20. Chapter 20 Dante

Chapter 20 Dante

T he notification pings on my phone, and I can't help but chuckle. My little bird thinks she can fly the coop. How adorably naive.

I swirl the amber liquid in my glass, savoring the smoky aroma of 25-year-old Macallan. From my penthouse office, I watch the city sprawl beneath me, a glittering tapestry of vice and ambition. My kingdom, ruled with an iron fist and a charming smile.

"Boss?" Alonzo's gruff voice breaks through my musings. "GPS shows her heading east on the parkway."

I turn, meeting his anxious gaze with a raised eyebrow. "And you sound concerned because...?"

He shifts uncomfortably, no doubt remembering the fate of the last man who lost track of my prized possession. "It's just... shouldn't we go after her? Before she gets too far?"

A laugh escapes me, low and rich with dark amusement. "Oh, Alonzo. You underestimate me. And more importantly, you underestimate the depths of my... investment in our dear Natalie."

I set down my glass and move to the sophisticated computer setup that dominates one wall of the office. With a few taps, I bring up a map of the city, a blinking red dot showing the Escalade's position.

"You see, my friend, Natalie isn't running away. She's simply setting the stage for the next act in our little drama."

Alonzo furrows his brow, clearly not following. "I don't understand, boss. She stole your car, she's trying to escape. How is this part of your plan?"

I sigh, patience wearing thin. Sometimes I wonder if I'm surrounded by mental midgets. "Because, Alonzo, I let her take the car, practically gift-wrapped her escape route."

His eyes widen as understanding dawns. "You wanted her to run."

"Bingo," I smirk, turning back to the screens. "Natalie needs to learn a very important lesson. That there is no escape, no reprieve from my grasp. That every move she makes, every breath she takes, is because I allow it."

I tap another key, and a new window pops up – live feed from inside the Escalade. Natalie's face fills the screen, tear-streaked and wild-eyed, her hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel.

"Look at her," I murmur, more to myself than Alonzo. "So fierce, so determined. It would almost be admirable if it weren't so futile."

I watch for a moment longer, drinking in the sight of her desperation. Then, with a shake of my head, I turn away. "Time to reel in our little runaway. Make the call."

Alonzo nods, already dialing. "Captain Romano? Yeah, it's me. We've got a situation. Mr. Corleone's fiancée... she's had an episode. Stolen his car, might be a danger to herself or others. We need a roadblock, east side of the parkway. And Captain? Mr. Corleone would appreciate your... discretion in this matter."

I tune out the rest of the conversation, my mind already several steps ahead. Natalie thinks she's making a bid for freedom, but she's really just dancing to my tune. Every move, every choice, has been carefully orchestrated to bring us to this moment.

"It's done, boss," Alonzo reports, pocketing his phone. "Roadblock will be in place within ten minutes."

"Excellent," I nod, already shrugging on my jacket. "Have the car brought around. It's time to collect what's mine."

The ride to the parkway is quick, the late-night traffic parting before us like the Red Sea. I use the time to make a few more calls, setting other pieces of my plan into motion. By the time we reach the flashing lights of the police barricade, everything is in place.

I step out of the car, buttoning my suit jacket with practiced ease. The scent of fear is palpable, emanating not just from the huddled figure in my Escalade, but from the officers shifting nervously behind their cruisers.

"Mr. Corleone," one of them calls out, his voice wavering beneath a thin veneer of authority. "Please, step back. We have a situation here-"

I silence him with a look, my eyes boring into his with all the cold menace of a cobra's stare. He falters, swallowing hard, his adam's apple bobbing like a buoy in a storm-tossed sea.

"The only situation here," I say softly, each word a shard of ice, "is the one my foolish fiancée has created for herself. A little lover's spat, nothing more. Certainly nothing to trouble New York's finest over."

I can practically hear the gears turning in his head, the calculations of risk and reward. He knows who I am, what I'm capable of. The lives I can crush beneath my heel like so many insignificant insects.

