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My mind snagged on the reference to Dante’s mother. I knew from what the maid Gabriella had told me on Isla Donna that Dante’s mother had been one of Vito’s father’s mistresses. But I knew little else about his past. Curiosity about him burned in my throat.

‘What happened to his mother?’ I asked.

The doctor scowled. ‘This is not your concern,’ he said, his tone becoming frigid. ‘But I can tell you Il Capo is healthy. You are the first woman he has asked me to prescribe contraception for, as he has never wished to have sex before without condoms.’

I blushed at the doctor’s matter-of-fact tone. But the realisation that this was a first for Dante too felt important. And went some way to soothing my shattered ego.

That Dante’s dominance didn’t bother me nearly as much as it should was no doubt a sign of my naïveté, the innocence which had kept me believing in romance and fairytales. But I couldn’t quite shake the conviction Dante and I were merely being responsible when I agreed to take the pills.

After Romano had left the suite, I began fixating again on Dante… . How could I have missed him today—even though he’d deceived me about his ability to speak English and he was so high-handed and domineering? Why did I want to know everything about him? How come I was looking forward to being able to converse with him properly, when he hadn’t exactly struck me as a willing conversationalist? And how could I trust him not to hurt me, given everything he’d done to me?

All those questions were still crowding my mind as I sat on the terrace, alone in the dark after my supper.

‘Eva? Where are you?’

I swung round on the lounger at the shout from inside the suite, to see Dante charge past the open terrace doors towards the bedroom, searching for me.

I probably ought to call out to him, to alert him to my presence outside, because he seemed agitated not to find me waiting for him. But something about his urgency and that scowl on his handsome face, so unlike his usually controlled, even chilly, demeanour towards me, had my pulse fluttering.

Maybe I was just his captive, his ‘woman’, but perhaps he’d missed me, too? The thought went some way to soothing a little more of my shattered ego. I dropped the blanket, got off the lounger and entered the suite, aware of him swearing in the bathroom when he found it empty.

‘Dov’è la mia donna?’ he shouted to the men standing guard outside the suite.

Even with my rudimentary Italian I could understand the furious demand.

Where is my woman?

The guards—who had prevented me from leaving the suite all day—came charging through the main door with their guns drawn just as Dante stalked back into the salon where I was standing.

He stopped dead. ‘Eva!’

Relief relaxed his features, and my foolish heart soared. He had missed me. But then the catastrophic frown returned as one of the guards spoke to him in Italian. The words were full of deference, but both the guards’ expressions suggested they were wondering why on earth he was getting worked up about my whereabouts when I was standing right in front of him. There might also have been some concern for his sanity, which they were too scared to voice.

I, on the other hand, couldn’t contain a chuckle.

‘Welcome to my world, Dante,’ I murmured, feeling powerful for the first time since he’d kidnapped me on Isla Donna.

‘Lasciaci!’ he ordered his men to leave. Bowing hastily, they shot out of the room, shutting the door behind them.

He didn’t take his eyes off me the whole time, though. I probably ought to be as terrified as his two burly bodyguards for having displeased him as he stalked towards me, his gaze raking over me—but all it did was make my heartbeat plunge into my abdomen to get wedged between my thighs.

A feral light darkened his blue eyes to black and my sense of validation increased.

After having spent the whole day being fed and dressed and quite literally prepared for his bed like his possession, it felt good to finally make him suffer too.

And frankly, I’d spent so much time stressing about him and my situation today, I didn’t really have the bandwidth any more to care that I’d pissed him off.

It was also liberating to know I didn’t fear him—or what he would do to me—when his fingers curled around my nape to tug me to him. I dragged in a lungful of his scent—salt, spice and male musk—and savoured it. Clutching his sides, I felt the muscles tense beneath my fingers as his erection butted me through our clothing.

He pressed his forehead to mine and murmured something in Italian, his husky tone laden with demand, but I didn’t hear the reprimand, because all I could hear was the need.

I freed myself from his grip so I could meet his dark gaze. Then I reached up to curl my arms around his neck.

Surprise flickered across his features, swiftly followed by need, and everything inside me melted. My excitement soared as power rushed through me.

He groaned, skimming his large hands under the waistband of my sweats to grasp my naked bum and tug me against the heavy ridge in his pants.

He lifted me into his arms.