His To Keep

Selena Carter POV

I was stitching up a seven-year-old's forehead when the first sign of trouble walked through the ER doors wearing a black suit and dead eyes.

It was a Tuesday quiet for once. The kind of quiet that makes ER doctors uneasy. I had barely started my shift, already exhausted from the night before, and the smell of antiseptic still clung to my skin even after two showers.

The girl in front of me was brave; she only winced once as I tied the final suture. Her mother thanked me with watery eyes, and I smiled like I wasn't unraveling inside. I'd been feeling that way a lot lately. Stretched too thin. Running on fumes. My nerves frayed like old gauze.

I didn't notice the men at first.

Not until Tanya, one of the nurses, leaned close and whispered, "Selena... those guys asked for you by name."

I turned. Two men stood near the nurses' station suits sharp, expressions sharper. One had a scar carved down his cheek like someone had tried to cut the fury out of him and failed. The other was polished, hair slicked back, big enough to block out the hallway lights. They didn't blink. They didn't breathe wrong. They didn't belong here.

I peeled off my gloves, forcing my heartbeat to slow. "Did they say what they wanted?"

Tanya shook her head. "No badges. No ambulance. They just... showed up asking for you. You okay?"

No. But I nodded anyway.

I handed the chart to a passing nurse and walked toward the men like I was back in a trauma drill, heart racing but mask secure.

"Can I help you?" I asked, trying to keep steel in my voice.

Scarface stayed silent. The polished one gave a smile that didn't touch his eyes.

"Dr. Carter?"

"Yes."

"I was sent to retrieve you. Mr. De Luca would like a word."

My muscles locked. "I'm sorry, who?"

"You'll want to come with us," he replied, tilting his head slightly. "It's about your father."

The words shattered something inside me.

My father.

I hadn't seen him in almost two years. Not since he vanished under a mountain of bad decisions debts and lies that always ended up at my doorstep. I'd spent years cleaning up after him paying off credit cards I never swiped, calling bail bondsmen between MCAT study sessions, learning disappointment like a second language.

But this—this was something else.

"Is he... okay?" My voice barely existed.

"Alive," the polished man said casually. "For now."

I swallowed hard. "I'm working."

"You were working," Scarface corrected. "You've been relieved."

Relieved?

Tanya stood behind the glass now, pale. The charge nurse gave a small nod permission to go but also a warning not here, not now. The hospital didn't want trouble. And these men were nothing but trouble.

They weren't asking.

I reached for my phone, but the polished man shook his head once.

"No calls, Dr. Carter. Just you."

A cold dread crawled up my spine. Still, I nodded and let them lead me outside into the Philadelphia night that suddenly felt too narrow to breathe in.

The car waiting for us was black and immaculate. Tinted windows. Leather seats. The faint trace of metal beneath the new-car smell—blood, maybe.

No one spoke.

Every second stretched too long. My thoughts spun darker places. Had my father stolen something? Crossed the wrong line? Signed away the last piece of his soul?

When the gates came into view, iron bars, thick hedges, and security cameras like watchful eyes, I knew this wasn’t about money anymore.

This was about power.

And power never played fair.

They escorted me through a mansion of cedar and marble, chandeliers glowing like wealth had a pulse. Silent hallways swallowed the sound of my shoes. My lungs struggled against the pressure of not knowing.

A door opened. And there he was.

Dante De Luca.

He sat behind a wide wooden desk, sleeves rolled to expose strong, veined forearms. Cufflinks flashed in the low light, his black hair neat and precise. He didn’t look up, only finished typing on his phone with unhurried confidence

Then he lifted his gaze.

Pale blue eyes. Rimmed in shadow. Cold. Calculated. And when they locked onto me, it felt like the temperature dropped ten degrees.

"Selena Carter," he said, like he already owned the name.

I fought the instinct to shrink. "What's going on?"

He motioned to the chair across from him. "Sit."

"I'll stand."

His eyes hardened. "Sit."

Not a suggestion.

I sat.

He studied me, silent long enough for anxiety to burrow under my skin. Then he slid a thin folder across the polished wood. My name stamped on the cover.

