Page 32 of Devil’s Gambit

BELLA

The rope bites into my wrists—not the rough barn rope from last night that left marks I welcomed, but professional restraints. The kind that means business. The kind that says you're not going anywhere.

Morning light streams through the farmhouse windows, dust motes dancing in the rays. The kitchen chair creaks as I shift, trying to find a position where the wood doesn't dig into my spine. My shoulders ache from being pulled back, the muscles screaming a protest I can't voice.

The phone sits in the center of the table. Black plastic, innocuous, and waiting. I should be holding it to my ear right now. I should be sitting in the Golden Dragon, the smell of soy sauce and steamed dumplings around me, while I tell Sofia everything. Instead, I'm here, watching Dante pace.

His footsteps follow the same pattern—window to door, door to window.

Eight steps each way. I've counted them seventeen times now.

His shirt is wrinkled, untucked on one side.

There's a coffee stain near the third button that wasn't there last night.

Last night, when he held me like I was precious.

When he whispered promises against my skin that tasted like forever.

Paulie sits in the corner, and the soft snick-snick of his switchblade opening and closing creates a rhythm that makes my teeth ache. He hasn't looked at me once, just stares at his blade like it holds the secrets of the universe. But I can feel his attention anyway, peripheral and predatory.

"She'll call." Dante checks his watch again. "When she realizes you're not coming, she'll call."

My throat feels raw, scraped hollow from shouting when I first woke up. "This is insane, Dante. You can't—" My voice cracks, and I have to swallow hard. "You can't keep me like this."

"I'm keeping you safe."

"By tying me to a chair?" The laugh that escapes tastes like battery acid. "Let me go!"

He stops pacing, and when he looks at me, I see it all—love and possession twisted together so tightly I can't tell where one ends and the other begins. His eyes are bloodshot, like he hasn't slept. Like he spent the hours after tying me up standing guard, watching, and planning.

"By preventing you from walking into a trap that might get you killed." His dark eyes have lost the tenderness they’d held ten hours ago. "I won't lose you, Bella. Not to Tommy, not to Sal, not to your own stubbornness."

"My stubbornness?" I laugh, bitter and sharp. "That's what you call wanting agency over my own life?"

"I call it having a death wish."

The words hang between us, and I taste blood. I’d bitten my tongue sometime during the shouting, and the wound has reopened. "Sofia was right. You’re a criminal. Just another controlling bastard who thinks he owns me. Just like him. I was so fucking stupid to think?—"

His hand slams on the table. The phone jumps. Paulie's blade stops clicking for exactly three seconds, then resumes.

"I am nothing like him." Each word comes out precise, controlled, and dangerous.

"No?" I meet his eyes, letting him see my disappointment. Letting him see how thoroughly he's shattered whatever we built last night. "You tied me up against my will and told me it's for my own good. Sound familiar?"

"I love you." His voice cracks on the words. "Everything I'm doing?—"

"Love doesn't come with restraints, Dante."

"In our world, it does." He moves closer, and I smell him—that expensive cologne mixed with sweat and desperation.

Last night, that scent made me feel safe.

Now my stomach turns. "But I'm ending this.

Today. I'm keeping my promise—I'm going to kill Sal.

And then we can leave all this behind. No more violence, no more blood, just us. "

"Just us?" The ropes burn as I pull against them. "There is no 'us' anymore. There's you, and there's your prisoner. You think killing Sal changes what you are? You'll never stop being a monster, Dante. It's in your blood, your bones, your fucking DNA."

"Once he's dead?—"

"Once he's dead, you'll find another enemy. Another threat. Another reason to tie me to a chair for my own protection." I can feel tears building but refuse to let them fall. "Let me go!"

"No."

The word falls between us, as final as a coffin closing.

Paulie's blade clicks faster now— snick-snick-snick —like he's keeping time with my heartbeat.

The door crashes open so hard it bounces off the wall.

Marco stumbles in, and the sight of him would be comical if I could feel anything but rage.

He's shirtless, his hair standing up in peaks that suggest fingers have run through it repeatedly.

Two women flank him—Destiny, in nothing but underwear and one of Marco's button-downs, and another girl with black hair wearing what might generously be called lingerie.

"Morning, famiglia!" Marco grins, scratching his chest where red marks suggest someone's nails got enthusiastic.

"So, Dante, you were absolutely right about the hay.

