Claimed by the Silent Don

The Price of Disobedience

Chapter 3:

The walls of the North Wing felt like they were closing in on me. I spent three hours staring at my mother’s notebook, tracing the lines of the lilies she had sketched. It wasn't just art; it was a blueprint. My mother had designed the foundation of this estate back when the Ricci family still held the keys to the city.

I couldn't stay locked in this room. If Dante had her book, he had her secrets, and I wasn't going to wait for him to decide when to tell me the truth.

I waited until the moon was high, casting long, skeletal shadows across the obsidian fireplace. I approached the heavy oak door. Click. The lock was electronic, but the mahogany frame was old. I used a silver hairbrush from the vanity, wedging the handle into the latch mechanism just as my mother had shown me in her "games" years ago.

With a soft hiss, the door groaned open.

The hallway was a tomb of white marble and silence. I moved barefoot, my heart hammering against my ribs so loudly I was sure the guards at the end of the hall could hear it. I didn't head for the stairs. I headed for the library in the South Wing, the place where the maps said the "Heart of the House" was kept.

I reached the library’s double doors. They were cracked open, a sliver of warm yellow light spilling onto the floor. I held my breath and leaned in.

"...the Shadow Don is moving on the docks by morning," a rough voice said. It wasn't Dante’s. It sounded like gravel being crushed. "If we don't hit the shipment, he’ll have enough leverage to turn the Council against you."

"Let him move," Dante’s voice rumbled. It was deeper here, stripped of the coldness he used with me. "He thinks I’m distracted by the girl. Let him believe the Ricci heir is my only priority. It makes him sloppy."

"And the girl?" the other man asked. I saw his shadow, a mountain of a man with a scarred profile. "She’s a Ricci, Boss. Blood always tells. What if she finds out what her father really did?"

"She won't," Dante snapped. "Because I’m going to make sure she never leaves that wing until the Shadow is dead."

I flinched, my heel catching on the edge of a heavy bronze bust of a Roman general. The thud was deafening in the quiet room.

"Who’s there?" the scarred man roared.

I turned to run, but I didn't even make it three steps.

A hand, massive and calloused, wrapped around my upper arm and spun me around. I was slammed back against the cold stone wall of the corridor. I gasped as the air left my lungs.

Dante stood over me, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. He didn't have his jacket on. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle and ink. He looked less like a businessman and more like the butcher the stories claimed he was.

"I gave you one rule, Elena," he hissed, his face inches from mine. His scent cedar, spice, and raw power, clouded my mind.

"I'm not a dog you can kennel!" I spat, trying to twist out of his grip. "Why do you have my mother’s diary? What did my father do?"

Dante’s grip tightened, not enough to bruise, but enough to let me know I was completely at his mercy. Behind him, the scarred man, Marco; watched us with a dark, knowing smirk before disappearing back into the library.

"You're a brat playing with fire," Dante growled. He leaned in closer, his chest pressing against mine. The heat radiating from him was a furnace. "You think these hallways are safe? You think because I paid for you, you’re protected? Every man in this house except for me would sell your location to the Shadow for a glimpse of what's in that notebook."

"Then tell me the truth!" I cried, my eyes stinging with frustrated tears. "You said you bought a debt. But the note in the book says you're a protector. Which one is it, Dante? Are you my master or my guard?"

The silence that followed was electric. Dante’s gaze dropped to my lips, and for a heartbeat, the fury in his eyes was replaced by something much more dangerous. A dark, jagged hunger.

"I am whatever I need to be to keep you alive," he whispered, his voice dropping to a lethal rasp.

He suddenly hoisted me over his shoulder like a sack of grain. I shrieked, pounding my fists against his back, but he didn't even flinch. He marched back to the North Wing, his strides long and purposeful.

He threw me onto the silk duvet of my bed and loomed over me, his hands braced on either side of my head.

"Try to leave again," he warned, his eyes flashing like flint, "and I’ll skip the locks and chain you to this bed myself. Do I make myself clear, Elena?"

I glared at him, my breathing ragged. "You can chain me, Dante. But you can't make me stop looking for the truth."

He lingered for a moment, his gaze burning into mine, before he straightened up. "Dinner will be brought in five minutes. Eat. You’ll need your strength. Tomorrow, we go to the Gala, and you will play the part of the devoted fiancée, or I will show you exactly how 'Silent' I can be when I'm angry."

He turned and strode out, the lock clicking into place with a finality that felt like a death sentence.