Chapter 5
1571 Words
The low, muted ambient lighting of Dante's bedroom suited the mood perfectly. The room was immense, perched high in the family's hillside fortress, but right now, it felt like a cage—specifically, the arena where Dante performed.
The girl beneath him, Chloe, was one of Isabella's hangers-on, a beautiful distraction with designer clothes and a predictable need for his attention. She was desperate to please him, and that desperation was the only thing Dante truly cared about.
He moved with the practiced, disciplined strength of his MMA training. Every thrust was controlled, deep, and precisely timed, driven by a stamina that had been forged in the gym and refined by his will. His body, 187 pounds of taut muscle, was leveraged fully over hers.
Chloe gasped, eyes squeezed shut, but Dante needed more than just a physical reaction. He needed obedience.
"Look at me," he commanded, his deep voice carrying a gravelly edge of authority. It was quiet, but undeniable.
She whimpered, fighting the order, lost in the pure, overwhelming feeling of him. Dante shifted, pinning her wrist to the silk sheets. His hand was enormous, easily engulfing her delicate bones, a physical demonstration of his power. He paused his movements completely, leaving her trembling on the precipice of release. The shift in pace was a cruel form of psychological control.
"I said, look at me, Chloe."
Her eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused, finally meeting his intense chocolate gaze. The desperation in her eyes—the submission—was the drug Dante truly craved. He watched her face as he slowly began to move again, his control returning.
His size was a legendary factor in his circle. At a magnificent nine to ten inches long and equally thick, his presence was an overwhelming force designed for pure, comprehensive sensation. He drove into her with unhurried depth, demanding she feel every powerful inch of him. He was a force of nature, using his physical dominance to elicit not just pleasure, but absolute surrender.
He pushed her until the only thing she knew was his name, her body arching in a silent testament to his performance. He sustained the intensity, testing her limits and his own, until her obedience was absolute, and her screams were muffled by the silk pillow.
Dante finished minutes later, his great strength finally expended, yet his mind remained coldly detached. He rolled off her, the lingering heat of their passion already cooling into indifference. Chloe immediately curled toward him, her breathing ragged, her hand reaching for his chest, the look in her eyes already that familiar, dangerous blend of obsession and gratitude.
"That was... incredible, Dante. You know I'd do anything for you. Anything you ask."
He didn't answer. He simply stared at the ceiling, already bored. This was the problem with all of them: they became obsessed, their neediness clinging to him like cheap perfume. They saw the dominance, the power, and the pleasure, but they never saw past the facade. They never saw the cage.
He needed a challenge. He needed a conquest that required more than just physical stamina.
Dante reached for the phone on his nightstand, his mind already drifting away from the sweaty sheets and the panting girl beside him.
He thought of the courtyard. He thought of the locker room. He thought of Nicolette.
She was tiny, almost ridiculously small, with those wide, traumatized eyes and that petite, perfect body that had been fully revealed in the spandex. He had seen the way she shrank from his sister, the fear in her posture, and that should have been enough—easy meat for his appetite.
But then, the voice. Clear, soft, and precise, delivering a textbook answer that was a brilliant, concise breakdown of systemic erosion in Chemistry. She was a scholarship girl, the daughter of the new, self-righteous DEA agent who was already making noise, and yet she spoke the language of science with a confidence that defied her timid exterior.
He found himself wondering about her. She wasn't begging for his attention; she was desperate to escape it. She was terrified of him, yet that terrified mind held a brilliance that none of the vapid girls in his circle possessed.
When he had brushed against her in the gym, feeling the sudden, involuntary quiver of her small body, he knew. He wasn't just attracted to her fear; he was attracted to the defiance hidden within her intelligence. She would be a complicated conquest.
Dante opened a discreet text conversation with his right-hand man. He typed a single, cold command:
Get me everything on Nicolette Andrews. Her history, her schedule, her habits. And I want a package ready by morning.
This wasn't about s*x anymore. This was about possession. This was about cracking the safe.
