Chapter 3 Spread those legs wider

Fina

I couldn’t breathe.

The video kept playing even after my mind refused to accept it—Dario standing in front of the gates, speaking calmly with the manager, his hand resting casually in his pocket like he belonged there. Like it had always been his.

The sign above the entrance was clear.

Casa Serena.

My orphanage.

My chest tightened painfully.

“Dario why do you have a video of that place?” I whispered, my voice shaking despite my effort to sound steady. “What are you doing at my orphanage?”

He watched me over the rim of his glass, eyes unreadable, then took a slow sip of whiskey.

“Well,” he said calmly, “since your father decided to pay his debts with blood and flesh…” His gaze flicked to me briefly. “…everything attached to you now belongs to me.”

I shook my head violently. “No. That’s not possible. I never sold anything to Dario Severo.”

“You didn’t need to,” he replied. “I bought it.”

The words slammed into me.

I lunged forward without thinking. “You had no right! Those children are mine—I take care of them. You know nothing about them. You know nothing about children!”

Something dark flashed in his eyes.

“You think you know me?” he asked quietly as he stepped closer.

“Yes,” I said, my voice breaking. “I’ve known you for more than twenty years. Dario… I loved you once.”

He stopped inches away.

“So now you hate me?”

I laughed bitterly. “Why wouldn’t I? You destroyed my family. You ruined my father. You turned my life into a transaction. Of course I hate you.”

He stared at me for a long moment… then laughed.

Soft. Cold.

“I don’t care,” he said. “Hate me all you want. You belong to me now, Fina. And nothing is going to change that.”

My knees felt weak.

“What do you want me to do?” I whispered.

His lips curved. “That’s my girl.”

He moved closer. When he leaned in to kiss me, I turned my head instinctively. His lips brushed my cheek instead. His hand came up immediately, gripping my jaw, forcing my face back to his.

“Now listen carefully,” he murmured. “You’re going to do everything I say. Inside this house.”

I swallowed hard.

“Because if you don’t,” he continued calmly, “I’ll sell Casa Serena to Delapito.”

My blood ran cold.

Delapito.

The name alone was enough to make my stomach twist. Everyone knew what happened to orphanages he bought. Everyone knew the children never stayed. They vanished. Sent across borders. Sold.

“You wouldn’t dare,” I whispered, tears spilling over.

His grip tightened slightly. “Try me.”

My vision blurred.

“Please,” I sobbed, my pride shattering. “Please don’t hurt them. They’re innocent. They have nothing to do with this.”

He leaned closer, his lips hovering just shy of mine. “I won’t,” he murmured. “As long as you obey every word I say.”

I nodded frantically. “I will. I’ll do anything. Just give it back to me.”

He studied my face, my tears, my defeat.

Then he released me.

“Good,” he said simply.

He walked back to the counter like nothing had happened, whiskey glass still in hand, posture relaxed, unbothered. I stayed where I was, shaking, trying to breathe.

I hated how beautiful he looked.

Hated myself for noticing.

My gym clothes suddenly felt like a mistake—too tight, too revealing. His gaze lingered openly now, slow and deliberate.

“Take it off,” he said.

My heart skipped. “What?”

“All of it.”

I froze.

Then I understood.

And fear settled deep in my bones.

I didn’t move.

My fingers curled into my palms. My gym clothes suddenly felt like armor—thin, useless armor, but mine. I lifted my chin, forcing myself to meet his gaze.

“You can’t be serious.”

Dario didn’t repeat himself. He only watched me, calm and patient, like he had all the time in the world. Like this wasn’t a question.

“I am,” he said quietly.

My heart hammered so hard it hurt. “This isn’t part of the deal.”

He took a slow sip of his whiskey. “Everything here is part of the deal.”

Silence stretched between us. Thick. Suffocating.

My hands trembled as I reached for the hem of my jacket. I hesitated—just for a second—then pulled it over my head and let it fall to the floor. The air felt colder immediately, kissing my bare arms, my shoulders.

His gaze followed every movement.

