Page 59 of Gilded Cage

The sun casting a honeyed glow over the marble courtyard of the Salvatore beach estate.

Lucien stood beside his black armored car, one hand adjusting the lapel of his coat, the other gripping his thin-framed gold glasses.

His pale gray eyes scanned the coastline once more, as if memorizing every line of this part of Dante's world.

Dante and Isolde walked with him toward the front gates, flanked by two of Lucien's guards on either side.

Dante's arm rested protectively around Isolde's waist, possessive and casual at once.

She wore a flowing cream sundress that caught the sea breeze in soft waves.

Her long hair was pinned halfway up, delicate strands framing her flushed cheeks.

"It's been too long," Lucien said, voice low, composed. "I needed this."

"You'll always have a seat at my table," Dante replied. "Or a body bag to put someone in."

Lucien chuckled. "The best hosts offer both."

Isolde offered him a polite smile. "Safe journey, Mr. Thorne. Thank you for visiting."

Lucien bowed slightly. "You're lovely company, Lady Valencourt. I know he loves terrorizing you."

Dante's arm tightened briefly around her, a dark flicker in his eyes. "She enjoys it."

Isolde blushed, lips parting-but said nothing.

Lucien smirked and turned to his car.

His guards opened the rear door, and with one final nod to his best friend, he slid inside.

The convoy of bulletproof vehicles pulled out of the estate, tires silent over the stone path.

As the gates shut behind Lucien, Dante turned toward Isolde.

"Now where were we," he murmured, voice dropping an octave.

Before she could answer, he bent and lifted her off the ground effortlessly, one arm beneath her knees, the other around her back.

She gasped softly, hands clutching his shoulders.

"Dante-what-"

"You think I'd let you look that beautiful and not claim you?"

His eyes darkened as they met hers, full of menace and heat.

He strode through the estate, boots heavy on the marble.

Isolde clung to him, heart hammering, already breathless from the intensity in his gaze.

He kicked the bedroom door open with his foot.

"I missed you the entire time," he said as he dropped her onto the bed.

"On the bed. Crawl."

She obeyed.

Her knees brushed the satin sheets as she crawled across the vast mattress.

She could feel his eyes on her-burning holes into her spine.

Watching the curve of her hips, the sway of her ass, the scars he'd left from nights like this.

She was halfway across when he lunged.

His hand landed with a sharp crack on her ass-hard enough to jolt her forward. She cried out, tears forming instantly, her body jerking. But she didn't stop.

He caught her again. Another crack. The skin bloomed red under his palm.

"I missed this canvas," he muttered, kneeling behind her. "So fucking obedient. So beautifully breakable."

He forced her down onto the bed, her chest against the sheets, and shoved her legs apart with his knee.

His hand trailed down her spine, pausing on every bruise, every small mark he'd painted days before.

"I should never have left you alone. Look what you've done to me."

"Dress off," he then ordered stepping back.

She hesitated, heart pounding, eyes wide.

He stepped in, nose brushing her cheek.

"Don't make me ask twice."

Her fingers moved, trembling as she unzipped the silk fabric. It pooled at her waist.

He stepped back slightly, his gaze raking over her bare skin with dark, addictive hunger.

"What are you going to do?" she whispered.

Dante's smile was cold. "Teach you what happens when your eyes stray."

In one brutal motion, his hand snapped around her throat-not tight enough to hurt, but firm.

Controlling. Commanding. His thumb brushed under her jaw, forcing her to look up at him.

"You're mine, bambina. Not a smile. Not a glance. Not a single innocent fucking breath is owed to any other man but me. Do you understand?"

Her eyes fluttered, breath hitching-not from fear, but the way his voice melted into her bloodstream like venom.

"I... I do."

Then..

From the drawer beside the bed, he pulled out the gold chain.

Her breath hitched.

She didn't resist when he cuffed her wrists with the gold loop behind her back, locking the ends together.

"Do you like when I cage you?" he asked, voice hoarse.

