Chapter 2

Dante

Dante Russo arrived at the Deveraux mansion in a calculated silence, his men flanking him as he stepped inside. The grand home was a perfect illusion of wealth and power—but illusions were easy for him to see through.

His mind was still replaying the moment from earlier.

The girl. Elena.

She had run from him. That didn’t happen often. Women usually threw themselves at him, but she had looked at him with something different.

Fear.

And now, when he walked into the dining hall, she was nowhere to be seen.

"Ah, Mr. Russo," William Deveraux greeted, forcing a smile. "Welcome."

Dante shook his hand, his grip firm, calculated. "Pleasure."

Beside William, his wife, Genevieve, sat stiffly, her eyes darting toward Victoria, who had already draped herself in charm.

"My father speaks so highly of you," Victoria purred, sitting beside Dante with a smile that felt too forced. "He says you’re one of the most powerful men in the business world."

Dante ignored her flattery. He was used to this game.

Where is she?

He leaned back, sipping the whiskey the staff had poured for him. "I was under the impression you had two daughters."

Victoria’s smile didn’t waver, but her fingers curled slightly.

"Oh, Elena?" She laughed lightly. "She’s… quite dull. Never attends these things. My sister is nothing like me."

Dante watched her carefully.

A liar.

"She isn’t feeling well," William added quickly.

Dante swirled his drink, pretending to accept the excuse. But inside, his mind was already working.

They were hiding her.

Which meant she was worth hiding.

? Elena

Elena’s lungs burned as she ran through the cold streets, her stolen hoodie barely protecting her from the night air.

She had done it. She had escaped.

But now… she had nowhere to go.

With no other options, she followed the glowing lights ahead.

She hadn’t realized where she was until she stepped inside the club—Inferno.

It was loud, chaotic, and dangerous. Women danced under neon lights, men sat in plush booths, watching with lazy smirks.

She should have turned around.

But she had already been seen.

"Hey, sweetheart," a deep voice murmured as a man grabbed her wrist. "You lost?"

She tensed.

Before she could speak, a sharper, colder voice cut through the noise.

"Touch her again," it said, "and I’ll make sure she’s the last thing you touch.."

The air shifted.

The man immediately let go immediately,terrified.

Elena’s breath caught in her throat as she turned—and met Dante’s piercing gaze.

“Come on, let’s get you somewhere safe”. He urged, taking her hands in his.

Dante led her upstairs.

She didn’t fight him.

They got to a sophisticated apartment she never thought existed in the building. Not like she had enough time to wander around the building in order to stumble upon such exotic place.

He poured himself a drink, watching as she hesitated near the window, slightly getting lost while admiring the view.

"Why are you alone?" he asked.

She swallowed, moving slightly away from the window. "I ran away."

Dante smirked. "That much I gathered, pequeña."

He took a slow step toward her. "And now, you’re in my club."

Her fingers gripped the hem of the hoodie she wore. "I didn’t know."

Dante let out a low chuckle. "You should be more careful where you run, then."

Elena’s breath hitched as he lifted a hand—not to hurt her. Just to brush a strand of hair from her face.

"You should be afraid of me," he murmured.

She lifted her chin,muttering so much courage she didn’t know she possessed. "I’m not."

Dante studied her for a long moment.

Then, finally, he smirked and took a step back.

"Sleep here." He tossed her a hoodie.

She blinked. "What?"

"I won’t touch you." His smirk deepened. "Not tonight."

She hesitated, then took the hoodie and curled up on the couch.

Dante sat across from her, watching.

Because she was his now.

Even if she didn’t know it yet.

? The Next Morning

Dante woke slowly, stretching as the early morning light seeped into the room.

His first instinct was to look toward the couch.

And his entire body went still.

It was empty.

His hoodie was still there.

But Elena was gone.

Dante’s jaw ticked.

The rage built inside him like a storm.

She ran again.

His grip tightened on the glass in his hand. Crack.

"Find her," he ordered, his voice cold, lethal.

Because this time, he wouldn’t let her go.