2. Chapter 2 Dante

Chapter 2 Dante

T he painting stares back at me, all angry slashes of crimson and black. It's like peering into the artist's tortured fucking soul. I can't look away.

I've always had an eye for the finer things - art, wine, women, and wicked whims. The kind of refined tastes that set me apart from the other thugs and brutes in this business. But this... this is something else entirely.

When I first heard the name Natalie Quinn, it was just a whisper in the back rooms of seedy meetings and smoke-filled lounges. A rising star in the art world, they said. A talent like no other, raw and unfiltered and dripping with a darkness that spoke to the most depraved corners of the soul.

I was intrigued. Enchanted, even. I had to see for myself what all the fuss was about. And now, standing here with her work surrounding me, I know I made the right fucking call.

Because this... this is no mere painting. It's a window into a mind as twisted and beautiful as my own. A siren song, luring me deeper into an obsession I already know will consume me.

And I regret nothing. Not the money, not the time, not the lives I'll undoubtedly have to destroy to make her mine. Because Natalie Quinn isn't just another pretty face or a talented hand.

She's my fucking soulmate. The missing piece I never knew I needed. And now that I've seen her, now that I've tasted the forbidden fruit of her genius... there's no going back.

"Exquisite, isn't it?" purrs the smarmy art dealer, Marcello. He's lucky I don't rip his tongue out for daring to ogle what's mine. Because the moment I saw this painting, I knew she belonged to me. Natalie Quinn.

I picture her slender fingers wrapped around the brush, stroking and stabbing the canvas. Pouring her twisted heart into each furious brushstroke. What I wouldn't give to have those hands on my cock, painting it with her bloody red lips.

"I'll take it," I growl, already picturing the ways I'll make her scream my name. Marcello stammers out a price, but I silence him with a glare. "I'll take them all. Every last one."

His eyes widen in shock before the greed sets in. "Of course, Signore Corleone. It will be a pleasure doing business-"

I'm already storming out the door, Alonzo at my heels. The New York City summer garbage stench cloys in my nostrils, but my mind is consumed with her. My raven-haired temptress.

"Boss?" Alonzo looks at me warily as I light a cigarette with shaking hands. "What's the plan?"

I take a deep drag, letting the nicotine flood my system, steadying the maelstrom of need and obsession churning within me. The plan? As if I could boil down the dark yearning, the all-consuming hunger this woman has sparked in me to something as prosaic as a fucking plan.

"The plan," I rasp, my voice rough with a desire I don't bother to conceal, "is that I own her. Body, mind, soul - every last fucked-up, beautiful inch of her. Starting now."

Alonzo sighs but dutifully whips out his burner phone, already barking orders to rally the men. He knows better than to question me when I get like this, when the beast inside me scents blood and won't be denied.

As I slide into the Escalade, the city lights blur into a crimson haze, mirroring the fever pitch of my thoughts. All I can see is her face, those haunting gray eyes that seemed to stare into the abyss of my very soul from the canvas. Natalie Quinn, my twisted little Mona Lisa. My Venus de fucking Milo, carved from marble and madness.

The tires screech as I whip into the underground garage, the engine's roar echoing like a war drum in the cavernous space. I'm already hard, my cock straining against the confines of my tailored slacks, aching to bury itself in her sweet cunt and never come out.

I storm into the penthouse like a man possessed, barking orders at Alonzo to clear the walls, to find out every scrap of information on my elusive new muse. He scurries to obey, wisely giving me a wide berth as I stalk from room to room, manic energy crackling under my skin.

I won't rest until her art surrounds me, until I'm drowning in the twisted glory of her vision. Each piece I unveil is like peeling back the layers of her mind, exposing the pulsing, bloody heart of her darkness. It's a drug, a high I know I'll never quit, never come down from.

By the time Alonzo returns, manila folders tucked under his beefy arm, I'm in a frenzy, pacing the halls of my penthouse like a caged beast. I snatch the files from him, tearing into them with a hunger that borders on rabid.

Every detail of her life, every secret and scar and sin, laid out before me like an unholy feast. But it's the photos that stop me cold, the candid shots of her laughing, flirting, going about her daily fucking life.

"Fuck," I snarl, a red haze descending over my vision as I flip through image after image of her smiling up at some preening fuckboy, letting their unworthy hands paw at her silken skin, her fucking perfect peach of an ass.

White-hot rage boils up inside me, a jealousy so fierce and primal it practically claws its way up my throat. I hurl the folder across the room, watching it explode against the wall in a flutter of paper and glossy prints.

