Chapter 86: Torturing the truth out of her
Dante’s POV
The room was ready.
I stood in the center of it, surveying the setup with cruel satisfaction. I’d had the workers prepare it in the morning while Gianna slept, a private space I hadn’t used in years, converted now into exactly what I needed.
A large bed dominated one side, a poster with restraints already attached to each corner. Against the wall hung an array of implements: floggers, riding crops, each one selected with deliberate care.
Gianna had brought out a side of me I didn’t think possible again, a need for control that went beyond the usual power dynamics I navigated daily. With her, it was primal. She challenged me in ways no one else dared, and every act of defiance only made me want to break her down and rebuild her to understand exactly who held the power here.
Then last night I really saw her face, the bruise on her forehead, the swelling. She was unconscious.
A protective instinct rose up in me, contradictory to everything I should have felt. She’d tried to run, betrayed my trust, yet I couldn’t bear the thought of any man laying hands on her like that, especially not one of mine.
So I beat the punk senseless and had him thrown out. Despite everything, my anger, her defiance, I wouldn’t let anyone else hurt her. 2
I let her rest because my heart, that treacherous, inconvenient organ, wouldn’t let me do otherwise. She was injured, exhausted, terrified. Punishing her then would have been like kicking a wounded animal.
But she must never mistake my tenderness for weakness.
I liked leaving her wondering last night. I liked the way fear moved across her face when I said, “Tonight you sleep,” the way the question of tomorrow hung in the dark. I wanted her to be afraid, to lie there imagining what I might do.
Today, I would deliver.
This morning I’d questioned my men who were supposed to be guarding the estate, every entrance included. They stumbled through their excuses until the truth came out, a mini party, too much drinking, posts left unmanned. Foolish, reckless things they had no business doing.
Alfonso was the one I’d trusted most, that was the reason I’d put him in charge of guarding her. He’d been the one guard I believed wouldn’t screw up. Yet he left his post.
Rage hit me hard. These men were meant to be professionals, disciplined, loyal. Instead they’d let a captive walk out of my house.
It was unacceptable.
I dealt with them. Harshly. No one was spared. In my world there was no tolerance for that kind of incompetence. They’d been given a final chance, I expected them to learn from it.
But that wasn’t the only thing that bothered me.
I’d watched the security footage myself, sitting in my office for hours, reviewing every angle. I saw her sneaking through the house, moving slowly until she slipped out through a side entrance. Then I saw her running across the grounds toward the old service corridor, the one that led from the east wing to the outer grounds.
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Chapter an fortsariy hom treats
Somehow, she’d known the blind spots. The cameras didn’t catch everything, there were small gaps in coverage intentional design flaws I’d left for emergency escape routes in case of a takeover.
She’d found them. Used them.
How the hell had she known about that? It wasn’t marked, wasn’t obvious, and most of my staff didn’t even know it existed.
That was what disturbed me the most: she’d mapped out my security system in such a short time. I needed to know how.
God help her if she lied to me. I had ways of extracting the truth, and in this room, with these tools, I would get every answer I wanted.
When the door opened, I didn’t move. I wanted to see her first, to see what fear looked like on her face when she realized where she was.
Gianna stepped inside, hesitating at the entrance. She looked around again, like she’d walked straight into her worst nightmare, and fuck if that didn’t satisfy something savage in me.
She stepped in slowly, her eyes darting around the room. The chains and hooks lined up neatly on the wall, the black leather straps hanging from the bar above the bed, the dim amber light giving the space a dark, mysterious aura. At the center of it all was a large bed, the sheets neatly laid, cuffs fixed at each corner.
Finally, her lips parted, and she whispered, barely able to form the words. “Dante… what is this place?”
I didn’t respond. My eyes traced every inch of her.
The black lace lingerie I’d chosen clung to her body like it was made for her alone. Her chest rose and fell quickly, each breath pressing her breasts against the lace. The panties were barely there, offering almost no coverage, and that sheer robe she wore was pointless, it revealed everything while pretending to hide it.
Goddamn, she was perfect.
She looked like a fantasy brought to life.
Her dark hair fell in loose waves around her face, still slightly damp from the shower. The bruise on her forehead had started to fade, but she still looked vulnerable, almost innocent despite the provocative clothing.
Her eyes kept darting between the instruments, the suspension bar, the bed, as if she were trying to piece together what I had planned.
I could see the exact moment terror registered in her expression.
“What…” She swallowed hard, her voice shaking, “do you plan to do to me?”
And damn, I savored it.
After what she’d done, the betrayal, the lies, the goddamn escape attempt, seeing her scared and uncertain fed the beast inside me that demanded retribution.
I let the silence stretch out, watching her squirm under my gaze. Let her imagination run wild with possibilities. Let the anticipation build until she was wound so tight she might snap.
Then I moved toward her slowly.
“Gianna,” I drawled, my voice rough, letting each word sink in. “Surely you didn’t mistake my compassion last night for weakness.”
Chapter a founny the kill out of hor
Her hands came up instinctively to wrap around herself, a protective gesture that did absolutely nothing to hide her body from my view.
Oh, I was going to enjoy this.
I was going to enjoy torturing the truth out of her, piece by piece. I was going to enjoy watching her squirm and beg and finally break down and tell me everything I wanted to know.
And maybe, if she was honest, if she gave me what I needed, I’d reward her in ways that would make her forget why she’d ever wanted to leave.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
