I'M HIS ALONE

CHAPTER 6

THE RULES

The morning after her first dinner with Dante, Bella woke to find a single red rose on her pillow and a note written in elegant, masculine script.

Breakfast is served on the terrace at 9. Join me, or don't. The choice is yours. -D

The choice is yours. As if she had any real choices anymore.

Bella crumpled the note and threw it across the room, then immediately felt childish. She was acting like a spoiled brat rather than a woman who had been kidnapped by a crime lord. But the truth was, she didn't know how to act. She had never been in a situation like this before-trapped in a gilded cage by a man who looked at her like she was the Holy Grail and he was the most devoted knight.

She showered, dressed in cream-colored slacks and a soft cashmere sweater from the closet that somehow fit her perfectly, and made her way downstairs. She told herself she was going to breakfast because she was hungry, not because she wanted to see him. She wasn't sure she believed it.

The terrace was spectacular-a stone patio overlooking manicured gardens that stretched toward a distant forest, the morning mist curling around ancient oak trees like smoke. Dante sat at a wrought-iron table, reading something on a tablet, a cup of coffee steaming beside him. He was dressed in a charcoal suit today, the jacket unbuttoned to reveal a crisp white shirt, no tie. He looked effortlessly powerful, the kind of man who could command a boardroom or a backroom with equal authority.

When he saw her, his entire face changed. The cold, focused mask dropped away, replaced by something warmer, more open, almost boyish in its delight. "Bella. You came."

"I was hungry," she said, sliding into the chair across from him.

"Of course." His smile said he didn't believe her for a second. "Coffee?"

"Please. Black."

He poured for her, his movements precise and elegant. "Did you sleep well?"

"As well as anyone can sleep in a kidnapped person's bed."

Dante winced. "Fair point." He set the coffee pot down and met her eyes. "Bella, I want to establish some... ground rules. For your stay here."

"My imprisonment, you mean."

"Your residence," he corrected firmly. "I know you don't see it this way yet, but I want this to be a home for you, not a prison. And to make that work, we need boundaries."

Bella wrapped her hands around her coffee cup, grateful for the warmth. "Go on."

"Rule one: You have free rein of the estate. The gardens, the library, the pool, the gym, the entertainment rooms-all of it is yours to use as you please. The only restricted areas are the business wing and my private office. Those are off-limits for your safety as much as anything else."

"My safety?" She raised an eyebrow. "Or your secrets?"

"Both." He didn't flinch. "Rule two: You may contact your father once a week. Supervised, brief calls. I want you to have peace of mind about his wellbeing."

Bella's heart leaped. "Really?"

"Really. I know you're worried about him. And despite what you think of me, I'm not a complete monster. Giovanni is... not my favorite person, given his debts and his irresponsibility. But he's your father, and hurting him would hurt you. So he'll be left alone, as long as he stays out of trouble."

"Thank you," Bella said, and meant it.

"Rule three: You will attend dinner with me every evening. Not as a prisoner, but as... a companion. I want to get to know you, Bella. I want you to get to know me. These dinners are non-negotiable."

"And if I refuse?"

Dante's eyes darkened. "Then I'll come to your room and eat with you there. But I would prefer we conduct ourselves with some civility."

Bella considered this. It wasn't freedom, but it was better than being locked in a dungeon. "What else?"

"Rule four: You will not attempt to leave the estate without my permission. The grounds are patrolled, the gates are guarded, and the perimeter is monitored. Any attempt to escape will be... discouraged."

"Discouraged how?"

Dante's jaw tightened. "Let's not find out, shall we?"

Bella swallowed hard. She had seen enough of his world to know that "discouragement" could mean many things, most of them violent. "Fine. I won't try to escape. For now."

"For now," he echoed, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "And finally, rule five: You will let me court you."

Bella nearly choked on her coffee. "Excuse me?"

"Court you. Woo you. Whatever word you prefer." Dante leaned forward, his gray eyes intense. "I want you, Bella. I think I've made that abundantly clear. But I told you I wouldn't force you, and I meant it. So I'm going to do this the old-fashioned way. Dinners, conversations, gifts, gestures. I'm going to show you who I am, what I can offer, how I can make you feel. And maybe, eventually, you'll look at me and see something other than your captor."

"Dante-" Bella started, but he held up a hand.

"I'm not expecting you to fall into my arms, Bella. I know that's not realistic. But I am asking for the chance to try. To change your mind. To make you want me the way I want you." He reached across the table, his fingers brushing hers. "Give me that chance. Please."

Bella looked at their hands-his large and strong and surprisingly gentle, hers small and trembling-and felt the wall around her heart crack a little wider. He was saying all the right things, doing all the right things. But was it genuine, or was it just part of the game? A calculated strategy to break down her resistance?

"I'll have dinner with you," she said finally. "I'll talk to you. I'll let you... court me, or whatever you want to call it. But I'm making no promises, Dante. I may never feel what you want me to feel. I may never stop seeing you as the man who took me from my life."

"Then I'll just have to work harder," he said, his thumb tracing circles on her palm. "I'm very persistent, Bella. It's one of my many flaws."

"Along with kidnapping?"

"Along with kidnapping," he agreed, not a hint of remorse in his voice.

A server arrived with breakfast-fresh fruit, croissants, eggs Benedict, Belgian waffles-and the conversation shifted to safer topics. Dante asked about her studies, her favorite artists, her opinions on museums she had visited. He listened with genuine interest, asking follow-up questions, sharing his own experiences. He had traveled extensively, it turned out, and had a surprisingly deep knowledge of art and history.

"The Romano family has been collecting art for generations," he explained as they ate. "The paintings you saw in the foyer? Most of them are originals. Renaissance masters, Impressionists, a few modern pieces."

Bella's eyes widened. "The Caravaggio in the hallway-that's real?"

"Authentic. Bought at auction in Geneva five years ago." Dante's lips curved. "I see you have a good eye."

"I studied Caravaggio for a semester," Bella said, her enthusiasm momentarily overcoming her caution. "His use of chiaroscuro, the way he painted light and shadow-it's revolutionary. To think there's an original just hanging in your hallway..."

"Would you like to see the rest of the collection?" Dante asked. "We have a private gallery on the second floor. Works that aren't displayed publicly."

Bella hesitated. She didn't want to enjoy his company, didn't want to find common ground, didn't want to discover that the man who had kidnapped her was also intelligent, cultured, and genuinely passionate about the same things she was. But the chance to see a private art collection of this caliber was irresistible.

"Yes," she said quietly. "I'd like that."

Dante's smile was radiant, the smile of a man who had just been given a precious gift. "After breakfast, then. I'll give you a personal tour."

And as they finished their meal, talking and laughing like any other couple on a beautiful morning, Bella felt the first dangerous tendril of something she didn't want to acknowledge wrap around her heart.

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