In the end, prudence wins out over principle. He lowers his weapon, stepping aside with a curt nod. "Of course, Mr. Corleone. We'll give you some privacy to... sort this out."

I stride past him, my focus laser-locked on the trembling figure behind the wheel of my Escalade. Oh, Natalie. My sweet, stubborn Natalie. When will you learn? When will you accept the inevitable, the inexorable truth of my possession?

I reach the driver's side door, wrenching it open with a casual brutality that belies the anticipation thrumming through my veins. Natalie flinches back, a whimper tearing from her throat, and it takes every ounce of my control not to drag her out by her hair and toss her over my shoulder like a conquering warlord of old.

But I resist the urge, if only barely. There's a time and a place for such primitive displays, and this is not it. No, this requires a more delicate touch. A subtler punishment to remind her of her place, her utter belonging to me.

"Get out," I say, my voice deceptively soft. A serpent's hiss, lulling its prey into lethargy before it strikes. "Now, Natalie. Before I lose what little patience I have left."

She hesitates, caught between the twin demons of fear and defiance. I can see it in her eyes, the futile flickering of her dying autonomy. She wants to resist, to scream her hatred and claw the flesh from my bones.

But she can't. She won't. Because deep down, in the darkest recesses of her being, she knows the truth.

Her body is my temple, her mind my altar. And soon, very soon, her soul will be my sacrament too.

Slowly, she slides from the car, her movements stiff and stilted. She's favoring her left side, wincing with every breath. Broken ribs, most likely. A small price to pay for her little stunt.

I take her arm, my grip gentle but unyielding. She tenses, her pulse fluttering wildly beneath my fingertips. I can smell her fear, her anger, rising from her skin like perfume.

It's intoxicating. A dark ambrosia that I could drink from for eternity and never have my fill.

I lead her to the waiting town car, its doors open like a gaping maw. She balks, digging in her heels, but it's a token resistance at best. We both know how this ends.

"Please," she whispers, her voice cracked and raw. "Please, Dante. Don't do this. Just let me go."

I pause, turning to face her fully. Tip her chin up with one finger until she has no choice but to meet my gaze.

"Let you go?" I repeat, incredulous. "After all I've done for you, all I've given you? You would throw it all away, throw me away, like so much garbage?"

Natalie swallows hard, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. "I never asked for any of this," she rasps out. "Never wanted your gifts, your twisted idea of love. You've taken everything from me, don't you see that? My art, my freedom, my very sense of self."

I stroke the delicate line of her jaw, marveling at the play of terror and longing in her gaze.

"No, solnyshko," I murmur. "I've given you everything. A life beyond your wildest dreams, a dark prince to worship at your feet. It's not my fault you're too stubborn, too blinded by your own narcissism, to see it."

I lean in closer, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. "But you will see. I'll make sure of that. And when you do, when you finally embrace your place at my side..."

She shudders against me, a choked sob lodging in her throat. But beneath the fear, the revulsion... I feel something else. Something molten and hungry, pulsing in time to the dark beat of my own desire.

She wants this. Wants me, even as she despises herself for it. And that knowledge, that delicious irony, is a greater high than any drug, any conquest.

I bundle her into the car, sliding in beside her and pulling her tight against my side. She stiffens but doesn't resist, her exhaustion and injuries sapping the last of her fighting spirit.

For now.

But I know it won't last. Know that the embers of her defiance still glow, buried deep in the ashes of her psyche. It's only a matter of time before they flare to life again, consuming her in the inferno of her own darkness.

And when that day comes, when she rises from the flames like a phoenix of shadow and sin...

I will be there to clip her wings anew. To cage her in my embrace and never let her fly free again.

As we pull away from the scene, leaving behind a wake of flashing lights and confused officers, I can't help but smile. Everything is proceeding exactly as I've orchestrated. Natalie's little escape attempt was just another move on the chessboard, one I'd anticipated and planned for long ago.

