His To Ruin

CHAPTER 3 - PRETEND LOVER BARGAIN

Emilia Russo had spent the night tossing and turning on the stiff guest bed, her mind spinning like the city lights beyond the mansion’s tall windows. Dante Moretti’s words echoed in her head: “Pretend… or die.”

She hated the thought of him. She hated being under his control. And yet, a strange pull lingered—a dangerous, magnetic tension that she couldn’t quite shake. Every brush of his hand, every cold, piercing glance seemed to ignite something deep inside her, something she both feared and wanted.

By morning, she had come to a bitter realization: she couldn’t escape. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not ever, if Dante had his way. And as much as she wanted to resist, the truth was simple—her life now belonged to him.

Dante didn’t waste time. She had barely finished her meager breakfast when he appeared at the doorway of her room, his dark eyes assessing her like a predator studying prey. He was impeccably dressed, the black suit cutting a sharp silhouette against the golden morning light.

“You’re awake,” he stated, almost redundantly.

“Yes,” Emilia replied, her voice firmer than she felt. “And I know why I’m here. I get it. I… I’ll cooperate.”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “You call this cooperation?”

“I’m realistic,” she said, swallowing hard. “I know my life depends on it. I’m not stupid.”

Dante’s gaze lingered on her a moment longer, his eyes darkening. There was a strange intensity in the way he looked at her, a flicker of something that made her stomach clench. And then he leaned forward, closer than she expected, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

“You’re more valuable than you realize, Emilia. Not just because you saw what you weren’t supposed to, but because… you affect me.”

Her chest constricted. Affect him? The words burned in her mind. What could she, a broke waitress, possibly do to affect Dante Moretti, feared underboss of the city’s most dangerous mafia family?

“What do you want from me?” she asked, trying to mask the tremor in her voice.

Dante’s lips curved into the faintest smirk. “I want you to survive. Alive. Breathing. Safe.”

“And in return?” she asked, warily, her green eyes flicking to his.

He stepped closer, filling the room with his presence. The air felt thick, electric, and every instinct screamed that she should back away—but she couldn’t. Not fully. Not when the raw intensity of him pressed against her senses.

“In return…” Dante’s voice was low, almost hypnotic, “…you will pretend. Pretend to be mine. To the world, to my enemies. You will be my woman.”

Her heart stuttered. Pretend to be his… woman? The words were foreign, terrifying—and yet, there was a thrill, a forbidden allure she couldn’t deny.

“I can’t—” she began, but he cut her off, his hand brushing her arm ever so slightly. The contact was brief, but enough to make her pulse spike.

“You can,” he said simply. “And you will.”

Emilia swallowed hard. “And if I refuse?”

Dante’s expression darkened, and a shadow of lethal danger fell over him. “Then you won’t live long enough to regret it.”

Fear knotted in her stomach, sharp and immediate. Yet beneath the fear, a small, irrational part of her shivered at the proximity, the power he radiated, the dangerous confidence that seemed to bend the world around him.

She swallowed and nodded. “Fine. I’ll do it. But this—this doesn’t mean I like you.”

Dante’s lips twitched into a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I don’t care if you like me. I care that you survive.”

The tension between them was palpable. It crackled in the air like a live wire, each of them measuring the other, testing boundaries. Dante was a predator, lethal and obsessive, and Emilia was suddenly his possession, caught in a web she didn’t know how to escape.

Over the next few days, Emilia tried to adjust to her new life. She learned the mansion’s layout, from the hidden corridors to the locked rooms that whispered secrets she wasn’t supposed to know. Every corner seemed dangerous, every shadow alive. And Dante… he was everywhere, watching, commanding, a presence that dominated her every thought.

Marco, Dante’s right-hand man, made her uneasy. Loyal to Dante, sharp-eyed, and clearly protective—but there was an undercurrent there, a tension that made her skin crawl. She caught him watching her once, and the intensity of his gaze made her realize she was walking a tightrope of alliances and danger.

And then there was Bianca, Dante’s longtime mistress. The first time Emilia met her, she understood immediately why Dante’s past was complicated. Bianca’s beauty was cold and sharp, and her stare burned like acid. “So,” she said, voice like velvet over steel, “you’re the new distraction.”

Emilia clenched her fists, trying to appear fearless. “I’m nobody’s distraction.”

Bianca’s laugh was cruel, musical but dangerous. “We’ll see.”

It was then Emilia realized the true rules of her new life: survive Dante’s world, pretend to be his woman, endure the jealousy and hatred of those around him… and hope she didn’t die before the game even began.

But the tension wasn’t just with enemies. Dante himself was an enigma she couldn’t solve. One moment, he was cold, distant, calculating. The next, there was something in his eyes when they met hers—a flicker of desire, obsession, maybe even… care. Every word, every glance carried weight, as if her very presence disrupted the order of his world.

She hated herself for noticing, hated how her body responded to him. And yet, every time he appeared in a doorway, or the faint sound of his voice echoed down a hallway, her pulse betrayed her.

By the third day, Dante summoned her to the study, the air thick with the smell of cigars and old leather. He closed the door behind her, his expression unreadable.

“You’ve been watching,” he stated, blunt, as if reading her thoughts.

“I…” she faltered. “I’ve been trying to understand this place.”

He stepped closer, and the heat from his body pressed against hers. “This place is dangerous,” he whispered, his voice low, controlled, dangerous. “And so are the people in it. You will survive only if you follow my rules. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she whispered, unable to tear her gaze from his.

He smiled—just slightly—but it sent shivers down her spine. “Good. And remember, Emilia… you belong to me now. Not because I want to own you… but because I can’t let you go. Not yet.”

Her throat went dry. Her heart pounded. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to resist, to fight. And yet, a small, irrational part of her wanted to stay. Wanted to feel the heat of his presence, the weight of his attention, the thrill of danger that pulsed in every word he spoke.

For the first time in her life, Emilia Russo realized that survival wasn’t just about staying alive. It was about navigating a world where desire, fear, and obsession were tangled in a deadly, intoxicating game. And Dante Moretti was the master of it.