13. Chapter 13 Natalie

Chapter 13 Natalie

I trace my fingers over the cold marble of the windowsill, my breath fogging the glass as I stare out at the manicured grounds of Shadowcrest. The sun's setting, painting the sky in shades of blood and bruises. Fitting, given my current state of mind.

Dante Corleone. The name burns on my tongue, a mix of poison and dark honey. He's everywhere – in the air I breathe, in the silk sheets that caress my skin at night, in the very marrow of my bones. Those fathomless black eyes haunt me, that cruel mouth whispers promises of pleasure and pain in my dreams.

I shudder, wrapping my arms around myself. My skin prickles with goosebumps, remembering the scorching heat of his touch, the way his hands branded me, claimed me. The ghost of his fingers tracing my curves, the phantom pressure of his cock grinding against my core...

"Fuck," I hiss, squeezing my eyes shut. I can't think about that. Can't let myself remember how my traitorous body responded, how that secret, shameful part of me clenched with need.

But it's useless. The memories flood in, vivid and merciless. Dante pinning me to the bed, his weight delicious and terrifying. The press of his lips on my throat, teeth grazing my pulse point. His voice, rough with desire, whispering filthy promises in my ear.

"You're mine, Natalie," he'd growled, his cock thick and hard against my thigh. "Every. Fucking. Inch."

And God help me, in that moment, I'd wanted to be his. To surrender to the dark hunger in his eyes, to let him consume me whole.

No. I grit my teeth, nails digging crescents into my palms. I won't let him break me. Won't let him shatter my sanity piece by piece until there's nothing left but his twisted reflection.

I'm stronger than that. I have to be.

For Dad.

The thought of my father sends a fresh wave of anguish crashing over me. Where is he? Is he looking for me? Does he even know I'm gone?

I press my forehead against the cool glass, fighting back tears. "I'm sorry, Dad," I whisper, my breath catching on a sob. "I'm so sorry."

The click of the lock snaps me back to reality. I whirl around, heart thundering, as Dante strides in. He's devastatingly handsome in a charcoal suit that hugs his muscular frame, power and danger radiating from every pore.

"Good evening, solnyshko." His voice slides over me like velvet-wrapped steel. "Miss me?"

I bare my teeth in a snarl, hating how my body reacts to his presence. "Like a hole in the head."

He chuckles, the sound dark and rich. "Such venom. And here I thought we were making progress."

"Progress?" I laugh, the sound jagged and brittle. "Is that what you call kidnapping and psychological torture? Your definition might need some work."

Dante's eyes flash, something dangerous and hungry flickering in their depths. He stalks towards me, each step measured and predatory. "I prefer to think of it as... enlightenment. Freeing you from the cage of mediocrity you've built around yourself."

I back up until I hit the wall, trapped between cold stone and the heat of his body. He braces his hands on either side of my head, caging me in.

"You have so much potential, Natalie," he murmurs, one hand coming up to trace the curve of my cheek. I flinch, but there's nowhere to go. "So much fire, so much darkness lurking beneath the surface. I'm going to set it free, mold it into something exquisite. Something worthy of my... attention."

His thumb brushes my lower lip, and I hate the way my mouth parts instinctively. "I don't want your attention," I rasp, but my voice wavers, betraying me. "I don't want anything from you except my freedom."

Dante's laugh is low and dark, vibrating through me like a physical caress. "Oh, but you will," he purrs, leaning in close enough that I can feel his breath on my skin. "In time, you'll crave my touch, my presence, the very air I breathe. You'll ache for me until the thought of escape becomes nothing more than a distant memory."

His hand slides down to cup my throat, fingers resting lightly over my hammering pulse. "You're already responding to me, Natalie. I can feel it, see it in the flush of your skin and the dilation of your pupils. Your mind may resist, but your body knows the truth."

I try to turn away, to break free from the spell of his gaze, but his grip tightens subtly, holding me in place. "You're delusional," I breathe, the words feeling hollow even as I say them. "I could never want a monster like you."

Something dark and primal flashes in Dante's eyes. "We're all monsters here, solnyshko. The only difference is, I embrace it while you cower from your true nature."

He leans in, his lips a hairsbreadth from mine. "But not for much longer. By the time I'm done with you, you'll be begging me to unleash the beast within. To set you free in ways you never dreamed possible."

I'm trembling now, every nerve ending alight with a toxic mix of fear and need. Some traitorous part of me wants to close that final distance, to taste the forbidden fruit of his lips and damn the consequences.

But I can't. I won't. I may be trapped in this gilded hell, but I refuse to let him ensnare my mind as well.

With a burst of desperate strength, I shove hard against his chest. He lets me, stumbling back a step more from surprise than the force of my push.

"Get the fuck away from me," I snarl, my voice shaking but resolute. "I will never be what you want me to be, never surrender to your sick fantasies. So you might as well kill me now, because I will fight you every step of the way."

For a long, tense moment, Dante just stares at me, his expression unreadable. Then, to my shock, he throws his head back and laughs. The sound is rich and melodious, totally at odds with the situation.