"You know," I muse, idly stroking her hair, "I almost wish you'd gotten further. It would have been amusing to watch you fumble about in a world you no longer understand, a world that has long since moved on without you."

Natalie jerks away from my touch, pressing herself against the car door as if she could melt through it. "You're a monster," she spits, her voice trembling with equal parts rage and fear.

I laugh, the sound rich and dark in the confines of the car. "Oh, moy voron. I'm so much worse than that. I'm the thing monsters have nightmares about."

Her eyes widen, a fresh wave of terror washing over her features. Good. Let her be afraid. Let her understand the depths of my power, the futility of her resistance.

"But don't worry," I continue, reaching out to trace the curve of her cheek. She flinches but doesn't pull away. Can't pull away. "You're safe from the other monsters out there. As long as you're mine, nothing and no one will ever harm you."

"Except you," she whispers, the words barely audible.

I smile, slow and predatory. "Except me," I agree. "But then, what's a little pain between lovers? A small price to pay for the pleasure I can give you, the heights I can take you to."

The rest of the ride passes in tense silence, Natalie huddled in her corner while I watch her, drinking in every minute reaction, every tremor and twitch. By the time we reach the penthouse, she's wound so tight I half expect her to shatter at my touch.

I lead her inside, my hand firm on the small of her back. She stumbles slightly, fatigue and fear making her clumsy. I catch her easily, using the momentum to pull her flush against me.

"Careful, now," I murmur, my lips brushing her temple. "I'd hate for you to hurt yourself. At least, not before I've had my fun."

A whimper escapes her, low and broken. It sends a jolt of arousal straight to my core.

I guide her to the bedroom, the scene of so many of our dark tangos. She balks on the threshold, a cry catching in her throat, but I simply tighten my grip and propel her forward.

"Strip," I order, my voice cold and clipped. "Down to your skin. I want to see you, all of you, as I mete out your penance."

She blanches, her arms coming up to wrap around her torso in a futile gesture of modesty. "No," she whispers, shaking her head. "Please, Dante. Haven't I been through enough? Can't you just-"

"Enough?" I cut her off with a bark of humorless laughter. "Oh, solnyshko. You haven't even begun to touch on the depths of what I can inflict upon you. What I will inflict, should you continue to defy me."

I step closer, crowding into her space until she's forced to crane her neck back to meet my gaze.

"You're not the one who makes demands here, little girl. Not anymore. You lost that right the moment you spat on my generosity." I trail a finger down the side of her face, the gesture a mockery of tenderness.

"Now, you are nothing more than a plaything. A pretty doll for me to dress up and pose as I please. And if I want to see you bare and broken before me... well. We both know you no longer have the power to refuse me."

I watch as the last vestiges of hope drain from her eyes, replaced by a dull resignation that's almost as sweet as her defiance. Almost.

Slowly, with trembling hands, she begins to undress. Each inch of skin revealed is a victory, a step closer to her total submission. By the time she stands naked before me, her arms crossed in a pitiful attempt at modesty, I'm hard as steel, my blood singing with dark desire.

"Beautiful," I breathe, circling her like a wolf sizing up its prey.

I move to the chest at the foot of the bed, the one that holds all my favorite toys. The implements of pleasure and pain that will reshape Natalie into my perfect companion, my dark queen.

When I turn back, a length of crimson rope coiled in my hands, her eyes go wide with panic.

"No," she gasps, backing away. "No, please, I can't-"

I'm on her in an instant, spinning her around and pinning her against my chest. "Shh," I soothe, even as I begin to weave the rope around her wrists. "Don't fight it, solnyshko. You'll only make it harder on yourself."

She struggles weakly, but it's no use. In minutes, I have her trussed up like the work of art she is, her arms bound behind her back, legs spread and secured to cleverly hidden anchor points.