The crystal tumbler of scotch shatters against the fireplace a heartbeat later, shards of glass glinting like diamonds in the crackling light. Alonzo flinches but wisely remains silent, watching from the doorway as I stalk back and forth, grinding the remnants to dust beneath my Italian leather soles.

He knows what's coming, knows the hell I'll rain down on any man who's dared to touch what's mine. And Natalie... my dark perfection, my tortured fucking Aphrodite... she belongs to me now. Every last quivering, exquisite inch of her.

"Put eyes on her," I command, my voice a guttural rasp as I round on Alonzo. "And I mean 24/7 fucking surveillance. Drones, dash cams, bribed baristas - I want to know every move she makes, every breath she takes."

Alonzo nods curtly, already lifting his phone to bark out the orders. He knows the drill, knows how this dark dance plays out. He's been with me long enough to anticipate my darkest desires almost before I voice them.

"And Alonzo," I add, my tone deceptively soft, my eyes glittering like black ice. "If she so much as smiles at another man... you come get me. Immediately. So I can rip the motherfucker's lungs out through his lying mouth. Understood?"

Alonzo goes a shade paler but nods, swallowing hard. Message fucking received. There will be no half-measures, not where my Natalie is concerned. Not when I can already feel her essence burrowing into my bones, my black fucking soul.

He scurries from the room like the devil himself is on his heels. And maybe he is. Because the longer I stare at her haunting visage, at the raw anguish and unholy allure of her self-portraits... the more I feel myself slipping into an abyss of my own making.

An abyss I'm all too fucking eager to pull her into, kicking and screaming and begging for more.

Alone at last, I allow myself to sink fully into the depraved miasma of my obsession. My fingers trace the air before her canvases, skating over the slashes of crimson and black as if I could feel the heat and texture of her torment against my skin.

I imagine those slim, paint-stained fingers wrapped around my cock, stroking and squeezing until she makes an absolute mess of me. Those ripe, pouting lips parted in a moan as I bury myself to the hilt in her tight, wet cunt...

A groan tears itself from my throat, my chest heaving like I've run a marathon. I palm myself roughly through my open zipper, hissing at the feel of my own blistering need.

It's not enough. It'll never be enough until I have her - the real her - naked and writhing beneath me, those stormy eyes glazed with desperate lust and raw fucking terror as I claim every last secret hollow of her body.

My mind spins out, weaving a tapestry of perversity as I picture all the ways I'll make her mine. All the ways I'll break her and remake her, mold her into the perfect dark consort to rule at my side.

Chains and gags, brushes and blades. Candle wax and cuntal plugs, clamps and cuffs, and cocks - oh yes, I'll stretch that sweet little fuckhole until she's ruined for any other man, until she's nothing but a desperate, dripping receptacle for my pleasure...

My orgasm slams into me like a fucking freight train, boiling up from my balls and exploding through my veins in a scalding flood. I roar her name as I paint my fist and the floor with thick, ropey spurts of cum, marking my territory like the beast I am.

But even as I shudder through the aftershocks, even as the last pearly drops ooze between my fingers... I need to carve my name into her ivory skin with tongue and teeth, with punishing thrusts and brutal, biting kisses. Until she can't draw a fucking breath without aching for my touch, for the dark ecstasy only I can give her.

I know it's not enough. It'll never be enough until I've shattered her sanity and devoured the broken pieces.

Until I become the god of her torment and the demon of her darkest fucking dreams. Not until she can't take a breath, can't form a thought, without whispering my name like a prayer and a curse all at once.

I tuck myself away with shaking hands, my skin flushed and my eyes fever-bright in the wavering light. A chuckle bubbles up from my chest, dark and rich and brimming with mania.

Oh, my raven-haired beauty. My twisted fucking Galatea, just waiting for her Pygmalion to bring her to brutal, shattering life.

You have no idea what you've awakened in me. What dark hungers and depraved compulsions are baying at the threshold of my unhinged mind.

But soon, my darling girl... soon you'll learn. Soon you'll know the sweet sting of my eternal devotion, the raw ecstasy of my psychotic fucking obsession.

Soon, you'll be mine. And not even the Devil himself will save you from the monster you've drawn from the shadows.

Sleep tight, my Natalie. Dream deep and dark and plagued with omens.

Because your reckoning is coming. And its name is Dante Corleone.

***

The days blur into weeks, but my obsession only grows, a cancer devouring me from the inside out. I should be focused on the empire I’ve built, the rivers of blood I’ve spilled to sit on this throne. But all I can see is her.

My twisted little paintbrush, flitting through the streets of New York like she’s not being hunted. Like she doesn’t already belong to me, body and soul.

