Blood And Obsession

Chapter 5

The morning began like any other, though Valentina felt the difference in her bones.

The office buzzed with activity—phones ringing, keyboards clicking, heels echoing against polished floors—but beneath it all, a hum of unease settled in her chest. Dante hadn’t summoned her once. Not for coffee, not for dictation, not even for a fleeting moment of his unnerving silence.

It should have been a relief. Instead, it made her skin prickle.

By noon, she found herself glancing toward his closed office doors every few minutes, waiting for his voice to summon her, waiting for the inevitable. But nothing came.

It wasn’t until the clock struck six, when most of the staff had packed up and left, that his voice broke through the intercom.

“Miss Cruz.”

Her pulse leapt. She pressed the button quickly. “Yes, sir?”

“My office. Now.”

Her legs felt heavy as she crossed the empty hall. She paused at the door, took a steadying breath, and knocked.

“Enter.”

He was behind his desk, suit jacket discarded, white shirt rolled at the sleeves. His tie lay loose around his neck, as if he’d been working late, though his sharp gaze told her this was no ordinary night.

“Sit,” he ordered.

She obeyed, perching on the chair opposite him, heart thudding.

Dante leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “Tell me, Valentina… do you trust me?”

The question caught her off guard. Her lips parted, but no words came.

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “Answer me.”

Her throat tightened. “I… I don’t know, sir.”

His smile was slow, cold. “Honest. I appreciate that.”

He stood, his height looming, and adjusted his cufflinks with deliberate precision. “You’re coming with me tonight.”

Her chest constricted. “Tonight?”

“Yes. No arguments.” His gaze locked with hers. “Consider it… a lesson.”

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The black car waited in the underground garage, sleek and polished, its tinted windows reflecting the dim light. Two men stood by the doors—massive, suited, silent. Valentina recognized them from the office corridors: Dante’s men.

Dante opened the rear door himself, his hand resting lightly on her back as he guided her inside. The touch was firm, inescapable.

The car smelled of leather and smoke, the world outside blurring as they drove through the city. Silence pressed in, broken only by the low hum of the engine.

Valentina’s hands twisted in her lap. She didn’t ask where they were going. Some instinct told her she didn’t want to know.

At last, the car slowed, pulling into a gated warehouse district on the outskirts of the city. The metal gates groaned as they opened, swallowing them into darkness.

The car stopped before a towering warehouse, its rusted doors thrown wide. Inside, the dim light revealed shadows moving—men, armed and waiting.

Dante stepped out first, his presence commanding instant deference. The men straightened, bowing their heads.

“Bring her,” he ordered.

One of the guards opened Valentina’s door. Her legs trembled as she stepped onto the cold concrete, the night air biting against her skin. Dante’s hand brushed her lower back again, guiding her forward.

Inside, the warehouse was cavernous, the air heavy with oil and dust. A single hanging bulb illuminated the center of the floor—where a man knelt, bound to a chair, his face bruised and bloodied.

Valentina froze.

The man’s head lifted weakly, his swollen eye blinking through blood. She recognized him vaguely—an employee from the lower floors, someone she’d passed in the corridors without ever knowing his name.

“Mr. Moretti,” the man rasped. “Please… I didn’t mean—”

Dante’s voice cut sharp as a blade. “You stole from me.”

The man’s face crumpled. “It wasn’t like that—”

“Lies.” Dante stepped closer, his voice cold, merciless. “You thought I wouldn’t notice. You thought loyalty meant nothing.”

Valentina’s stomach twisted. She wanted to turn away, but Dante’s hand clamped lightly on her arm, holding her in place.

“Watch,” he murmured in her ear.

Her breath caught. “Please, I—”

“Watch.” His grip tightened.

The man sobbed, struggling against his bonds. “Please, boss… forgive me—”

Dante signaled with a flick of his hand. One of his men stepped forward, delivering a brutal punch to the traitor’s stomach. The man wheezed, coughing blood onto the concrete.

Valentina flinched, tears pricking her eyes.

Dante’s gaze flicked to her, studying her reaction, before turning back to the scene.

“You see, Valentina,” he said calmly, almost conversationally, “my world is built on loyalty. Betrayal must be answered. Otherwise, everything falls apart.”

The man whimpered. “I’ll make it right, I swear—”

Dante crouched before him, his hand gripping the man’s jaw, forcing him to meet his eyes. “You don’t get second chances in my world.”

Then he nodded to his men.

The beating that followed was brutal, merciless. Fists and boots slammed into flesh, cracking ribs, splitting skin. The man’s cries filled the warehouse, echoing against the walls.

Valentina’s hands covered her mouth, her body shaking. She wanted to run, to scream, but Dante’s hand never left her arm. He anchored her there, forcing her to absorb every sound, every drop of blood that splattered onto the concrete.

At last, the man slumped forward, barely conscious. Dante straightened, his expression cold, untouched by pity.

“End it.”

A gun c****d. Valentina’s scream broke free. “No!”

The sound silenced the room. Every eye turned to her, but none more sharply than Dante’s.

His gaze burned, dark and unreadable. Slowly, he raised a hand, halting the gunman.

He stepped toward her, his presence swallowing her whole. “You dare interrupt me?”

Tears streaked her cheeks. “Please… don’t kill him.”

Dante stopped inches from her, towering over her trembling frame. “Why?”

Her lips quivered. “Because… because no one deserves—”

His hand seized her chin, tilting her face up to his. His eyes were fire and ice, searching hers, devouring her fear.

“You’re soft,” he whispered. “Too soft.”

Her heart pounded. “Then why bring me here? Why make me watch?”

His smile was cold, dangerous. “Because I wanted to see if you’d break. If you’d turn away from me.”

Her breath caught. “And if I had?”

His thumb stroked her cheek, smearing a tear. “You’d already be gone.”

The truth chilled her to the bone.

He released her suddenly, turning back to his men. “Spare him. Strip him of everything. Let him crawl back into the gutter he came from. But if he breathes my name again—” his gaze flicked to Valentina, voice hardening—“he dies. Slowly.”

The men nodded, dragging the broken figure away.

Silence settled, heavy and suffocating.

Dante turned back to her, stepping close once more. His hand brushed her damp cheek, softer now, almost tender.

“You see, little dove,” he murmured, “you’ve crossed a line tonight. You’ve seen what others fear to whisper about. You’re mine now. Not because I say so… but because you can never walk away.”

Her knees nearly gave out. His words wrapped around her like chains, heavy and inescapable.

And though fear coursed through her veins, another truth burned beneath it, more terrifying still.

Part of her didn’t want to walk away.

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