hate fucks just as good as love, doesn’t it? We both remember that night.”
“You won’t get anything from me,” I promise, as my vision begins to blur.
“Everyone breaks, Alessa.” His voice follows me into darkness. “It’s just a matter of finding the right pressure point.”
My eyelids grow impossibly heavy. The last thing I see is Dominic reaching out to catch my head before I slip into oblivion.
Chapter five
Dominic
Bloodpulsesbeneathmyfingertips as I press them against my thigh wound, the dull throb a reminder of Alessa’s parting gift. The basement air hits my lungs—metallic with old blood, sharp with bleach, heavy with fear. My kingdom of pain. Home sweet fucking home.
I shift my weight, careful not to show the limp as I approach the center of the room. Can’t look weak. Not here. Not with her watching.
She sits blindfolded under the single bare bulb. The light swaying gently as it casts shadows across her curves. Even in those baggy sweats, I can make out the dip of her waist, the fullness of her hips, the swell of her breasts rising with each defiant breath—all that fire and flesh straining against ropethat’s cutting into skin I’ve tasted before. Even tied to the chair, wrists raw, she radiates defiance.
My men circle her like wolves, six of them stationed against concrete walls stained dark with memories of men who thought they could withstand what happens down here.
“I can hear you, you know.” Her voice scrapes out, sandpaper-rough from the drugs.
My pulse quickens at the sound. Even now—exhausted, disheveled, at my mercy—she doesn’t break. Something twists in my chest that I refuse to acknowledge.
I catch TJ’s eye, giving him the nod to begin. My chief of security steps forward, leather shoes tapping against concrete, echoing through the silence. Alessa’s head tilts, tracking the sound like a predator. My mouth goes dry watching her. The same woman who came apart beneath me four years ago, now fighting for every ounce of control.
“Hello, Ms. Russo.” TJ’s voice booms through the room, startling even me.
Alessa’s spine straightens. Ready for battle. I bite back a smile. Most men piss themselves by now, but she’s gearing up for war.
“Who are you?” she demands, head turning toward the sound.
“I’ll be asking the questions, Alessandra,” TJ circles her, each step deliberate. He’s going soft on her, respecting my warning.No one touches her but me. “Why don’t you humor me and tell me a little bit about your father.”
“Untie me.” She yanks against the ropes, muscles in her arms flexing beneath pale skin.