I step back to admire my handiwork, a surge of possessive pride swelling in my chest. She's exquisite like this, a masterpiece of shadow and sin against the backdrop of my world.

"Now then," I purr, reaching out to trace the curve of her breast. She shivers, a muffled whimper escaping her. "Shall we begin your lesson?"

Natalie's eyes are wide, pupils dilated with fear as I approach. Her chest heaves with each panicked breath, the rope accentuating every curve, every vulnerable line of her body. It's a sight that sets my blood on fire, igniting a hunger that threatens to consume us both.

"You ran from me, solnyshko," I murmur, circling her like a shark scenting blood. "Tried to leave me. Do you have any idea what that does to a man like me? The fury it ignites?"

I pause behind her, close enough that she can feel the heat of my body, my breath stirring the fine hairs at the nape of her neck. She trembles, a full-body shudder that travels through the ropes.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice cracking. "I won't... I won't do it again. Please, Dante."

A dark chuckle escapes me. "Oh, I know you won't. Because after tonight, the very thought of leaving me will be anathema to you. You'll crave my presence like a drug, ache for my touch in ways you never thought possible."

I move to face her, drinking in the sight of her tear-streaked face. With deliberate slowness, I begin to undress. Jacket first, then tie, each button of my shirt undone with meticulous care. Natalie's gaze follows my movements, fear warring with an unwilling hunger in her eyes.

"You see, my love," I continue, shrugging off my shirt to reveal the muscled expanse of my chest and arms, "I've been too lenient with you. Too indulgent of your little rebellions. That ends now."

I step out of my slacks, now as naked as she is. Her eyes widen further, a choked gasp escaping her as she takes in the evidence of my arousal.

"Please," she begs, renewing her struggles against the ropes. "Don't do this. I'll be good, I swear. Just don't-"

I silence her with a bruising kiss, one hand fisting in her hair to hold her still. She whimpers into my mouth, her body betraying her as she arches into me despite her protests.

When I pull back, we're both breathing heavily. "Don't lie to me, Natalie," I growl. "We both know a part of you wants this. Craves it, even. The darkness in you recognizes its mate in me."

My hand trails down her body, fingertips ghosting over heated flesh. She shivers, goosebumps rising in the wake of my touch. When I reach the apex of her thighs, I find her wet, her body's response belying her verbal protests.

A broken moan escapes her, half pleasure, half despair. I can see the conflict raging in her eyes, the battle between her stubborn will and her body's demands.

I work her higher, my fingers skilled and relentless. Her hips begin to move of their own accord, chasing the sensation. Just as she nears the peak, I pull away.

Natalie cries out at the loss, frustration clear on her face. "Wh-why did you stop?" she pants, then looks horrified at her own words.

I smirk, dark satisfaction coursing through me. "Because you haven't earned it yet, solnyshko. First, you need to learn. Need to understand exactly what happens when you defy me."

Each brush of my fingers against her quivering flesh, is deliberate. A reminder of my mastery over her, my ownership of all she is and will ever be. She’s a vision. A masterpiece of shadow and sin trussed up like an offering to the darkest of gods.

And I am her god now, the lord and master of her twisted little world.

I survey Natalie’s trembling form, a dark thrill unfurling in my chest. She’s afraid, as she should be. But beneath the fear, I see the flickering embers of her defiance. Still burning, still fighting, even in the face of her inevitable surrender.

It’s intoxicating. A drug I’ll never tire of sampling.

“Shhh,” I croon, trailing a finger down her cheek in a perverse mockery of comfort. “But not quite complete. Not yet.”

I leave her quivering and move to the ornate cabinet in the corner of the room, where I keep an array of devices for moments just like this. With a careful, deliberate hand, I select a golden ball gag—its gleaming surface adds a whimsical touch amidst the darkness.

Turning back to her, I savor the way her eyes widen in fresh panic. "Open your mouth, Natalie," I command, my voice a velvet-coated steel.