Shit gets everywhere. I mean everywhere.

Places you don't even know you have.” He stops and waggles his eyebrows at the brunette, "But we found some horse blankets and made ourselves a nice little nest. Very cozy.

This is Raven, by the way. Destiny's... friend.

They're very friendly. Very, very friendly. "

His eyes finally focus on the actual scene—me tied to a chair, Dante's rigid posture, and Paulie's casual menace. The grin slides off his face like water.

"Okay, what the fuck?" He blinks hard, like he's trying to reset the image. "Is this—are you—what the fuck, Dante?"

"Get them out." Dante's voice could freeze hell. "Now."

"Hold on?—"

"And put on a fucking shirt while you're at it." Dante's hand moves to his hip, where his gun rests. "Where's your weapon, Marco? You're walking around half-naked without a gun?"

"It's..." Marco reaches into the front of his boxers, pulling out a small Glock. "See? Always prepared. Learned that from you. Now, does somebody want to tell me what the hell?—"

"Get. Them. Out."

Marco looks between us, reading the room properly now. "Ladies, why don't you go enjoy the shower? The one upstairs has those jets I was telling you about."

"But baby," Destiny protests with a pout.

"Trust me, you want to go." His voice has lost all playfulness. "Now."

They leave, giggling and whispering, and Marco grabs jeans from a chair, pulling them on with efficiency.

Dante looks at me then, and his expression makes my chest crack despite everything. Pain and love and determination all mix into something toxic.

"I'm burning the fucking world down," he says quietly, never breaking eye contact with me. "For the woman I love."

The words hit like physical blows. Love.

He keeps using that word while I sit here, wrists going numb, treated like property he needs to lock away.

My eyes burn with tears I won't shed. How can I love him and hate him in the same breath?

How can my heart race with fury and still skip when he looks at me?

"Let me go!" A scream tears from my throat. "This isn’t funny?—"

"You're mine, Bella." Soft. Implacable. Final. "I meant every word. Mine to protect. Mine to keep safe. Even from yourself."

The phone rings.

The sound cuts through the room like a blade through silk. We all stare at it—this piece of black plastic that holds our future.

Dante picks it up on the third ring and holds it to my face. "Answer it. Tell her you changed your mind. Get the FBI out of this."

"I won't?—"

"Answer the fucking phone, Bella."

Dante reaches over and taps speaker . I can hear Sofia breathing before she speaks.

"Bella? Thank God. Where are you? You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago. I've been worried sick."

Dante's eyes bore into mine. Behind him, Marco has gone still, one hand on his gun. Paulie's blade has stopped clicking.

"Bella? Are you there? Can you talk?"

My mouth is so dry that it takes two tries to form words. "I'm here."

"Are you safe? You sound—are you okay?"

Safe. The word is a joke. I'm tied to a chair in a farmhouse, surrounded by killers, about to lie to the FBI or tell the truth and start another war. The morning sun slants across Dante's face, highlighting every line of exhaustion, every shadow of desperation.

"I'm—" My voice cracks. What am I? "No. Yes. I mean, I'm safe. I'm not coming."

"What? Bella, what's going on? Is someone there with you? You don't sound?—"

"I don't want to testify!" The words explode out, too loud, too desperate. "I don't know anything! I can't help you! I invoke the Fifth Amendment, the First Amendment, all the fucking amendments! Just leave me alone!"

"Bella, listen to me. If someone's threatening you?—"

Dante takes the phone and ends the call with a decisive click, slamming the door on my last chance at freedom.

The silence that follows feels like drowning in reverse—all the air sucked out of the room at once.

He kneels in front of me, and his hands are gentle when they frame my face. The tenderness of it, contrasted with the ropes binding me, makes something break inside my chest.

"I'll bring you his head." His thumbs trace my cheekbones, catching tears I didn't know were falling. "Sal's head. Today. Before sunset. And then we'll have that wedding. The one you lied to Domenico about. We'll make it real. The church where your grandmother married, the whole thing."

"Dante—"

"I love you." He presses his forehead to mine, and his breath ghosts across my lips. "I love you more than my empire, more than my life, more than anything I thought I could love. And I'll prove it with blood."

How did we get here? Ten hours ago, I was falling apart in his arms, feeling safer than I'd ever felt. Ten hours ago, I told him I loved him and meant every syllable. Now I'm tied to a chair while he promises murder like it's romance.