I’ve got eyes on her 24/7 now, a phalanx of goons tracking her every move. They send me live feeds, photos, snippets of audio. It’s never enough. I need to mainline her, shoot her up like the drug she is.

In the middle of a tense negotiation with the Colombians, I find my eyes drawn to the screen of my burner phone. There she is, sipping coffee at some trendy little café. Laughing at something the waiter says, her head thrown back in abandon.

My vision bleeds red. How dare that pissant make her smile like that? Doesn’t he know those lips belong to me?

I excuse myself abruptly, Alonzo scrambling to smooth things over as I stalk out. But I don’t give a fuck about the Colombians right now. All I care about is the jagged blade of jealousy carving me up from the inside.

In the back of my Escalade, I bark orders into the phone. “Find out who that fucker is. I want his name, his address, and his social security number. Everything.”

My leg bounces as I refresh the feed over and over. Watching as she leaves the café, hips swaying like a siren’s call. I’ll be damned if I let her lure anyone else to their doom.

The information comes through within the hour. Alonzo’s got his uses. I scan the waiter’s paltry life story, lip curled in disgust. Justin Thatcher. What the fuck kind of name is that?

Well, Justin Thatcher, you just signed your death warrant. Nobody touches what belongs to Dante Corleone. Nobody.

I’m in a foul mood by the time I get to the warehouse. The stink of fear is thick as I stride in, blood already singing for violence. They’ve got him stripped to his pissed-stained boxers, chains biting into his scrawny limbs.

“Please,” he blubbers when he sees me, his face a mess of snot and tears. “I don’t know what you want. I don’t have any money. I’m just a waiter, I swear to god!”

I crouch down, grabbing his chin hard enough to leave bruises. “But you gave my girl something more valuable than money today, didn’t you, Justin?” I squeeze until he whimpers. “You. Made. Her. Smile.”

Comprehension dawns in his eyes a second before I smash my fist into his nose. The crunch of cartilage is like music to my ears, a prelude to the symphony of suffering I’m about to compose.

“Natalie?” he croaks through a mouthful of blood. “I was just being friendly, I swear. I had no idea she was your - "

Another gut punch shuts him up. “You had no idea,” I mock, “because you’re too fucking stupid to know your place.”

“Look, I don’t even know who you are man!” Justin bellows brokenly.

I straighten up, loosening my tie. “Well, let me make it crystal clear for you.” I grind my heel into his face, relishing his gurgling screams. “Natalie Quinn is mine. Anyone who touches her, looks at her, even thinks about her? They answer to me.”

I let that sink in as he writhes on the piss-stained concrete. The copper tang of his blood fills my nostrils, stoking the fire inside me. The unquenchable inferno that my little bird ignited the moment I saw her face.

I pull out my phone, admiring her delicate features on the screen. Still blissfully unaware of the lengths I'll go to possess her completely. The lives I'll destroy to keep her within my grasp.

"Get rid of him," I tell Alonzo as I straighten my cuffs, my tone bored. Dismissive. As if I hadn't just shattered a man's face for daring to bask in her presence. "And make it messy. I want him to feel a fraction of the agony he's earned by touching what's mine."

Alonzo just nods, already motioning for the boys to dispose of the whimpering sack of shit at my feet. They know the drill. This is hardly the first time I've painted the walls with some fool's blood for overstepping.

And it sure as fuck won't be the last. Not until the whole world knows that Natalie Quinn is strictly off-limits. My personal property, to be touched and tasted only by me.

"Oh, and Alonzo?" I call over my shoulder as I stride towards the exit, my shoes crunching on shattered teeth and bits of bone. "Get the industrial carpet cleaners down here. I won't have my warehouse reeking of this imbecile's filthy gore."

"On it, boss," comes the clipped reply, followed by the snap of latex gloves and the crackle of plastic sheeting. Efficient as always, my right-hand man. He knows I have far more pressing matters to attend to.

Namely, the delicate operation of acquiring my elusive little bird. Of luring her into my gilded cage and clipping those pretty wings so she can never even dream of flying away from me.

I'm already hard again as I slide into the Escalade, my mind spinning with visions of her sprawled across my silk sheets. Panting, pleading, those succulent tits heaving as I pound into her mercilessly. Laying my claim with every brutal thrust, every brutal, biting kiss.

I barely register the drive back to the penthouse, my cock throbbing in time to the pulsing need in my veins. I'm a man possessed, haunted by raven hair and stormy eyes and a darkness so akin to my own it makes my blackened soul sing.

