The Price of Her Hand

CHAPTER FIVE : LINES CROSSED

The sunlight streaming through the lofty windows of the penthouse, illuminated the marble floors in gold. Ariana was standing in the middle of the different room she had never seen before — one of the countless doors of the gigantic Valerio estate that was now open and inviting.

There were: empty canvasses, brushes, easels, sets of charcoal, and silence.

Her heart ached.

It had been more than a year since she painted. Since the death of her father. Since the debts had started. Since she lost her life.

And yet, somehow, Dante had an idea. He had prepared this place for her without uttering a word. It seemed as if he was inviting her back to herself—but in his condition.

She gazed at the biggest canvas.

Then she took a brush.

The first stroke was timid. The second, more confidence. And by the third, the surroundings faded away.

She did not notice when the door was opened.

But she sensed him there.

"You didn't have to do this," she said, not looking at him.

Dante entered the room cautiously. No suit today—only a black shirt with rolled sleeves, informal trousers. It was somehow more menacing. More actual.

“You require a place to be unrestrained,” he remarked. “Even if it is within the fence boundaries.”

The girl dropped her brush. “Do you always find pastimes for your captives?”

He smiled mischievously. “Just those who may set the whole area on fire.”

The girl turned towards him, the brush still in her hand, which she wielded like a sword. “What is the reason for your niceness towards me?”

“I’m not,” came his answer. “I’m just being clever. If you think you are important, you will not run away easily.”

Ariana breathed out heavily. “What if I don’t want to be treated like a project by a manager?”

“Then surprise me,” he answered. “Stop being predictable.”

The words cut deeper than she was willing to acknowledge.

Just before she could open her mouth, his phone started vibrating. He took a look at the screen, made a face, and then told her, “There is a dinner tonight. You will attend.”

“I don’t remember giving my permission for that.”

“You have consented to be my public representative. This is a part of that.”

She looked at him with suspicion. “Is Sofia coming?”

His lips became a thin line. “No.”

“But there will be a woman like her.”

He did not contradict her.

Ariana went back to painting. “Then I am going to need something more eye-catching to put on.”

Later That Night – Private Valerio Dinner, Uptown

Ariana got out of the vehicle and right away the change was felt. It was not merely an occasion; it was a power room—leaders of giant corporations, press barons, and political power players.

The top-notch.

Her attire was a red silk dress, a very high slit, and also a low-back style, with diamonds twinkling on her neck. Dante had not spoken a word when she first appeared. He just stared at her like she had taken that out of him—before getting back to his self-control.

Now, his hand was gently placed at the small of her back as they walked into the banquet room. It was warm enough to act and cold enough to caution.

Ariana was acting—smiles, gentle nodding, and polite replies.

Until she caught the same thing again.

Sofia's name.

“She would have coped with this situation so much better.”

“At least she was silent.”

“She is not a match for Dante.”

This time Ariana broke her silence.

She spun around towards the closest couple that were whispering and said with a loud voice, “If you are going to make fun of me, you should at least tell it to my face.”

The gasps spread like butterflies in the light.

Dante's hold became firmer, but she did not move.

“You are brave,” the woman said, her smile of poison. “I will give you that.”

“And you are the type of old money that has no etiquette,” Ariana replied with charm. “I suppose we all have our imperfections.”

Dante got closer, his voice was low. “You are having fun with this.”

“I am dancing with the devil,” she said softly.

He smiled.

The atmosphere turned around in an instant as an unexpected guest came in.

Giovanni Valerio.

Dante’s father, surrounded by assistants, his face a mask. But to Ariana it was clear: the way Dante’s body became rigid. The way his lips were pressed together.

“Is he authorized to be here?” she whispered.

“No.”

Giovanni was coming towards them with a wine glass in his hand.

“It’s really nice to be greeted by the lovebirds,” he said with a smooth voice. “Ariana, you are radiating.”

With a polite smile she replied, “It’s the wine.”

Giovanni snickered. "You're clever. That's great. You'll need it."

Next, softly, just for her: "Don't be naive. He is incapable of loving."

Ariana felt a shiver run through her.

She observed Dante's expression while Giovanni was leaving.

He was unyielding.

After Dinner – Valerio Penthouse

As soon as the lift doors closed, Ariana got rid of her high-heeled shoes. "Your father is a very nice person."

Dante served himself a drink. "He is lethal."

"He claimed that you are incapable of loving."

Dante's glance locked with hers. "Did you take him?"

"I am in doubt as to what to believe," she replied, inching closer. "You offer me nurturing places but simultaneously let me know that I am a tool."

"It is because both are valid." She took the glass from his hand. "You want me to submit. But you also want me to challenge you."

He remained silent.

Ariana squeezed past him. "You cannot have both worlds, Dante."

He seized her wrist.

The atmosphere between them cracked like thunder.

"Why not?" he inquired softly.

"Because those who demand obedience are not entitled to ask for a bond."

He recoiled as if he were touched by fire. "It was meant to be straightforward."

"It can be," she replied. "But you are always overstepping the boundaries."

Dante kept looking at her.

Then he turned around and, without saying another word, walked to his office.

And Ariana understood:

He was not the only one in his fortress.

She was just beginning her own.

Final Scene – Ariana’s Room

That day, Ariana once more flipped the pages of her sketchbook.

The image now was not abstract.

It was the Young Man.

Dante drawn in charcoal. Isolated. Leaning at a window, gazing at the city, he mistrusted.

She gazed at the sketch for a while.

Then she flipped the

page, her heart racing.

And started to sketch yet another thing.

An autograph. The date of a marriage.

The lines started to intersect.

And they were no longer only his.