I'M HIS ALONE

CHAPTER 17

AFTERMATH

Living with Dante was an education in contrasts.

By day, he was the Don—cold, calculating, ruthless in his business dealings. He conducted meetings in his office with men who looked like they had walked out of a gangster movie, their voices low and serious as they discussed territories, shipments, and the ever-present threat of rival families. He took phone calls that ended with phrases like "handle it" and "make an example" that made Bella's blood run cold.

But when those meetings ended, when the office door closed and it was just the two of them, he transformed. He became tender, attentive, almost boyish in his desire to please her. He would cook for her—surprisingly well, though he claimed it was a skill born of necessity during his years of raising Sofia and Marco. He would watch her favorite movies with her, endure her art history lectures with genuine interest, and make love to her with a passion that left her breathless and boneless and deeply, impossibly satisfied.

It was disorienting, this constant shift between the ruthless crime lord and the devoted lover. Bella found herself falling into a rhythm, adapting to the duality of his nature, learning to accept both sides of him as part of the whole.

But it wasn't all paradise.

The reality of what she was doing—sleeping with her kidnapper, falling for her captor, accepting a life she had never chosen—weighed on her in the quiet moments. She would wake in the night, Dante's arm heavy across her waist, and feel a surge of panic. What was she doing? How had she let this happen? Was she losing herself in his world, becoming the very thing she had sworn she wouldn't become?

One morning, two weeks after she had moved into his room, Bella woke to find Dante already gone. A note on his pillow read: Emergency business. Back by lunch. Help yourself to breakfast. —D

She wandered the mansion alone, feeling restless and unsettled. In the library, she found Sofia reading by the fireplace.

"You look troubled," Sofia observed, setting down her book.

"I'm fine."

"You're not." Sofia patted the seat beside her. "Talk to me, Bella. We're practically sisters now."

Bella sat, pulling her knees to her chest. "Do you ever wonder if we're crazy? Living like this, accepting this life?"

Sofia was quiet for a moment. "Every day. But then I remember that the alternative—living without my brother, without this family, without the protection and love they've given me—is unimaginable. Dante isn't perfect, Bella. He's done terrible things. He'll probably do more. But his love is real. His devotion is absolute. And in our world, that's more than most people ever get."

"I used to have dreams, Sofia. A career, a normal life, a future that didn't involve bodyguards and bulletproof glass."

"And you still can have those things. Dante would give you anything. A museum position, a gallery of your own, the freedom to pursue whatever you want. The only difference is that you'd pursue it with his protection, his support, his love." Sofia reached out, taking Bella's hand. "The question isn't whether this life is perfect, Bella. It's whether it's enough. Whether the love you have with my brother is worth the darkness that comes with it."

Bella thought about that long after Sofia left. She thought about it as she walked the gardens, as she ate lunch alone, as she sat by the window watching for Dante's return.

When he finally appeared, striding across the lawn with Marco at his side, his face set in serious lines, Bella felt her heart leap with a joy she couldn't deny. He was home. Her captor, her lover, her obsession. He was home.

And she realized, with a clarity that surprised her, that Sofia was right. The love was worth the darkness. Dante was worth the price.

She met him at the door, throwing her arms around his neck, kissing him with a desperation that spoke of her internal struggle. He responded instantly, his arms crushing her to him, his mouth claiming hers with familiar possessiveness.

"I missed you," she breathed against his lips.

"I missed you too, little one." He pulled back, searching her face. "Are you okay?"

"I'm getting there," she admitted. "I'm figuring it out."

"Take your time, Bella. I'll wait as long as you need." He kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips. "I'm not going anywhere."

And as he led her upstairs, his hand warm and solid in hers, Bella allowed herself to believe that maybe—just maybe—she had found exactly where she was meant to be.

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