I think of the way she touches herself when she thinks she's alone, the slick sounds of her fingers delving into that pretty pink cunt. The breathy little moans and half-sobs that spill from her lush mouth as she chases her pleasure.

Alonzo had managed to bug her apartment, wire it from floor to ceiling with pinhole cameras and fiber-optic mics. All synced to a live feed on my encrypted drives, of course.

At first, he'd balked at my order to make the recordings. Spouted some bullshit about privacy laws and ethical lines in the sand. As if legality has ever been more than a polite fucking suggestion for men like us.

I'd shut that shit down with a quickness, reminded him of his place at the end of my goddamn leash. And of the consequences for defying my will when it came to my precious new pet.

The next day, the first video had pinged my phone as I lounged in my office. I'd nearly cum in my bespoke trousers at the sight of her biting her lip, flushed and panting as she worked herself to a shuddering climax.

I wish she had whispered my name when she came, her voice cracked and broken. Like a prayer, like a fucking curse. If I hadn't already been obsessed before, that would have sealed my fate. Bound me to her with unbreakable chains of darkest desire and manic devotion.

Just the memory has my balls tightening, my shaft leaking a steady drip of arousal. I palm myself with a groan, squeezing roughly as I let the images wash over me. Natalie, splayed out like a feast for my hungry eyes. Natalie, arching and writhing and whimpering as she succumbs to the needs of her traitorous little body.

My perfect whore, my flawless fucking muse. So responsive, so in tune with her primal urges. I'll train that body to crave only my touch, manipulate those urges until they scream for me alone.

"Soon, baby," I rasp to her phantom presence, thumbing the sticky-slick crown of my dick. "Soon you'll be doing this for my eyes only. Putting on filthy little shows for your master while I fist my cock and tell you what a good fucking cunt you are."

I groan, my fantasy shifting, sharpening with ruthless focus. "Gonna wreck this tight little slit. Gonna gape you open on my cock and ruin you for anyone else. You'll be my fucktoy, my cockwarmer, my obedient set of holes to spill my cum into whenever I please."

The images come faster, meaner, tinged crimson with my blistering need to dominate. To desecrate. "Gonna chain you to my bed and make you my personal cumdump. Keep you plugged up tight with my thick loads, clean and wet and ready for me to slide balls-deep whenever the whim strikes."

I'm leaking like a faucet now, smearing my spunk all over my leather seats with each swift downstroke. I don't give a fuck. I employ an army of cleaners for a reason. Right now, all that matters is my pleasure. My claim of Natalie Quinn in every filthy way I know how.

"Fuck, you'll look so goddamn pretty with my ring on your finger," I rasp, my abdomen clenching as I barrel towards the edge. "My collar on your throat. My brand on your flesh. My baby swelling your fertile little belly..."

That's what does it. The thought of her ripe and round with my child, the undeniable proof of my ownership. My release rockets through me, the most intense I've had in recent memory. I roar my savage triumph as I mark my interior, my spend splattering across leather and chrome in thick ivory ropes.

My vision fuzzes, my brain shorting out with circuit-frying bliss. But already, a darker hunger gnaws at my guts. This momentary relief is a drop in the bucket of my obsession, a thimbleful of water against the raging wildfire of my need for Natalie.

I'll never be satisfied by proxies and pale imitations. By ghostly traces of her essence clinging to paint and rumpled silk. No, I crave the real thing. Hot and writhing, fighting and submitting. Mine to break and use and worship as I please.

I'm still in a daze as I slip from the car, not bothering to clean myself up as I head for the private elevator. Let my staff scurry to scrub the remnants of my lust from the rich Corinthian leather. Let them whisper in horror and secret envy at the depravity of my urges, the violence of my passions.

None of them would understand. None save the breathtaking creature who even now consumes my darkest musings. My Natalie. My nightmare in heels, my diamond in the fucking rough.

In the privacy of my penthouse, I'll paint the walls with my seed and my madness. I'll scrawl her name in the ledger of my blackened soul, carve it into my skin with sacred blood-oaths. And when the fever pitch reaches a crest...

I'll begin my hunt anew. I'll unleash hell on earth to smoke her out, to run her to ground and drag her into the abyss of my devotion. I'll salt the earth of her life until I'm the only sustenance, the only salvation she has left to cling to.

Because in the end, you'll realize... you were meant for me. Fated to be my most cherished possession, the dark jewel in my tarnished crown.

And no force in heaven or hell will keep me from claiming what is mine by blackest right.

So you better run, my Natalie. Flee to the far corners of the world, lose yourself in the winding labyrinth of your own haunted psyche.

I'll find you. I'll have you…no matter how loudly your mind rebels.