She nodded. "Yes, Dante..."

He chuckled darkly. "You love your prison, little bird."

His hands slid down her hips again, and she flinched when she felt the cold metal-he was pressing the hilt of his dagger against her inner thigh. Just the blunt end. A tease.

"Dante..." Her voice was hoarse, breathless, dizzy with submission and fear and arousal.

"I love you too much to let you go," he said softly, eyes now blazing. "So I'll ruin you instead."

And ruin her he did.

He didn't undress himself-not entirely yet.

Only his belt loosened, his shirt still clinging to his body as he hovered over her like a storm about to crash.

Isolde whimpered, fingers digging into the sheets, the sheer intensity of his touches overwhelming her senses.

His lips trailed her skin like fire, hands gripping her thighs, pinning her in place.

She was drowning in him-his scent, his heat, the cruel worship of his gaze.

His mouth covered hers in a brutal kiss as he flipped her onto her back, her wrists still bound.

He dragged the chain upward, looping it once around her throat-not tight, not yet-but possessive.

He then undressed completely.

He slid inside her in one thrust.

She screamed.

From pain. From pleasure. From the fact that she was so full she could barely think. He didn't give her time to adjust.

He never did when he was like this-when his obsession drowned logic.

He moved like he was punishing her body for leaving his side.

"Say my Name." he growled into her throat, biting again.

Her legs locked around him. "Dante."

Tears slipped down her cheeks, pleasure climbing higher as his hand found her throat.

Tightened the gold chain just enough.

"You're crying," he said, kissing her again. "Good. You should."

He drove into her harder.

When they came, it was violent. Together.

He groaned low against her throat, and she shattered beneath him, body convulsing, the pain blending with the release in such an intoxicating cocktail that she saw stars.

He collapsed over her, both of them slick with sweat. He didn't move. Just held her.

His mouth brushed her ear.

"I'll never let you go, Isolde," he whispered. "You're mine until the end."

Hours passed.

Sunlight had faded to amber.

Dante stood shirtless now, trousers low on his hips, hair slightly tousled from earlier.

Isolde lay under the sheets, her body marked by his hands and mouth, her hair wild against the pillow.

She watched as he adjusted his wristwatch, then pulled on a black dress shirt from the armoire.

"Where are you going?" she asked softly, still breathless.

"Just to my study," he said, voice clipped. "I have a few reports to finish."

Her eyes searched his face. "Will it take long?"

Dante's lips curled faintly. "Depends."

He left the bedroom and moved toward the corridor leading to his private home office.

The hallway was silent, lit with golden sconces and the distant sound of waves crashing.

Inside the study, Dante seated himself behind the desk.

Shelves of old books lined the walls. Antique weapons and memorabilia decorated the corners.

He poured himself a glass of scotch and stared at the flickering laptop screen.

Minutes later, the phone buzzed.

He answered without looking. "Salvatore."

"Dante." The voice was familiar. Antonio, one of his most trusted friends. "We have a situation."

Dante leaned forward. "Speak."

"Can't say in the phone."

"Why?"

"It's hard to explain."

Dante's jaw tightened. "Fine"

"There's more. We need to meet. I have already called Thorne, Vincente, and Alexander. Tomorrow night. Manhattan."

"Set it up. I'll be there."

He hung up and stared at the screen.

A small smile formed.

So much for a quiet return.

A soft knock came at the office door.

Isolde peeked in.

"You're busy?"

He shook his head. "Come here."

She walked in slowly, barefoot, robe slipping slightly from her shoulder. He watched every movement, every sway of her hips.

She stopped by his desk. "You looked... tired."

"I am."

She reached out, brushing her fingers along his jaw. "Are you stressed about something?"

He hesitated. "Business."

"Dangerous?"

"Everything I do is dangerous."

She stepped closer and climbed into his lap slowly, resting her head on his shoulder. "Then leaving again?."

He wrapped his arms around her waist. "Yes."

They sat in silence, the king and his queen. He held her tightly, like something breakable.