The cold light of dawn didn't reach the Archive. Here, time was measured only by the hum of the cooling fans and the steady, rhythmic throb of the bruises Renzo had left on my soul.
I woke up slumped over the mahogany desk, my cheek pressed against a charred ledger. The black silk shirt was wrinkled, smelling of his expensive scotch and the raw, salt-scent of the skin-to-skin collision that had shattered my resistance only hours ago.
My fingers went instinctively to my neck. The silver locket was still there, but it felt like a shackle now.
"You're awake."
The voice was like a bucket of ice water. I snapped upright, my spine popping painfully. Renzo was standing by the steel door, fully dressed in a fresh, charcoal-gray suit. He looked immaculate. Lethal. As if the fevered, desperate man from 2:17 AM had been a hallucination.
"I... I fell asleep," I stammered, trying to pull the pencil skirt down over my thighs. The fabric was tight, a constant reminder of how he had bunched it at my waist while he took what he was owed.
"Clearly," he said, walking toward me. He didn't look at my face; his gaze dropped to the desk, to the encryption keys I had managed to pull from the 'Augustus' folder before the world turned into heat and shadows. "Did you finish the reconstruction?"
"Almost," I breathed. My voice was a wreck. Every time I looked at his mouth, I felt the phantom ghost of his teeth against my shoulder.
He stopped inches from me. The Archive was vast, but with him in it, I felt like the walls were closing in. He reached out, his hand hovering near my jaw. I flinched, my eyes fluttering shut.
I expected a blow. I expected him to grab me again.
Instead, I felt the cool, impersonal brush of his knuckles against my cheek. "Your skin is pale, Secretary. You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I see one every time I look at you," I hissed, finally finding my spine. "The boy I knew wouldn't have locked me in a basement and treated me like a line of credit."
Renzo's gaze hardened. The "mask" of the Mafia Devil clicked back into place, cold and impenetrable.
"That boy died in the fire your father started, Elara. Only the Reaper is left to settle the accounts." He leaned down, his face so close I could see the gold flecks of fury in his eyes. "Don't mistake my touch for mercy. It's just a reminder of the price you're paying to stay alive."
He pulled away, his movements sharp. "Food will be brought at 8:00 AM. You have four hours to finish the next layer of the cipher. If you fail, the interest for tonight doubles."
He walked toward the door, his boots clicking rhythmically against the stone.
"Renzo," I called out, my voice breaking.
He paused, his hand on the heavy iron bolt. He didn't turn around.
"Why 2:17 AM?" I whispered. "If you hate me this much... why that specific hour?"
For a second, the silence was absolute. I saw his shoulders tense, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the handle.
"Because that was the time I realized I was never going to be enough to make you stay," he said, his voice a jagged, hollow sound. "And now, I'm going to make sure you never have the chance to leave."
The door slammed shut. The lock clicked.
I sank back into the leather chair, my legs shaking. I hated him. I wanted to scream until my lungs gave out. But as I reached for the mouse to start the work, my eyes drifted to the mirror on the wall.
My lips were swollen. My neck was marked. And the most terrifying part wasn't the lock on the door-it was the way my heart sped up at the thought of what would happen when the clock hit 2:17 AM again.
I wasn't just his prisoner. I was becoming his addiction.