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The rest of the week was a sustained exercise in agonizing failure. Letty clung to her routine, taking the bus, hiding in the front row of classes, and sitting silently with the scholarship students at lunch. She diligently tried to be the gray blur she needed to be.
But the silence was broken.
Her unintentional brilliance in two classes and her accidental athletic triumph in gym had achieved the opposite of her goal. Students who had ignored her now glanced at her with curiosity, and the simple act of walking down a hall felt like navigating a minefield.
The most dangerous change, however, was the constant, low-grade thrum of awareness that settled on her whenever Dante was near. She hadn't bumped into him again, but she knew, with terrifying certainty, that he was watching.
It was late Thursday afternoon. Letty was rushing to catch the final bus, clutching her books like a shield.
She passed the large, echoing doors of the main gymnasium and was about to speed up when she heard the loud, exasperated voice of Isabella wafting from inside.
Letty paused, curiosity, and a sense of self-preservation, momentarily halting her steps.
She peered through the open doorway. The Westwood cheerleading squad was scattered across the polished floor. Isabella, in spandex and a cutoff top, was yelling at the group, her face flushed with frustration. Her usual groupies were there, along with a few male cheerleaders, including the one who had lifted Letty during volleyball.
“What are we going to do?!” Isabella’s voice was sharp. “We needed a flyer for the regionals! This is pathetic!”
One of her friends, a girl with impossibly straight blonde hair, whined, “Why did Kimberly have to go get pregnant? Why can’t she just abort it? Her parents have the money.”
Isabella waved a dismissive hand. “I don't know, something about learning a lesson or some s**t. Anyway, f**k Kimmy. What are we going to do? We need someone light! Someone we can actually throw!”
It was then that the male cheerleader—the one who picked her up from the volleyball—looked up, scanning the empty doorway. His eyes locked onto Letty. A wide grin spread across his face as the memory clearly clicked.
“Hey, new girl!” he yelled across the gym. “Come here!”
Letty froze, looking around wildly. Me? No. Impossible.
He beckoned again, impatiently. “Yes, you, Nicolette! Get in here!”
Hesitantly, like a deer caught in the headlights, Letty took a few slow steps into the cavernous gym.
Isabella followed the boy’s gaze, and when she saw Letty, her expression darkened into disbelief. She scoffed, crossing her arms. “You’ve got to be f*****g joking. The brainy nerd girl?”
The cheerleader, oblivious to the social warfare he was inciting, chuckled and bounded over to Letty. He threw a surprisingly friendly, heavy arm over her shoulders, the casual contact making Letty flinch.
“Hey, she’s super f*****g light,” he insisted, practically bouncing Letty with a casual jolt. “Even lighter than your ass, Isabella. She’s perfect for a flyer!”
Letty stood between them, completely stunned. She felt the blood drain from her face, her trauma-driven fear rising instantly. She wanted to shrink, to vanish, but the boy’s heavy arm pinned her in place.
Isabella looked Letty up and down, her sharp eyes calculating the physics. She noticed the small frame, the slight curves beneath the uniform, and the obvious gymnastic potential in Letty’s controlled posture.
“Do you have any experience in cheerleading?” Isabella asked, her tone shifting from disgust to a grudging, pragmatic interest.
Letty hesitated, her voice barely audible. “I… I know some gymnastics?”
A slow, predatory smirk spread across Isabella’s lips. It wasn't friendly, but it was dangerously amused. Letty had provided a solution to her problem.
“I guess that’s close enough. Fine. Consider yourself recruited, Nicolette. We meet after school every Tuesday and Thursday, and sometimes meet at my place on Saturdays. Don't be late.”
Isabella clapped her hands sharply, turning her attention back to the rest of the squad, the issue solved with ruthless efficiency. The whole group, Isabella included, gathered their things and flowed out of the gym, talking about practice schedules and uniforms.
Letty stood exactly where she had been left, stunned, the imprint of the boy's arm still on her shoulder. She watched them leave, trying to wrap her mind around the reality of what just happened.
So much for staying under the radar. She was now part of the Mafia Princess’s private team.
- Writer