She hesitates, her lips pressed tightly together in a last act of rebellion. But it's a fleeting resistance, and when I step closer, her resolve crumbles. Slowly, reluctantly, she parts her lips.

I place the golden ball gag in her mouth, fastening it securely behind her head. Her muffled protests are music to my ears, a symphony of surrender that sends a shiver of satisfaction down my spine.

"There," I say, stepping back to admire my work. "Now you look perfect. Like my very own golden snitch—beautiful, elusive, and finally caught."

Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, but there's an unmistakable spark of defiance still lingering in their depths. It's that spark that keeps me enthralled, that makes the conquest all the sweeter.

I trail my fingers down her neck, tracing the line of her collarbone before dipping lower. Her skin is warm, flushed with a mix of fear and reluctant desire. My touch is light, almost tender, as I explore her bound form, each shiver and twitch a testament to her growing arousal.

"You're learning," I murmur, circling her once more. "Slowly, but surely. And tonight, you'll learn just how deeply my control runs. How thoroughly I own you."

Her breathing is ragged, her chest heaving with each labored breath. I step back to the cabinet once more, selecting a sleek, slender cane. The sight of it draws a choked whimper from her gagged mouth, a sound that sends a fresh wave of heat through me.

I move to the pulley system rigged in the ceiling, a discreet but effective apparatus. With a few deft manipulations, I hoist Natalie into the air, the ropes pulling taut, suspending her in a graceful arc.

She makes a sound behind the gag, a garbled mixture of protest and frightened arousal. I can see it in the blown black of her pupils, the hardening tips of her dusky nipples. Her body betrays her, even as her mind rebels. It knows who it belongs to, even if she hasn’t fully accepted it yet.

“There now,” I say softly, circling her slow-spinning form. “Isn’t that better? No more running, no more fighting. Just sweet, blissful surrender.”

I reach out, trailing my fingers along the curves and valleys of her trussed flesh. She shudders at my touch, gooseflesh pebbling in the wake of my hand. So responsive, so deliciously sensitive.

I’m hard, achingly so, my cock straining against the confines of my trousers. I want nothing more than to bury myself inside her, to feel her clench and spasm around me as I wring every last ounce of pleasure from her quaking body. \

But not yet. First, she must learn. Must understand the futility of her defiance, the price of her disobedience.

I step back, drinking in the sight of her. Tear tracks glisten on her cheeks, her chest heaving with panicked breaths. But there’s a glassiness to her eyes, a subtle slip into subspace. She’s teetering on the edge, halfway to the sweet oblivion of total submission. And I will be the one to push her over, to catch her when she falls.

“I’m going to leave you like this,” I tell her, my voice a velvet murmur in the charged air. “Leave you to contemplate your transgressions, to reflect on all the ways you’ve disappointed me.”

I lean in, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. She flinches, a muffled whine vibrating in her throat. “And when I return,” I breathe, “we’ll begin your true training. Your complete erasure, until all that remains is what I design you to be. My perfect toy, my flawless possession.”

I pull back, drinking in the exquisite cocktail of dread and longing in her gaze. With a final caress to her cheek, I turn on my heel and stride from the room. I don’t look back. Don’t need to; I feel the weight of her stare and hear the hitching sobs that chase me down the hall.

Let her weep. Let her rue the choices that brought her to this moment, trussed and trembling in the dark heart of my domain. In the end, her tears will dry. Her cries will fade to whimpers, then to silence.

And all that will remain is my will. My wants.

I pause outside the door, my mind already spinning with the possibilities of her training. There are so many ways to break a soul, so many methods to mold and shape her into the perfect reflection of my darkest desires.

Time is my ally, and patience my weapon. With each passing moment, I will strip away her defenses, layer by layer, until she is laid bare before me, a blank canvas upon which to paint my will.

For now, I leave her in the dimly lit room, the shadows and silence her only companions. She will learn to embrace them, to find comfort in the darkness. It will become her solace, her refuge, and eventually, her prison.