31. Chapter 31 Natalie

Chapter 31 Natalie

T he brush trembles in my hand as I drag it across the canvas, leaving trails of crimson in its wake. Each stroke feels like I'm scoring my own flesh, opening wounds that will never fully heal. But painting has always been my sanctuary, my one escape from the shadows creeping at the edges of my world. Now, trapped in the opulent prison of Dante's penthouse, it's a bittersweet reminder of the freedom I've willingly sacrificed.

The sharp tang of non-toxic paint - because God forbid anything harm his precious possession - fills my lungs. I hate how even this small detail speaks to Dante's obsessive control, his need to dictate every aspect of my existence. Yet a traitorous part of me thrills at the possessive care, the fierce protectiveness that drives him to envelop me in a cocoon of luxury.

This lavish studio, with its wall of windows overlooking the glittering Manhattan skyline, is both a gift and a curse. A constant reminder that Dante has given me the world, even as he's caged me within it.

"There's my beautiful little artist, hard at work."

Dante's voice, deep and smoky as aged whiskey, sends an involuntary shiver racing down my spine. I don't need to turn to picture the cruel curve of his lips, the predatory gleam in those obsidian eyes as he stalks towards me. The measured tread of his footsteps sets every nerve ending alight, my body betraying me as it always does in his presence.

"Don't call me little," I snap, forcing more defiance into my tone than I truly feel. I arch an eyebrow, still refusing to face him fully.

A dark chuckle rumbles through the air, caressing my skin with disturbing intimacy. "But you are tiny, solnyshko. A delicate wildfire I can't help but want to consume."

Dante's rough palm sears against the bare skin of my hip, fingers digging in as he yanks me back against the solid wall of his chest. A strangled gasp escapes me at the contact, hyper-aware of every hard plane of muscle molded against my softer curves. This man is immovable as granite, forged in violence and shadow. Yet my traitorous flesh still burns for him, craving the brutal tenderness only he can provide.

"Is this what you want, moy voron?" Dante's words slur against the thrumming pulse in my throat, his grip tightening possessively. "Your Capo baring everything for your artistic appreciation?"

I swallow hard, unable to banish the image his words conjure - Dante in all his rugged glory, sprawled across silk sheets, inviting sin with those full lips and the sinuous lines of ink etched into golden skin. It's a temptation to madness, one I can't seem to escape no matter how desperately I try.

Shoving such dangerous thoughts aside, I twist in his arms to glare up at him. "I was kidding, you arrogant ass. Do you really think I want-"

The words die on my tongue as Dante's mouth crashes down on mine, stealing my breath in a searing, punishing kiss. His fingers fist in my hair, holding me immobile as he devours me. The taste of him - cedar, cigars, and something darker, more intoxicating - floods my senses. I'm drowning in him, lost in the maelstrom of unholy pleasure only Dante can ignite within me.

When he finally allows me to surface, I'm gasping, lightheaded from more than just lack of oxygen. Dante's lips brush against my ear, his voice a gravelly rasp that sets every nerve ending ablaze. "Careful what you wish for, solnyshko. You'll be the one left breathless and utterly at my mercy."

His low, dark laughter reverberates through me like a physical caress. I'm achingly aware of the hollow ache between my thighs, the shameful wetness gathering there. Dante steps back, leaving me swaying and bereft. I curl inward, torn between mortification at my wanton response and a bone-deep craving to bare my throat for the taking all over again.

How much longer can I play this exquisite game of submission and defiance before I lose myself completely? Or have I already shed the last remnants of the woman I once was, only to be reborn as Dante's profane masterpiece - a treasured possession finally, irrevocably claimed?

I stumble back towards my canvas, desperate for some anchor to reality. But my thoughts betray me, drifting to my father. Is he okay? Has Enzo managed to track him down, to get a message to him like he promised? Guilt lances through me as I picture the permanent worry lines etched into my dad's face, imagining his anguish at having no idea where I am or what's become of me.

"You look tense, moy voron." Dante's deep voice rumbles with concern, the husky timbre sending awareness shivering through me all over again. "What's going through that exquisite mind of yours?"

I can't tell him about my dad, not really. He'd only use the information as another tool of control, another way to manipulate me into total compliance. It's better this way, better that he remains oblivious to the parts of me he can't possess.

Forcing a seductive smirk, I trail the tip of my brush down the sharp line of his jaw. "Just thinking about you... completely nude and at my artistic mercy for once." The lie drips from my tongue like honey, saccharine and cloying. "Think you could handle being the subject instead of the one barking orders?"

Dante's obsidian eyes blaze with a mixture of primal hunger and masculine challenge. He leans in until his full lips are a mere whisper from mine. "Be careful what you wish for, my little paintbrush. I promise you'll be the one rendered breathless and utterly at my mercy when I'm done."

