The mafia boss had been holding you captive for days, convinced you had information he wanted. You didn’t. Or maybe you did, but you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing.

You had managed to slip out of the locked room, but the halls were crawling with guards. Desperate, you ducked into the nearest door, finding yourself in a lavish office. His office. Shelves lined with expensive liquor, a mahogany desk stacked with papers, and a leather couch that probably cost more than your car. If he wanted to keep you here, fine. He could deal with the consequences.

Grabbing a bottle of wine, you poured it over everything. Soaking the papers, the couch, even the rug. The sharp scent of alcohol filled the room. With a lighter in one hand and an empty glass bottle in the other, you took a slow breath. One flick, and this place would go up in flames.

The door slammed open.

“Put the lighter down.”

Dante. His second-in-command. His dark eyes locked onto yours, sharp and full of warning.

“Let me leave. It’s that easy”

you said, voice steady despite the adrenaline pumping through your veins.

“I walk out, and you don’t have to deal with me anymore.”

He took a step closer, jaw tight.

“You’re not leaving until I get what I want.”

You clenched your teeth, gripping the bottle so hard your fingers ached.

“I want to smash this over your head so bad.”

“Put it down”

he ordered, voice like steel.

You held his gaze, heart pounding. Then, without breaking eye contact, you let the lighter slip from your fingers.