I'M HIS ALONE

CHAPTER 3

TAKEN

Bella couldn't sleep.

She lay in her narrow bed in her father's apartment, staring at the water-stained ceiling, her mind replaying the encounter with Dante Romano on an endless loop. The way he had looked at her-like she was the only thing in the room, in the world, that mattered. Those steel-gray eyes that seemed to see straight through her clothes, her defenses, her very soul. That voice, dark and smooth as velvet wrapped around a blade, whispering her name like a promise and a threat.

I'll be seeing you again, Bella. Very soon.

She shivered, pulling the thin blanket tighter around her shoulders. She should have been terrified-and she was, partly. The man was a criminal, a monster, someone who collected debts with implied violence and cold, calculated menace. But beneath her fear, something else stirred. Something she didn't want to name, something that made her skin flush and her heart race for reasons that had nothing to do with danger.

Her father had been a wreck since Dante left, pacing the apartment, muttering to himself, making frantic phone calls that went nowhere. He owed two million dollars to the Romano crime family, and Bella was starting to understand that this wasn't the kind of debt you could declare bankruptcy on. This was the kind of debt that got people killed.

"Bella?" Her father's voice came through the thin wall, shaky and exhausted. "Are you awake?"

"Yeah, Dad."

He appeared in her doorway, looking twenty years older than he had that morning. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry you had to see that. I'm sorry I've dragged you into this."

"You didn't drag me into anything," Bella said, though she wasn't sure that was true. "What are we going to do?"

Giovanni sat on the edge of her bed, his shoulders slumped in defeat. "I don't know. I don't have the money. I don't have anything. I thought-I thought if I just kept playing, I'd hit a streak, I'd win it all back..."

"Dad, gambling doesn't work that way."

"I know that now." He laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. "I know that now, when it's too late."

Bella reached out, taking his weathered hand in hers. Her father had made terrible choices, had disappointed her more times than she could count, but he was still her dad. The man who had taught her to ride a bike, who had cried at her high school graduation, who had held her when her mother died. She couldn't abandon him, even when she wanted to shake him for his stupidity.

"We'll figure something out," she said, not believing it but needing to say it anyway. "Maybe we can-"

The sound of tires screeching outside cut her off. Then car doors-multiple car doors-slamming shut. Heavy footsteps on the stairs. Lots of them.

Giovanni's face went white. "No. No, no, no-not yet. He said twenty-four hours."

But the footsteps were already in the hallway, already at their door. The lock turned-someone had a key-and then the door burst open, and men in dark clothing filled the small apartment like a flood of shadows.

Bella scrambled out of bed, her heart hammering against her ribs. There were four of them, big men with hard faces and harder eyes, spreading through the living room with practiced efficiency. And behind them, stepping through the doorway with the casual grace of a predator entering its den, was Dante Romano.

He wasn't wearing a suit this time. He was in all black-black sweater that clung to his broad chest and powerful shoulders, black pants, black boots. His dark hair was slightly tousled, like he'd run his hands through it, and his jaw was shadowed with stubble that made him look even more dangerous than before. He was beautiful in the way a storm was beautiful-terrifying, unstoppable, breathtaking.

"Mr. Romano," Giovanni stammered, backing against the wall. "Please-I need more time. I can get the money, I swear-"

"Your twenty-four hours are up," Dante said, his voice cold and final. He didn't even look at Giovanni. His eyes were fixed on Bella, taking in her sleep-mussed hair, her oversized t-shirt that fell off one shoulder, her bare legs. She felt exposed, vulnerable, and furious at herself for the heat that pooled in her belly under his gaze.

"I don't have it," Giovanni whispered. "I don't have anything. Please-just give me a few more days-"

"I'm done waiting." Dante finally looked at the older man, his expression hardening. "You owe my family two million dollars, Giovanni. You have nothing. Your word is worthless. So we're going to settle this another way."

He gestured, and two of his men moved toward Bella.

"No!" Giovanni lunged forward, but another man caught him easily, shoving him back against the wall. "Leave her alone! She's innocent! She has nothing to do with this!"

"She has everything to do with this," Dante said softly. He walked toward Bella, and she backed up until her spine hit the wall. He stopped inches from her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the intoxicating scent of him-expensive cologne and something darker, something purely male. He reached out, his large hand cupping her jaw, his thumb tracing her lower lip with a gentleness that contradicted everything he was.

"You're coming with me, Bella," he murmured, his eyes burning into hers. "Consider it... paying your father's debt."

"I won't go with you," she spat, trying to pull away, but his grip tightened-not painful, but unyielding. "You can't just take me. It's kidnapping. It's illegal."

Dante laughed-a low, dark sound that vibrated through her chest. "Illegal? Bella, I am the law in this city. The police won't help you. No one will. You're mine now."

"I'm not yours! I'll never be yours!"

He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear, his breath hot against her sensitive skin. "We'll see about that, little one. We'll see."

Then he stepped back and nodded to his men. Before Bella could react, someone grabbed her arms from behind, pinning them to her sides. She screamed, kicking out, but they were too strong, too practiced. A black hood was pulled over her head, plunging her into darkness, and she felt herself being lifted, carried, the world tilting as she was thrown over someone's shoulder.

"Dad!" she screamed, her voice muffled by the hood. "Dad! Help me!"

"Bella! BELLA!" Her father's voice, distant and desperate, cut off by what sounded like a blow.

"If you touch him-" Bella started, but Dante's voice cut through her panic, calm and terrifying.

"Your father will be fine, Bella. As long as you behave. As long as you stay with me and do as you're told." She felt his hand on her back, warm and heavy through the fabric of her shirt. "Fight me, and he pays the price. Understand?"

She understood. She understood that she was trapped, that this man held all the power, that her life as she knew it was over. Tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

The car ride was long and silent. Bella lost track of time in the darkness of the hood, her body jostled by the vehicle's movements, her mind racing through escape plans that all ended the same way-with her father's blood on her hands. She couldn't run. Not while Dante held her father as leverage.

When the car finally stopped, she was pulled out and carried again, this time in Dante's arms. She could tell by his scent, his warmth, the way his heart beat steady and strong against her shoulder. He held her like she weighed nothing, his arms bands of iron wrapped in velvet, and despite everything-despite the terror and the rage and the injustice of it all-Bella felt a treacherous flutter of something she refused to acknowledge.

"Welcome home, Bella," Dante murmured, and then the hood was removed.

Bella blinked against the sudden light, her eyes adjusting slowly. And then she saw where she was, and her breath caught in her throat.

She stood in the grand foyer of a mansion that looked like it belonged in a gothic novel. Soaring ceilings, marble floors, a sweeping staircase that curved upward into shadow. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over walls adorned with oil paintings that looked centuries old. Everything screamed wealth, power, and old-world elegance.

This was Dante Romano's world. And now, whether she wanted it or not, it was hers too.

Dante set her on her feet, his hands lingering on her waist. "Sofia will show you to your room. You'll find everything you need there. Clothes, toiletries, books." He paused, his eyes searching hers. "I want you to be comfortable, Bella. This isn't a prison."

"It sure feels like one," she snapped, finding her voice.

His lips curved in a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Then perhaps you should learn to enjoy your captivity. Because you're not leaving, Bella. Not ever. You're mine now. And I intend to keep you."

He turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing on the marble, leaving Bella alone in the center of his empire with a heart full of fear and a body that betrayed her with every traitorous beat.

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