His low, rumbling laughter ghosts over my heated skin as he finally relents, heading for the door. I wait until his footsteps have fully retreated before allowing the brittle mask to crumble. My hands fist in my hair as I fight a rising wave of anguished desperation.

How much longer can I keep treading these murky waters of desire and deception? How much more will Dante demand of me before he's sated his obsession? Will I even recognize the woman staring back at me in the mirror by then? Or will I be utterly entombed within the gilded confines of his possessive love, losing my sense of self piece by piece until I become nothing more than his pretty little paintbrush?

The next few days blur together in a whirlwind of opulence and further immersion into Dante's world. He sweeps me from the penthouse to oversee various "business dealings," always keeping me tucked possessively against his side. At first, I'm uneasy witnessing the grit and brutality underlying his empire's operations. But Dante's mere presence exudes an unmistakable aura of power and control over everyone around him.

With a simple look or tilt of his head, his men snap to attention, hanging on his every word. I can't deny the dark allure of being the sole object of this dangerous man's obsessive focus whenever his smoldering gaze lands on me. In those heated moments, the rest of the world blurs away until it's just the two of us locked in our own private tango of wary fascination and barely restrained hunger.

Away from prying eyes, Dante showers me with lavish gifts and attentions that leave me reeling - custom designed gowns, priceless jewels, and private indulgences that money simply cannot buy. Each tantalizing offering is a poignant reminder of the decadent cage I've accepted, even as part of me craves knowing no world outside of his spiraling devotion.

Tonight, flickering candlelight casts the ornate dining room in an amber glow. Ruby refractions from cut crystal wink at me like taunting omens. Dante insisted on this intimate setting - another not-so-subtle reminder that I'm merely a prized objet d'art permitted to grace his lavish penthouse at his whim.

As the waiter refills my glass with another rich burgundy vintage, the heady aroma transports me back to dad's ramshackle kitchen table - a rare indulgence shared during happier times. The recollection slips out before I can censor it. "This reminds me of a wine dad used to buy for special occasions."

The words pierce the tangible tension like a gunshot. Dante goes utterly still, his fork clattering against fine china with cold finality. When his obsidian gaze bores into me, it's with the impassive menace of a viper coiled to strike. "Still pining over the man who raised a daughter depraved enough to deal with the devil himself?"

I bristle at the undisguised disdain lacing his deep rasp. As if this brutally possessive crime lord has any right to moralize. "At least he taught me integrity instead of cruelty."

The muscle in Dante's jaw ticks sharply, but he shows no other sign of the banked fury I've learned to dread. When he speaks again, it's with deathly calm - somehow more disquieting than any roaring outburst.

"Your father is the reason we're having this cozy tête-à-tête, painter girl. I hoped to spare you the gory details, but it seems you're determined to pry the lid off Pandora's sad little box."

An icy chill trickles down my spine, and I grip the delicate glass stem until my knuckles whiten. "What are you talking about?"

"Enzo called earlier with a helpful update." Dante's smile is as mirthless as a skull's rictus. "You've been keeping things from me, moy voron."

Bile rises, burning the back of my throat as Dante's mocking words detonate like concussive blasts. Enzo... the one person I risked trusting to be my ally within this viper's den. Who swore on his life to help me find dad and bring him somewhere safe, far from Dante's reach.

Dante watches me impassively, dark eyes glittering like black diamonds as my world crumbles around me. "Enzo told me all about how he'd been tirelessly searching for your father's trail. Offered up the information as a 'gift' to curry favor and appreciation for his loyalty to me." His chuckle is devoid of any mirth. "I have to admit, I was surprised he never confided in you about his progress. Or lack thereof..."

White-hot fury blazes through me, searing away the icy tendrils of panic and dread. I shove back from the table, the heavy chair clattering behind me in my haste. "That lying snake! After everything I confided in him, all his promises-"

"Did you truly think he gave a damn about you or your family, solnyshko?" Dante arches one mocking eyebrow, his tone dripping with condescension. "Enzo's first loyalty has always been to me and the life I gave him after he was nothing but a street rat hustling drugs."

No. Don't be emotional, Nat - Dante is playing with your head...

My eyes blaze with renewed fury as realization dawns. "Enzo wouldn't betray me like that! Not after swearing on his life to find my dad."

Dante lets out a harsh bark of laughter as he flings me over his shoulder in a gut-churning caveman carry. "Did you truly think he'd defy me for some misguided attachment to you?"

"Put me down this instant, you arrogant prick!" I rage against the indignity, my voice shredded and raw. "I'm not some lamb to be dragged before the sacrificial altar of your depravity!"

But my defiant snarls ricochet right off Dante's implacable presence, that low rumbling chuckle reverberating through me in a deeply visceral manner I despise. No matter how incensed I become, my body remains desperately, traitorously attuned to his on an elemental level.