I swallowed hard and slid my fingers beneath the straps of my sports bra, pausing again. Shame burned my skin. Anger followed right after.

I hated him for this.

I hated that I couldn’t stop.

When I pulled it off, I crossed my arms instinctively, shielding my large breasts. His eyes darkened—not rushed, not greedy—just intense. Engraving the shape of them.

“Hands down,” he said.

My throat tightened but I obeyed.

Each piece of clothing felt heavier than the last. The shorts. The leggings. I stepped out of them slowly, deliberately, my face burning as I stood there exposed, vulnerable, stripped of more than fabric. Only my pink thing hung loose on my waist.

The room was quiet except for my breathing.

Dario set his glass down.

He didn’t touch me.

That was somehow worse.

He circled me slowly, his presence brushing my skin without contact. I could feel him behind me, beside me—everywhere. My pulse throbbed in my ears.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Still defiant. Even like this.”

I clenched my jaw. “You got what you wanted. Is that enough?”

He stopped in front of me.

His fingers lifted my chin, forcing me to look at him. His expression was unreadable, carved from control and something darker beneath it.

“This,” he said softly, “is only the beginning.”

My breath hitched.

“And remember,” he added, leaning close enough that his words brushed my lips, “everything you do from now on is a choice.”

A cruel one.

I closed my eyes. And nodded.

Then he cupped my breasts, and I gasped when he teased my nipples, tweaking them deliciously.

He carried me suddenly and positioned me on the counter, the cold tile biting into my skin. One finger stayed on my breast while the other gripped my hair, his palm pressing firmly against my scalp.

He stood between my parted legs, our foreheads pressed together, breaths harsh and uneven.

“Mmm… oh…”

My moans slipped out despite how hard I tried to hold them in. He growled low in his chest and captured my lips again, this time roughly, as if he were punishing me for every sound I made.

When he pulled away, he left me breathless. His eyes were undeniably filled with lust, and he wore it shamelessly, proudly.

In that moment, his hard bulge grazed my pussy. It was quick, but it felt so good. My eyes rolled back, my legs shook unintentionally, and when he grazed me again, we both moaned this time.

“Fuck…”

“Ohh…”

He wrapped his large hand around my tiny neck, not choking—just claiming—then pressed his bulge against my pussy again.

“Stay still,” he whispered.

He gave a slow twist, and the pleasure from that pressure weakened me instantly. He rolled his hardness perfectly over my stiff clit, and fuck—I was so wet my thong was completely soaked. I hated myself for feeling this way. I hated how my body betrayed me.

It went on until he pulled me closer and kissed me again, one hand grabbing my breast, the other gripping my waist. He moved faster now, deliberately, until I felt that strange, overwhelming sensation building below. I couldn’t ignore it. I chased it, helplessly, until it burst into a million stars.

I screamed.

So loud I was sure the Severo cartel outside heard every second of it.

When I finally settled down from my intense orgasm, brown orbs stared at me like I was a prayer that had just been answered. It made my heart skip.

Pride. Joy. Lust.

All of it oozed out of him.

He had just given me my first orgasm from a man—but I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

“Take it off,” he ordered, tugging at my thong.

I did.

And then I was naked.

“Mi fai impazzire, cazzo,” he murmured, running a hand down his tie.

You’re driving me fucking crazy.

He was still fully clothed while I was the complete opposite.

He walked away to grab his glass of whiskey, never breaking eye contact. His gaze stayed fixed on my pussy as he lifted the glass and took a slow sip. The air conditioner brushed against my bare skin, mixing with the anxiety of being watched like some priceless museum artifact. I quivered.

“Spread those legs wider, Fina… I need to see every fucking inch of you.”

It was an order I knew I could never disobey—even though every part of me wanted to.

He owned me now.

The papers were signed.

I was standing naked in a house surrounded by men from the most dangerous cartel in the country—and now even my innocent children at the orphanage had been dragged into this nightmare.

So I spread my legs wider for him.

And as his eyes darkened, his voice followed—low, certain, inevitable:

“Good,” he said quietly. “This is only the beginning.”