Chapter 2: The Devil's Bargain

Chapter 2: The Devil's Bargain

Dante Davenport’s hands were like steel bands on her arms, holding her upright, holding her captive. The shock of her collision gave way to a wave of pure, undiluted terror. His presence in this quiet corridor was no accident; the calm, calculating assessment in his grey eyes told her he knew. He had seen the raw, unraveling agony she’d hidden from the world for years.

“Let go of me,” Elena whispered, the words barely audible, her voice raspy with unshed tears. She tried to pull away, but his grip was relentless.

“And let you run?” His voice was a low, smooth baritone, utterly devoid of surprise or pity. It was worse. It was the sound of a predator that had finally cornered its prey. “The performance is over, principessa. It’s time to face the investors.”

The Italian endearment, spoken with such cold irony, was a slap in the face. He was mocking the very title her family had bestowed upon her. He wasn’t saving her from her humiliation; he was dragging her to her execution. With an effortless strength that belied his elegant suit, he turned her, his hand moving from her arm to the small of her back, a gesture that looked proprietary, protective even, to any casual observer. To Elena, it felt like the cold press of a gun barrel.

He guided her not toward the gardens and escape, but deeper into the mansion’s heart, toward her father’s boardroom. The place where alliances were forged and lives were bartered. Her blood ran cold. This was happening. It was real.

The heavy doors of the boardroom swung open under Dante’s hand, revealing a scene of barely contained fury. Her father, Don Ricci, stood at the head of the long, polished mahogany table, his face a thunderous mask of rage. Opposite him sat a pale and sweating Mr. Corrigan, flanked by his son, Daniel, who looked as if he was about to be physically ill. And in the corner, cowering near the fireplace, was Giselle, her makeup streaked with tears that Elena knew were entirely for show.

But it was the other two men in the room that made Elena’s breath catch. Alexander Davenport, the Boss of the Syndicate and her brother-in-law, sat with an unnerving stillness, his gaze sharp and observant. And standing beside him now, having released Elena, was Dante, who moved to his brother’s side with a fluid, silent grace. The power in the room had shifted entirely. The Corrigans were irrelevant. This was a Davenport-Ricci affair now.

“Explain this,” Don Ricci bellowed, his voice bouncing off the wood-paneled walls. He wasn’t looking at Elena. His wrath was directed entirely at Daniel and Giselle. “You dare to bring this filth, this disrespect, into my house on this night?”

“It was a mistake, Don Ricci, a terrible, drunken mistake,” Mr. Corrigan pleaded, his voice trembling. “Daniel is young, foolish—”

“He is a man who made a vow!” her father roared, slamming his fist on the table. The sound made Giselle jump. “And you,” he rounded on his youngest daughter, his expression one of pure disgust. “You are worthless. A snake I have harbored in my own home.”

Elena stood frozen, a spectator at her own immolation. Her father’s anger wasn’t for her pain. It was for his broken deal. Her heart, which she thought couldn’t possibly break any further, fractured into a thousand more pieces. She was nothing. A commodity that had been spoiled before the sale was complete.

Daniel, finally finding some sliver of courage, or perhaps just desperation, spoke up. “We can fix this. I will still marry into this family. Giselle…” He looked toward the younger sister, a pleading in his eyes. “We can make this work. The alliance can still stand.”

Don Ricci looked from Daniel to Giselle with contempt. A lesser bride for a lesser man. He was considering it. The thought was so vile, so pragmatic, that Elena felt a surge of nausea. She would be cast aside, her shame swept under the rug, and her treacherous sister would get everything she had ever wanted. The world tilted, the gilded cage she’d always known transforming into an inescapable oubliette.

It was then that Dante spoke.

His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the tension like a razor, drawing every eye in the room. “No.”

The single word hung in the air, absolute and final. Alexander Davenport didn’t even flinch, merely watching his younger brother with a knowing calm. Dante’s gaze swept over Giselle with a look of such profound dismissal it was as if he were looking at an insect. He then turned his eyes to Daniel, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

“The Corrigans have proven themselves to be… unreliable partners,” Dante stated, his tone level, almost conversational. “Their word is worthless. Their son has no honor. The deal is off.”

Mr. Corrigan sputtered, but a single, sharp glance from Dante silenced him.

Don Ricci’s face hardened. “Then you have wasted my time, Davenport. This alliance was the foundation for our future business.”

“The foundation was weak,” Dante countered smoothly, taking a step forward. He moved like he owned the room, his presence dwarfing everyone, including his own brother. “But the Davenports are not unreasonable. The need for an alliance between our families remains. A stronger one. A permanent one.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. His piercing grey eyes, cold and brilliant, left Don Ricci and found Elena, pinning her in place. She felt naked under his gaze, every broken piece of her on display.

“We do not want the replacement,” Dante continued, his voice dropping to a low, possessive timbre that was meant only for her and the silent room. “We are not interested in damaged goods or second-best.”

A flicker of hope ignited in Elena’s chest, fragile and foolish. Was he dismissing her? Was he letting her go?

Then he delivered the final, devastating blow.

“I will have the original. The one promised. The one my family came here for.” His eyes never left hers. “The alliance will be sealed. I will marry her.”

Silence. Thick, suffocating silence.

Daniel looked horrified. Giselle looked murderous. Don Ricci’s expression, however, morphed in a split second from fury to stunned, rapacious calculation. The Corrigan deal was dust, but this… this was gold. A direct marriage between a Ricci daughter and the Davenport Underboss himself. It was a bond of power he could only have dreamed of.

Elena stared at Dante, the world narrowing to the handsome, cruel lines of his face. This was his plan. This was the trap he had laid. He hadn’t stumbled upon her in the hallway by chance. He had been waiting for her world to implode so he could pick up the most valuable piece from the wreckage.

Her.

Her father didn’t ask for her opinion. He didn’t look at her with an ounce of compassion. He simply looked at Dante Davenport, the man who had just claimed his daughter like a prize of war, and a slow, predatory smile spread across his face.

“A bold proposal, Dante,” Don Ricci said, his voice laced with a newfound respect. “A very bold proposal indeed.”

The deal was struck. The bargain was made. And Elena Ricci, the shattered princess, had just been sold to the devil.