Page 135 of Bitter Poetry

Fuck.

I catch her before she reaches the en-suite bathroom. Christian’s suggestion that I remove all the internal doors is disturbingly on point.

“Hush,” I say, fighting to contain her at the risk of her hurting herself. “It’s over. I’ve got you.”

“It’s not over! Let me go. LET ME GO, ASSHOLE. What is this? Why am I here?!”

I catch hold of her wrists and pin them to her waist. Her head swings back suddenly, and I narrowly miss the blow.

“I had to get you out of there. You’re here because I couldn’t leave you with him and his fucked-up family another damn second.”

“You can’t keep me, Dante. And I won’t stay!”

“You want to go back to Ettore?” I’m going to lose my mind if she says yes.

“No, of course not. But this is crazy. You can’t just kidnap a person.” The fight goes out of her. Before she can build up a fresh head of steam, I swing her into my arms and stride out of the room, heading to the end of the corridor, where I kick open the door.

My room.

Where she will be sleeping whether she’s ready for that shit or not.

“Wait?! Where is this? Is this your fucking room? Put me back in my own room!”

A fresh struggle ensues as I put her on the bed, but I’m ready this time, and I kick off my shoes and settle beside her, pulling her against my chest. Being next to her like this, in my arms, is setting off a riot inside me, but I need to stay controlled. If I release the instincts that are clamoring at me, I’m going to fucking scare her—they’re certainly scaring me. “I’m not going to leave you on your own. And to be clear, you don’t have a room. This apartment and everything inside it belong to me. If I say you’re sleeping here, you can bet you’re damned well sleeping here.”

So much for staying controlled…

“You don’t get to own me, Dante. Not after you left me with him—with that monster!”

I deserve all her bitter recriminations and more, but that she’s mine is still the hill I’m prepared to die on. “I didn’t have a fucking choice.”

She curls into me, an agonized cry breaking from her.

I feel like the lowest form of scum, but I cannot let her go, even for a moment.

She’s still wearing my necklace.I can see the delicate chain against her throat and the glitter of the pink diamond. It’s like a beacon on a dark night.

It tells me she’s still mine.

At least she’s no longer fighting me, but feeling her trembling against me, so tiny, accepting my comfort, reduces my mental acumen to chaotic at best.

Eventually, she lifts her head from my chest and peers up at me. “Can I speak to my father?”

“No, not yet.”

“He’s going to think I’m dead. Or been kidnapped.”

“You have been kidnapped,” I say dryly.

“That’s not even funny. Christian came up behind me, put his hand over my mouth, and shoved me into the back of a van. I thought I was going to be tortured!”

I freeze. “He didn’t explain what he was doing?”

She makes a scoffing noise. “As if. I didn’t even realize it was him until he had already shoved me into the back of a van.”

“I’m going to kick his ass.”

“Get in the queue.”