5

Mari's POV

The moment Ramiel’s body pressed against mine—hips flush, breath scalding my cheek—I froze.

That cologne. That musky, ice-cold scent I’d spent five years trying to forget.

He didn’t ease into the moment. Didn’t soften his voice or give me space to think.

“Don’t mistake this for a partnership, darling,” he snarled, his lips a breath from mine. “This is give or take. Either you give—willingly—or I take. Either way, I get what’s mine. That’s the only way you earn your freedom.”

My breath caught. All I wanted was to shrink back, to run from his face of fury.

But I couldn’t.

Because I knew damn well he meant every word he said.

“So if I have dinner with you,” I gulped, “you’ll let me go?”

He relented, leaning back and nodding.

“Eventually.”

“When?”

“You’ll be here for as long as it takes to remove the threat that D’Arcy poses.”

“What does that mean?”

“It doesn’t concern you.”

I shook my head. “Typical.”

“What is?”

“You. Men like you,” I snapped. “You use and command and drag people around as it suits you. You expect us to be at your beck and call, but me?

I’m left out of the decisions, the reasons, the planning.”

“This is the Mafia.”

“Uh-huh, and?”

“And if you want a seat at the table, you have to earn a seat at the table.”

“I don’t want a seat at any table you’re at,” I retorted like a brat.

“Then be content to do as you’re told,” he said. “I expect to see you down for dinner at eight. Don’t make me come drag you down myself.”

I was tempted to tell him to go fuck himself again as he turned to leave, but I suppressed the urge. I might talk a big game, but I wasn’t delusional. I knew I had no power here, and no resources. If there was even a chance that he might let me go, I had to cooperate. But that didn’t mean I had to lay down flat and thank him for walking all over me.

“Ramiel.”

He stopped in the threshold and glanced back over his shoulder.

My breath hitched in my throat again, and for the dozenth time since he turned around in the hall to reveal himself to me, I wished that he wasn’t so sinfully attractive. It would have been so much easier to hate him if he looked like the villain.

“Yes?”

“I can cooperate,” I told him. “But there’s something I want.”

He waited. Breathed. Left me dangling in the silence.

“I want to make a video call every day,” I finished. “And I want privacy when I do.”

He pivoted slowly toward me. “And who is it that you’re calling?”

“That’s my business.”

“You’ll find that everything that happens in this house is my business,” he intoned.

Taking a deep breath, I let him have this one morsel of truth. Partial truth, at least.

“My sister,” I said. “I just want to talk to my sister.”

“The one who convinced you to go on that date with the douchebag?”

My eyebrows lifted immediately.

“You remember?”

“I remember everything, Kamaria.”

I shuddered. He had a way of saying things that seemed to mean so much more than how they affected the here and now. Like there was weight and importance to each and every word. It kept me on edge at all times.

“Very well,” he sighed. “You can have your daily phone call.”

“Unsupervised?”

“Until you prove that you don’t deserve that privilege. But you should know that if I find out you’re trying to get in touch with anyone other than your sister, there will be consequences.”

There it was again. Another word that meant so much more than it should.

Consequences. It made me think of whips and chains.

“I’ll see you at eight.”

Then he stormed out, and I was left all alone in this gorgeous, haunted castle.

I wasn’t sure what scared me more.

That Ramiel Valcanti still owned me...

Or that a part of me wanted to be owned.