The next morning, Raven woke to find a black velvet box on her doorstep.
No note. No delivery slip. No name.
But she didn't need a signature to know who it was from.
Only one man left gifts like this.
Dante Moretti.
She hesitated before picking it up. Every instinct screamed at her to toss it out the window and pretend it never came.
But her curiosity betrayed her.
She carried it into the kitchen, sat at the counter, and opened it slowly.
Inside was a necklace—black diamonds strung on a delicate chain, glinting like drops of oil. At the center sat a tiny charm:
A key.
Elegant. Sharp. And unmistakably symbolic.
Raven stared at it, her stomach sinking.
A key to what?
Her body?
Her silence?
Her soul?
She placed the box on the counter and turned away, but she couldn't stop the whisper in her head:
He's not just playing a game. He's laying a trap.
And she was walking right into it.
🖤 Later That Night – InfernoThe club was louder than usual.
The crowd pulsed like a living beast, screaming and sweating and throwing money like confetti. Girls danced on poles, on laps, on tables. The air smelled like lust and liquor and cheap perfume.
But Raven didn't see any of it.
Because he was there.
Standing at the top of the stairs, overlooking the crowd like a king watching peasants crawl at his feet.
Dante.
He wasn't in his usual suit tonight.
He wore all black—tactical, lean, commanding. The kind of outfit a man wore when he wasn't here to play. And his eyes—cold, burning, locked on her the moment she stepped into the main floor.
He didn't wave.
Didn't nod.
Just turned and walked toward the back hallway without a word.
She followed.
Because she always did.
🔥 Room 13He didn't wait for her to speak.
As soon as the door closed, his hand wrapped around her wrist and pulled her flush against him.
"Where is it?"
Her breath caught. "Where's what?"
"The necklace."
She looked away.
"I didn't wear it."
His grip tightened. "Why?"
"It felt like a leash."
He let go.
The silence that followed was worse than shouting.
"You think I'm trying to control you?" he asked finally.
She looked up at him, her voice sharp. "A collar. A necklace shaped like a key. What else would you call it?"
He stared at her for a long, heavy moment.
"Protection."
She blinked. "What?"
"That necklace," he said, pacing slowly now, "is marked. With a symbol only the families recognize. If anyone touches you, they'll know you belong to me."
"I don't belong to anyone."
"You're under my roof. You take my money. You sit on my lap and let me kiss you like a fucking god—"
His voice cracked.
"—and you still pretend you're just a dancer?"
Raven stepped back, spine stiff.
"Don't confuse attraction with ownership, Dante."
"Don't confuse survival with freedom, Raven."
Her breath hitched.
Because he was right.
She wasn't free.
She hadn't been free in years.
Not since the day her father was gunned down in front of her.
Not since she promised herself she'd take down the man responsible.
And right now, she was standing in front of him.
🩸 Flashback – Two Years AgoThe warehouse was cold. Silent. Except for the scream of her father as he was dragged to his knees.
Blood already stained the concrete beneath him.
She was hidden behind a wall of crates, phone clutched in her trembling hand, recording everything.
The man who stood in front of her father wore gloves.
Black leather.
He didn't scream. Didn't threaten.
He just raised the gun and whispered, "No mercy."
Bang.
Her father fell.
The man turned.
But his face stayed in the shadows.
Until he looked up—just for a second.
And she saw his jawline.
Sharp. Strong.
A scar over the right brow.
A tattoo just above the collar.
D.M.
She never forgot that face.
Never stopped searching.
Until one night, dancing under red lights at Inferno, she looked up—and saw him watching her from the shadows.
Dante Moretti.
🖤 Present"You're shaking," Dante said, stepping closer.
Raven snapped out of the memory, backing away. "I'm fine."
"You're not."
He reached up and gently gripped her chin. "You look at me like I'm the enemy."
She didn't answer.
Because he was.
And the more she got to know him, the more that truth started to slip through her fingers.
Because the man who killed her father couldn't possibly be the same man who touched her like this. Who stared at her like he was trying to memorize her pain.
Could he?
He released her with a sigh.
"Come with me," he said.
"Where?"
"No questions."
She hesitated.
"Raven."
Her name in his mouth felt like a secret. Like a warning.
She followed.
🖤 The VaultHe led her down a hallway she hadn't seen before—past the offices, the champagne lounges, the staff wing. Past the point where dancers were allowed.
They stopped in front of a steel door with a thumbprint scanner.
He pressed his finger, and the door clicked open.
Inside was a narrow staircase, lit only by red bulbs embedded in the wall.
She followed him down in silence.
"Where are we going?" she asked again.
"You want to know who I am, don't you?" he said, glancing back.
She froze.
"Is this where you keep the bodies?" she asked lightly, only half joking.
He didn't laugh.
When they reached the bottom, he opened another door.
Inside was a private vault room.
Not with cash.
Not with gold.
But with weapons.
Guns. Blades. Files. Screens. Names.
A war room.
Her blood turned cold.
"This…" she whispered. "This is your world?"
Dante stepped inside, grabbed a file, and handed it to her.
She opened it slowly.
Inside was a picture.
Of her.
In her apartment.
Last week.
Another photo.
At the strip club. Talking to Nikki.
One more.
Opening her burner phone.
Her legs nearly gave out.
"How did you—?"
"I know everything about you," he said quietly. "Where you go. Who you speak to. What you hide under your bed."
Raven couldn't breathe.
"And yet," he added, "I haven't touched any of it. Why do you think that is?"
Her mouth was dry. "Because you want something from me."
"No," he said. "Because I'm giving you a choice."
She looked up at him, trembling. "What choice?"
"Tell me the truth," he said. "Now. Tonight. Before I decide you're a threat."
Her heart pounded so hard it drowned out everything else.
But she said nothing.
Because the truth was a blade she couldn't unsheathe.
Not yet.
So instead, she whispered:
"Kill me, then."
Dante stared at her for a long moment.
Then he stepped forward, grabbed her waist, and slammed her against the table—his mouth crashing down on hers like a punishment.
"You think I want to kill you?" he growled. "You think that's what this is?"
Her eyes widened.
"You're already killing me, Raven," he whispered. "And I don't even know your real name."