Dante led me down to the basement level of the compound, where a makeshift interrogation room had been set up. The stark contrast between the opulent upper floors and this grim space made my stomach churn. His powerful strides eat up the ground as we descend into the bowels of his subterranean lair - the scent of steel and motor oil overwhelming. When the colossal doors grind apart, the cavernous space beyond is shrouded in gloomy half-light.

Jagged shadows loom over heavy machinery and construction detritus scattered with sinister randomness. At the center of this bleak purgatory, a frail, crumpled figure strains against fraying ropes cinched cruelly over bony wrists and ankles. My breath locks in my throat as the man's gaunt, haunted features emerge from the gloom - those pale, watery eyes widening in naked horror at the sight of me slung over Dante's shoulder like a hunted animal.

"N-Natalie?" The withered rasp is a fractured whisper that splinters what remains of my heart. "Oh god, baby... I'm so s-sorry..."

Every last illusion I clung to shatters with those words. Because staring into the naked desolation hollowing my father's gaze, I know with sickening certainty that Dante's cruel revelations were true.

Dante halts abruptly before unceremoniously flinging me to the ground in a bone-jarring sprawl. I hit the bare concrete gracelessly, wheezing against the blinding flare of pain as I fight to cling to consciousness. When his looming silhouette eclipses what's left of the meager light, the words are a merciless rasp dripping with contempt.

"So at last, the sordid truth is laid bare, Natalie. Behold your beloved patriarch - the man whose supposed honor and integrity you revered above all. Who sold you to me like a prime filly at a backroom auction... for the paltry, pissant sum of half a million dollars."

A feral snarl tears from my throat as I surge upright, every incandescent shard of fury propelling me to shove against the scorching wall of Dante's chest with both palms. The reflex is pure, primal violence - the baser need to lash out against his calculated torment eclipsing any rational fear.

"You sadistic bastard!" I spit with venom, scouring my words raw against the maelstrom of disgust and outrage. "How dare you torment him like this? Y-You're... evil..."

"Please... please, sweetheart." My father's reedy voice fractures against my ribcage like shrapnel. "I never meant for any of this! I only wanted to give you a real life away from the hell I'd put us through..."

His anguished entreaties, the frantic thrashing against binding ropes - it's the pitiful struggle of a rabid animal backed into an inescapable corner. And still, some naive, softer part of me longs to soothe the wounded creature with meaningless placations. To absolve him of the multitude of sins staining his decrepit soul simply to recapture the comforting lies of the past.

But I've been flayed raw and reborn into Dante's remorseless truth.

"You lied to me." The graveled words no longer sound like my voice - just a hollow rasp scoured into existence by the sandstorm of betrayal. "For years you spouted bullshit ideals about honor and self-sacrifice. When in reality, you were nothing more than another soulless bastard willing to peddle your own daughter's flesh on the altar of your self-destructive vices."

I can't tear my gaze away from the obsidian granite of Dante's features as he turns, upper lip curled in a sneer of disgust aimed at the wretched creature in the chair. Yet even amidst the roiling maelstrom of his scorn, there burns an undeniable blazon of something far more unsettling - a possessive, all-consuming hunger.

The heat of Dante's body sears my chilled skin as he moves in close, one calloused palm cupping my jaw with shocking tenderness. I'm trapped, pinned in place by the sheer, unyielding intensity of his stare finally turned fully upon me.

"The sad truth, little paintbrush?" His deep rasp slurs against the throbbing pulse at my throat as he imprisons me in the scorching circle of his arms. "Your stupid 'daddy' doesn't love you nearly as much as I do."

The rough pad of his thumb traces the seam of my lips in a lingering caress brimming with dark promise. I suck in a sharp breath at the implication, stunned into silence by the predatory ardor glinting in those hooded obsidian depths.

"I'd burn this entire world to ash before allowing harm to come to you or the son you'll give me," Dante murmurs, the sinful timbre of his words jolting straight to my core. "Can your wretched old man claim that same depth of devotion, moy voron? Or were you always simply a means to an end, just another vice to indulge until you'd outgrown your usefulness?”

My mouth parts on a shuddering inhalation, because the harsh truths he wields are inescapable - sharpened into razor-edged crescents designed to strip me of every hard-won denial. In the brutal geometry of Dante’s world, there exists only elemental symbiosis of single minded want and the spoils of the conquered.

And I’ve been meticulously disassembled, rendered into his most prized acquisition.

“Yes,” I finally rasp, the word a shattered exhalation of defeated acceptance. “I understand.”

A slow, triumphant smile curves Dante’s lips as he strokes the fullness of my lower lip with his thumb in a blatant brand of possession. “That’s my Good Girl.”

