Under His Command, Above His Throne

4:The Queen’s Shadow

The morning light in the loft was cold and unforgiving.

Elena woke up with Dante’s heavy arm draped across her waist, his rhythmic breathing the only sound in the room. For a few seconds, she allowed herself to forget the blood and the explosions. But then, a soft, persistent vibration came from the floor where Dante’s encrypted phone lay.

Elena slipped out of his grasp, her movements ghost-silent. She picked up the phone. A message was glowing on the screen from an unknown source. It wasn't a text; it was a file.

A photo.

Her heart stopped. It was a picture of her from three years ago, standing on a balcony in Moscow, flanked by two of the highest-ranking generals of the Slavic Brotherhood—the Morettis' greatest rivals. Beneath the photo was a single sentence: “Do you know who you’re sleeping with, Dante? She isn't the victim. She’s the architect.”

"Curiosity is a dangerous trait, Elena."

Dante’s voice was like a whip in the quiet room.

She turned slowly. Dante was sitting up, his torso bare and scarred, his eyes as cold as the Siberian winter. He wasn't the man who had held her with such desperation last night. He was the Don again. And he was holding a second phone—one that had clearly received the same message.

"I was going to tell you," Elena said, her voice steady even as her world began to tilt.

"Tell me what?" Dante stood up, stalking toward her with a predatory grace. Every inch of him radiated a lethal menace. "That you weren't just a fallen socialite? That you’re the 'Iron Princess' of the Vance-Slavic alliance? The woman who orchestrated the merger that almost wiped my family off the map five years ago?"

He grabbed her by the throat—not to choke, but to force her to look at the fury in his eyes. "You didn't come to me because you were desperate, Elena. You came to me because I was the only piece left on the board you hadn't played yet."

"I came to you because my father betrayed me too!" Elena hissed, grabbing his forearm. "The alliance sold me out! I was a pawn to them, just like I am to you!"

"Liar!" Dante roared, slamming his hand against the wall beside her head. The sound echoed like a gunshot. "You used me to protect you from your own people. You used my bed as a sanctuary while you planned your comeback."

He leaned in, his lips inches from hers, his breath hot with rage. "You want to be a Queen? Fine. But every Queen needs a dungeon. From this moment on, the 'Blood Contract' is over. You don't work for me anymore. You belong to me. Truly. Completely. No computers, no strategies, no outside world."

"You can't keep me locked away, Dante. I’m the only one who can stop Lorenzo and the Brotherhood from finishing what they started!"

"I’ll deal with them," Dante growled, his grip tightening as he pulled her flush against him, a dark, twisted promise in his eyes. "And then, I’ll deal with you. You wanted to see what it feels like to lose power? Welcome to your new reality, Elena. You’re not my strategist anymore. You’re my most precious prisoner."

The "dungeon" Dante had promised wasn't a cold cell. It was the master suite of a secluded estate in the Hamptons, surrounded by miles of private beach and guarded by men with submachine guns. It was a palace of marble and velvet, and it was a prison.

Elena stood by the window, watching the Atlantic waves crash against the shore. She was wearing one of Dante’s oversized black silk shirts—the only thing he’d left for her. It smelled of him: mahogany, expensive bourbon, and the cold scent of power.

The door clicked open. Dante walked in, looking like a god of death in a tailored black suit. He didn't say a word. He placed a tray with a single crystal glass of amber liquid on the nightstand.

"You haven't eaten," he said, his voice a low, vibrating hum that made the air in the room feel heavy.

"I don't have an appetite for captivity, Dante," Elena said, not turning around. "How’s the war going? Did Lorenzo’s men burn another one of your warehouses while you were busy playing jailer?"

Dante was across the room in three strides. He grabbed her waist, spinning her around and pinning her against the window frame. The contrast between her bare legs and his rough suit trousers was a jolt of pure electricity.

"Don't push me, Elena," he hissed, his thumb digging into the soft skin of her hip. "I’m trying to keep you alive. My Capos want your head on a platter for what your people did to the Morettis. Keeping you here is the only mercy you’re getting."

Elena didn't shrink back. Instead, she leaned into him, her hands sliding up his chest to toy with the knot of his silk tie. She felt his heart skip a beat beneath her palm.

"Mercy?" she whispered, her eyes dark with a calculated, seductive fire. "Is that what you call this? You didn't bring me here to save me. You brought me here because you’re terrified that if I’m out there, I’ll realize I don't need you."

Dante’s jaw tightened so hard a muscle flickered. He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear, his breath hot and ragged. "You think you can manipulate me even now? After the lies? After the Brotherhood photo?"

"I’m not manipulating you, Dante," Elena breathed, her fingers tightening on his tie, pulling his face down to hers. "I’m stating a fact. You could have killed me in the loft. But you couldn't do it. Because every time you look at me, you see the only person who actually matches your soul. You’re not my jailer, Dante. You’re my twin flame. And it scares the hell out of you."

Dante let out a sound that was half-sob, half-growl. He slammed his lips onto hers, a desperate, violent kiss that tasted of salt and obsession. He lifted her up, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.

He marched her toward the massive bed, his eyes burning with a dark, terrifying devotion. "Fine," he gasped against her mouth. "You want to be my twin flame? Then let’s burn together. But don't you dare think this changes anything. You’re staying in this room until the world forgets your name."

Elena smiled into the kiss, her hidden victory tasting sweeter than the wine. He thought he was locking her away, but he had just trapped himself in a room with a woman who knew exactly how to dismantle him.