"Oh, Natalie," he sighs, his eyes glittering with dark amusement. "My sweet, defiant little paintbrush. You have no idea how much your resistance pleases me, how it stokes the flames of my desire."

Before I can blink, he's on me again. One hand fists in my hair, the other grips my hip, yanking me flush against his hard body. "By all means, fight," he purrs, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. "Struggle, scream, rage against the dying of your precious light. It will make your inevitable surrender that much sweeter."

He spins me around, pulling my back against his chest. His arm bands across my waist like steel, pinning me in place. His other hand grips my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze in the ornate mirror across the room.

The image we make steals my breath. Dante's powerful form envelops mine, dark and dangerous against my softer curves. His eyes glitter with possession and intent, while mine are wide and wild, pupils blown with a cocktail of fear and... something else. Something I don't want to name.

"Look at you," he whispers, his breath hot on my neck. "So beautiful in your terror, so alluring in your defiance. You were made for this, Natalie. Made for me. And deep down, in the darkest recesses of your soul, you know it's true."

I squeeze my eyes shut, unable to bear the truth I see reflected there. "Never," I whisper, but it sounds weak even to my own ears. "I'll never be yours."

His lips brush the sensitive skin beneath my ear, making me shudder. "We shall see, my wild thing. We shall see."

Suddenly, he releases me. The loss of his heat is like a physical blow, leaving me cold and bereft. I slump against the dresser, my knees weak, as I watch him stride towards the door.

"I have a gift for you," Dante says, his tone casual as if we hadn't just been locked in a battle of wills. "Something to keep that brilliant mind of yours occupied."

He opens the door, and Alonzo enters, his massive arms laden with packages. My stomach drops, a mix of dread and unwanted curiosity coursing through me.

"What is this?" I demand, hating how shaky my voice sounds.

Dante's smile is all predator. "Open them and see, solnyshko."

With trembling hands, I peel back the tissue paper of the first box. My breath catches as I reveal a dress of shimmering emerald silk. It's exquisite, the kind of gown I used to dream about wearing to gallery openings.

Box after box reveals more treasures. Dresses in every color imaginable, shoes that probably cost more than a year's rent at my old apartment, lingerie that makes me blush just looking at it. And the jewelry... Christ, there's enough glittering gems here to fund a small country.

"Why?" I whisper, fingering a diamond necklace that catches the light like captured stars.

"Because you're mine," Dante says simply, his voice a silken caress. "And I want you draped in beauty befitting your status as my queen."

I flinch at his words, bile rising in my throat. Is that all I am to him? A possession to be dressed up and displayed?

"I'm not your doll," I spit, shoving the boxes away. "Or your pet, or your fucking queen. I'm a person, Dante. A human being with thoughts and feelings and dreams of my own."

His eyes narrow, something dark and dangerous flickering in their depths. "Careful, little girl," he warns, his voice low and menacing. "My generosity has limits."

"Generosity?" I laugh, the sound bordering on hysterical. "Is that what you call this? Kidnapping me, holding me prisoner, trying to buy my compliance with pretty trinkets?"

I grab a handful of silk and lace, hurling it at his feet. "I don't want your gifts. I don't want anything from you except my freedom."

For a moment, Dante goes very still. The air crackles with tension, thick enough to choke on. Then, faster than I can track, he's on me.

His hand wraps around my throat, not squeezing, but a clear threat. He backs me up until I hit the wall, his body a cage of muscle and sinew.

"You ungrateful little bitch," he growls, his eyes blazing with fury. "Do you have any idea what I could do to you? The pain I could inflict, the torment I could rain down on that stubborn head of yours?"

I should be terrified. And part of me is. But a larger part, the part that's been simmering with rage and helplessness since I woke up in this gilded prison, rears up in defiance.

"Do your worst," I snarl, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Beat me, torture me, break every bone in my body. It won't change anything. I'll never be yours, Dante. Never."

For a long, tense moment, we stand there, locked in a silent battle of wills. I can see the struggle playing out behind his eyes – the urge to punish warring with something else. Something that looks almost like... admiration?

Then, to my shock, he laughs. The sound is rich and deep, vibrating through me where our bodies touch.

"Oh, my feisty little paintbrush," he purrs, his grip on my throat gentling into something almost like a caress. "You have no idea how much your fire excites me. How much I long to watch you burn."

Before I can react, his mouth crashes down on mine. The kiss is brutal, all teeth and tongue and dark hunger. I hate myself for the moan that escapes me, for the way my body melts into his despite my mind's desperate protests.

Dante growls his approval, deepening the kiss until I'm dizzy with the taste of him. When he finally pulls away, we're both panting, lips swollen and eyes wild.

"Fight me all you want, Natalie," he says, his voice rough with desire. "Rail against your captivity, curse my name to the heavens. But know this – every act of defiance, every spark of that indomitable spirit, only makes me want you more."

He steps back, leaving me cold and shaking against the wall. "I'll break you," he promises, his eyes gleaming with dark intent. "Not all at once, but piece by beautiful piece. And when I put you back together, reshaped in my image... you'll thank me for it."