The hoarse approval in his tone sends a deeply perverted shiver of nascent surrender licking down my spine. There’s only inevitability awaiting in the severe, beautiful angles of Dante’s harsh visage.

A profane wanting I’ve fought viciously against until this moment…only to now crave the possibility of being unmade and resculpted into his idealized vision.

The agony of my father's betrayal grips me, an overwhelming wave of anguish that threatens to drown me. For years, I'd clung to the belief that he was the only parent who truly cared about me. My mother, lost to her insatiable craving for fame and heroin, had always been a distant shadow, more concerned with her own self-destruction than with the daughter she brought into this world.

And now, the one person I thought would protect me, had sold me to Dante for nothing more than a pitiful sum of money. The revelation shreds my heart, each beat a lacerating reminder of the trust that's been brutally violated.

Dante watches me with that dark, possessive intensity, his gaze never wavering as I crumble under the weight of my father's betrayal. Every promise, every memory of paternal love, it all shatters into irreparable shards, the jagged edges slicing me to ribbons.

The man who was supposed to be my guardian, my fiercest protector, had auctioned my soul to the highest bidder without a second thought. Bile scorches my throat, the acrid taste of disillusionment coating my tongue like ashes.

I look back at my father, really seeing him for the first time. Not through the rose-tinted lens of a little girl desperate for affection, but with the cold clarity of a woman betrayed. He's a coward, a man willing to sacrifice his daughter's freedom for his own miserable gain.

The sorrow in his eyes, the broken pleading...it does nothing to mend the gaping wound he's carved into the very fabric of my being. His apologies ring hollow, his regret as meaningless as dust in the wind.

All that remains is the stark, inescapable truth—I am utterly alone in this cruel world, adrift without anchor. Except...except for the monstrous man who stands beside me, claiming to love me in his twisted, all-consuming way.

Dante steps closer, the heat of him searing my chilled skin. His hand cups my face with an almost tender possession, his touch branding me to the bone. "Do you see now, Natalie?" he murmurs, his voice a low, seductive rasp that curls around my senses like smoke. "You belong to me. No one else has ever loved you as I do."

His words wrap around me like chains, shackling me to his dark truths. As grotesque and depraved as Dante's love may be, he has never pretended to be anything other than what he is— a beast, a demon, a man forged in blood and shadow. He has shown me the fathomless depths of his obsession, his primal need to possess every inch of my mind, body and soul.

And in this moment, with the last of my delusions ripped away, his unrelenting devotion to our twisted bond is the only constant I can cling to. The rest is shifting quicksand, eager to drag me under.

But then Dante's expression shifts, a flicker of feral fury igniting in those obsidian eyes. "You compared me to him," he snarls, his grip on my face tightening to just shy of painful. "You dared to put me in the same wretched breath as that pathetic excuse for a man."

My pulse stutters, rabbit-quick, the acrid tang of fear coating my tongue. "Dante, I didn't mean—"

He cuts off my protests with a harsh, dismissive slash of his free hand. "Do you think I'm like him, Natalie? Do you think I would ever betray you as he has? Sell you out for a fistful of fucking cash?" The words drip venom, caustic and searing.

"No, of course not! I know you would never—"

Dante releases me with a brutal shove, the loss of his scorching touch like a physical blow. He looms over me, his eyes wild, burning with a light that borders on insanity.

"Then prove it," he hisses, the challenge in his voice as heavy and inexorable as a death knell. "Choose, Natalie. Right here, right now.. You can die alongside your spineless, worthless father...or you can take your rightful place at my side. Decide."

The ultimatum hangs in the air between us, a crushing weight that steals the breath from my lungs. The last gossamer threads of my past stretch taut, fraying, snapping one by one until only the bleak promise of Dante's future remains.

I glance at my father, bound and trembling. Broken. Pathetic. Something inside me withers, blackens, turns to frost in my veins. Any lingering shreds of love, of loyalty, crumble to ash on my tongue.

There is no salvation for this miserable creature. No path to redemption for the man who tore my whole world down with his greed and weakness.

In that moment of icy, diamond-hard clarity, I make my choice. Dante is my north star, my one fixed point in the chaos. The only one who truly sees me, knows me, loves me in his cruel and uncompromising way.

I meet his waiting gaze, unflinching. Resolute. "Do it," I command, my voice powerful and sure despite the tempest raging inside me. "Kill him."

Triumph blazes across Dante's features, fierce and resplendent. Pride, dark and hungry, glitters in his eyes as he takes me in—his masterpiece, his corrupted queen—and gives a single, sharp nod to his waiting men.

The gunshot cracks through the charged air like thunder, echoing in the hollows of my bones.

But I don't flinch. I don't turn back to witness the ruin I've wrought with two simple words.

I have no need. The frail, treacherous man who raised me is no more. My father broke my heart...so I stopped his.