Inside, there were photos.

of me leaving the hospital. Drinking coffee. Unlocking my apartment door. Shots taken from angles that made my stomach turn.

Like someone had been breathing down my neck for weeks.

My pulse staggered. "What is this?"

"Insurance," he said. "Your father owed me. He ran out of things to pay with."

My hands shook. "So you followed me?"

His expression didn't change. "I had to make sure what I was buying wasn't damaged."

"Buying?" The word tasted like poison.

"Your father offered you in exchange for his life." He spoke so calmly it made everything worse. "His debts are forgiven. As of tonight, you belong to me."

Air refused to enter my lungs. "I'm not property."

"No," he agreed softly. "You're leverage. And leverage stays close."

I stood so quickly the chair scraped the floor. "You can't keep me here."

"I can. And I will."

"You're insane."

He rose too, towering, presence filling the room like smoke. His voice dropped to a dangerous calm.

"Your father signed a blood contract. You are his collateral. You stay here, he continues breathing. You run... he does not."

He was right about one thing

Even after everything, I didn't want my father dead.

Not like this.

Dante stepped closer, voice a lethal whisper. "I don't return what's mine."

"I'm not yours."

A slow, cold curl at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile, an omen.

"We'll see."

Before I could step back, Dante lifted a hand.

The room stilled instantly Scarface and the other man froze near the door like trained weapons waiting to be fired.

"Bring him," Dante said.

My heart slammed against my ribs. "Bring who?"

He didn't answer.

Moments later, the side door opened.

And my father stumbled inside.

He looked smaller than I remembered. Thinner. His hair was grayer, his shoulders slumped like the weight of every bad choice had finally settled in his bones. A split lip. Bruises blooming beneath the collar of his wrinkled shirt. His hands my hands were shaking.

"Selena," he croaked.

The sound of my name in his voice hurt worse than the threat ever could.

I stood so fast I nearly fell. "Dad—"

Dante stepped between us with surgical precision. Not touching me. Not raising his voice. Just existing as an immovable barrier.

"He's alive," Dante said calmly. "Fed. Medicated. Protected."

Protected.

From who?

My father swallowed, eyes glassy. "I didn't want this," he whispered. "I swear to God, baby, I didn't—"

"Enough," Dante said quietly.

My father flinched.

That told me everything.

Dante turned back to me. "Your father didn't just owe me," he said, tone almost instructional. "He owed men who don't negotiate. Russians. Volkov's people."

My stomach dropped.

"I stepped in," Dante continued. "Paid what he couldn't. Made the problem disappear."

"You expect gratitude?" I snapped.

"No," he said evenly. "I expect compliance."

He glanced over his shoulder at my father, not cruelly, not kindly. Just truthfully.

"As long as you stay," Dante said, "he stays alive. Out of their reach. Under my protection."

"And if I don't?"

Dante didn't hesitate. "Then I stop protecting him."

The room felt too small to hold my breathing.

My father's eyes filled. "Selena, please—"

Dante raised a finger again. Silence returned instantly.

"This isn't punishment," Dante said, his voice lower now. "It's structure. Your father created chaos. I contained it."

He looked at me, really looked this time.

"I don't hurt what's valuable," he said. "And you, Dr. Carter, are very valuable."

He nodded once.

"Take him back."

They guided my father out. He didn't fight it. Didn't look back.

The door closed with a final, echoing click.

Only then did Dante exhale.

"You see?" he said quietly. "I'm not cruel. I'm necessary."

I stared at the spot where my father had stood, my chest burning.

"You don't own me," I said hoarsely.

Dante’s gaze sharpened, not angry, not offended.

Amused.

He didn't deny it.

The meeting was over before I could say anything else. they showed me to a guest room larger than my entire apartment. Soft white sheets. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city like a kingdom. A single lock on the door on the outside.

Luxury disguised as a cage.

I sat on the bed, fingers gripping the mattress like it might float me to safety. Outside, the moon was sharp and indifferent, watching a life upend itself.

One hour. That's all it took.

I didn't know who Dante De Luca truly was. But I knew this: if he wanted to break me, he'd have to earn it.

Because if I wanted to survive, I had to be smarter than the devil who thought he owned me.

And I don't break easy.

A/N

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