With that, he turns and strides from the room, the door slamming shut behind him with a finality that echoes in my bones.

I slide to the floor, my legs unable to support me any longer. My heart races, my skin electric with the lingering sensation of his touch. I want to weep, to scream, to claw at the walls until my nails break and my fingers bleed.

But I don't. I can't. Because some twisted, treacherous part of me is already yearning for his return, craving the dark seduction of his presence.

No. I shake my head violently, trying to clear it of these dangerous thoughts. I won't let him win. I can't. There has to be a way out of this labyrinth of silk and shadow. I just have to find it.

Before he finds his way any further into my mind, my heart.

I force myself to stand on shaky legs, surveying the chaos of scattered gifts around me. My eyes land on the box of art supplies, still unopened.

For a moment, I'm tempted. The urge to lose myself in creation, to pour my anguish onto canvas, is almost overwhelming. But I know I can't. My art has always been my sanctuary, my one true form of self-expression. If I let Dante see that part of me, if I give him that intimate glimpse into my psyche... I might as well hand him the key to my soul.

With a sob that feels like it's torn from the depths of my being, I grab the box and hurl it against the wall. Paintbrushes and charcoal scatter across the floor, a rainbow of oil paints exploding in a grotesque parody of my shattered dreams.

"I hate you," I whisper, unsure if I'm talking to Dante or myself. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you."

But even as the words leave my lips, I know they're a lie. The truth is far more terrifying, far more damning.

I don't hate Dante Corleone. I fear him, yes. Loathe what he's done to me, absolutely.

But hate? No. And that, more than anything, makes me wonder if I'm already lost.

As night falls, casting long shadows across my opulent prison, I curl up on the massive bed. I clutch a pillow to my chest, pretending for just a moment that it's my dad's strong, comforting embrace.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," I whisper into the darkness, tears finally spilling over. "I'm so sorry. Please... please find me. Save me from this. From him. From myself."

But as I drift into an uneasy sleep, Dante's words echo in my mind, a dark prophecy I fear may already be coming true:

"You'll thank me for it."

I wake with a start, heart pounding, those words still ringing in my ears. Sweat plasters my clothes to my skin, and for a moment, I'm disoriented. Then reality crashes back, cold and merciless as the pre-dawn light filtering through the curtains.

I'm still here. Still trapped in Dante's twisted fairy tale.

Groaning, I roll out of bed, my body aching in places I didn't know could ache. My reflection in the ornate mirror stops me cold. I barely recognize the woman staring back at me – hair wild, eyes haunted, lips swollen from Dante's brutal kisses.

"Get it together, Natalie," I mutter, running a shaky hand through my tangled locks. "You're stronger than this. You have to be."

But am I? Really? The doubt gnaws at me, insidious as the hunger that's been growing in the pit of my stomach. Not just for food – Dante makes sure I'm well-fed, like a prized pet – but for... something else. Something darker. Something I'm terrified to name.

A soft knock at the door jolts me from my spiraling thoughts. I tense, expecting Dante's imposing presence, but it's Alonzo who enters, carrying a tray laden with breakfast.

"Morning, miss," he grunts, setting the tray on a nearby table. "Boss thought you might be hungry."

My stomach growls traitorously at the sight of fresh fruit, pastries, and steaming coffee. But pride makes me lift my chin, eyes narrowing. "Tell your boss I'm not interested in his... generosity."

Alonzo sighs, his craggy face a mask of resignation. "Look, miss. I get it. You're angry, scared. But trust me when I say it's better to play along. The boss, he... he doesn't take kindly to being refused."

A chill runs down my spine at the warning in his tone. "What's he going to do?" I ask, hating how small my voice sounds. "Kill me?"

Alonzo's laugh is humorless. "Nah. Death would be too easy, too quick. The boss, he likes to savor things. Especially his... favorites."

The way he says 'favorites' makes my skin crawl. "I'm not his anything," I spit, even as a stupid part of me thrills at the idea of being Dante's 'favorite.'

Alonzo just shakes his head, already heading for the door. "Keep telling yourself that, miss. Maybe one day you'll even believe it."

As the lock clicks behind him, I slump into a chair, the fight draining out of me. My eyes land on the tray, stomach clenching painfully. God, when was the last time I ate?

Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab a croissant, tearing into it with abandon. Flaky, buttery goodness explodes on my tongue, and I barely stifle a moan. It's quite possibly the best thing I've ever tasted.

"Dammit," I mutter around a mouthful, hating myself for giving in. But I can't stop. I devour everything on the tray, washing it down with rich, fragrant coffee.

As I lick the last crumbs from my fingers, a new kind of dread settles over me. How long before I give in to Dante's other... offerings? How long before I crave more than just his food, his gifts?

How long before I crave him?

The thought sends me scrambling to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before I retch, bringing up everything I just ate. I cling to the cool porcelain, body shaking with the force of my sobs.

"Daddy," I whimper, closing my eyes against a fresh wave of tears. "I need you. Please... please find me."

But even as I pray for rescue, a small, traitorous voice whispers in the back of my mind: What if you don't want to be found?