Extraction of Desires

What the Devil Wants

The room was too big. That was my first thought after Maria left. Too big, too quiet, too soft. Silk on the bed, silk on the chairs, silk on the walls for all I knew. A cage lined with pretty fabric.

I walked to the window. The glass was cold. Below, gardens stretched out in perfect lines, all dark hedges and frozen fountains. Beyond them, walls. Beyond the walls, razor wire glinting under the moon. Beyond that—nothing. Just the dark shape of hills and the distant glow of the city I'd left behind.

Milan. Twenty miles away. Might as well have been the moon.

[Dinner in one hour,] the system pinged. [Quest active. Objective: obtain one positive emotion from target Dante Moretti.]

I turned away from the window. On the bed, they'd laid out a dress. Burgundy velvet. High neck, long sleeves. I picked it up and almost laughed. This thing cost more than my brother's last surgery. More than our servants used to make in a year. Back when we had servants.

I stripped off the auction dress—that ridiculous thing with the diamonds sewn into the bodice, like putting a price tag on a piece of meat—and pulled on the velvet. It fit like it had been made for me. It probably had.

The mirror showed me a stranger. Pale skin, dark hair, red dress. A girl who looked like she belonged in a castle. A girl who looked like prey.

I stared at my own eyes until I saw something else there. Something harder.

Then I sat down on the edge of the bed and waited.

A young man came for me at eight. Empty eyes, empty face. He walked two steps ahead and never looked back. I followed him down stairs that curved like a snake, past paintings of dead men who all had the same cold stare, past suits of armor that felt like warnings.

The dining room was a joke. A table for thirty, but only two places set at the far end near a fireplace big enough to roast a pig. Candles. Crystal. A servant in a black jacket pouring wine into one glass, leaving the other empty.

Dante stood by the fire. He'd changed too—black sweater, dark pants, no jacket. No tie. Like he was relaxing at home. Like this was normal.

He didn't turn when I walked in. Just stared at the flames.

"Sit," he said.

I sat.

The servant disappeared. The doors closed. We were alone.

He took his time coming to the table. Walked slow, like he owned every step of ground. Pulled out his chair. Sat. Picked up his wine. Drank. Set it down. Looked at me.

"You're not what I expected," he said.

"What did you expect?"

"Tears. Begging. Deals." He tilted his head. "You're just... sitting there."

"Would tears help?"

One corner of his mouth moved. Just a twitch. Barely there.

[Ding. Amusement detected. +3 mana.]

I kept my face still. Inside, something loosened. So it worked. Even him. Even the Devil.

"The dress suits you," he said.

"Maria said you prefer modesty."

"Maria talks too much."

I didn't answer. The servant came back with soup. Steam rose off it, smelled like something expensive. I picked up my spoon. The silver was heavy. Cold.

We ate in silence. The only sounds were the fire and the clink of spoons against bowls. I could feel him watching me between bites. Measuring. Weighing.

Halfway through the soup, he spoke again.

"Your father owed me a debt. Did they tell you that?"

"Everyone tells me that. No one tells me what kind."

"Information. He sold something that belonged to me. To my enemies."

I set down my spoon. "So you bought me to get even."

"I bought you because he offered you." Dante leaned back. "The night before he died, he came to me. Said he had nothing left but you. Said you were special. Said if I took you, kept you safe, the debt would be paid."

I stared at him. "He sold me. To you. For safety."

"He loved you." Dante said it flat, like a fact. "He knew what would happen after he was gone. The vultures. The debts. The men who'd want a piece of a St. Claire daughter. He picked the devil he knew."

My hands were shaking. I pressed them flat against the table.

"That's a nice story. Doesn't explain why you said yes."

Dante looked at me for a long moment. Then he did something unexpected. He laughed. Short, quiet, no humor in it.

"Because I was seventeen once. Bleeding to death in an alley. And your father found me. Could have walked past. Didn't. Stayed all night, called a doctor he shouldn't have called, risked everything for a kid he didn't know."

The words hit me in the chest.

"Twenty years," Dante said. "I've carried that. Morettis don't forget. Morettis don't owe. But I owed him. And when he came to me with you—" He stopped. Picked up his wine. Drank half of it. "I said yes because it was the only debt I could never repay."

[Emotion detected. Remorse. Rank B. Extract?]

I extracted. The warmth hit my veins like whiskey. +8 mana. +1 charisma.

But I didn't feel like celebrating.