Attach Rosaria to the ring on the floor.

You kneel beside Rosaria's chair and feed the leather leash through the iron ring. The metal is cool against your fingers, polished smooth by countless other clips sliding through. The clasp clicks shut with a sound that feels too loud in your head.

Rosaria seems to hear it as well, and she goes very still. You look up and find her staring down at the leash, at where it disappears into the floor, securing her in place. Her throat works as she swallows.

"Okay," she says softly. "Right. Okay."

You stand and take your own seat across from her. The table is small, intimate - you could reach across and touch her hand if you wanted. She's sitting very straight, her hands folded in her lap, and you realize with a jolt that she can't lean back comfortably without the leash pulling taut against her collar.

"Is it too tight?" you ask.

"I don't know. I guess... No." Her voice is steady. "It's fine. I just... I can feel it. Every time I move."

A waiter appears - a young Patruda man with an easy smile and a white apron. "Good evening. Welcome to Tidal. Can I start you with drinks?"

"Wine," you say immediately. "Red. Something Italian."

"Excellent choice, sir." He places leather-bound menus on the table. "And for your companion? We have a specialty straw for collared and tied guests, or-"

"Wine as well," Rosaria interrupts. "No straw."

The waiter nods and disappears.

You open your menu but your eyes slide past the listings to the table beside yours. A couple - him in his fifties, silver-haired and relaxed in linen; her younger, maybe mid-thirties, blonde, gorgeous. She's kneeling on a cushion beside his chair, not at the table at all. Her wrists are cuffed behind her back and she's wearing what looks like a leather corset laced so tight her breasts swell above the top edge. A bowl of pasta sits on the floor in front of her. As you watch, the man spears a piece of chicken from his own plate and holds it down to her mouth. She takes it delicately, her eyes never leaving his face.

He strokes her hair. "Good girl."

You look away, heat crawling up your neck. When you glance back at Rosaria, she's watching them too. Her expression is unreadable.

"Matteo," she says quietly.

"Yes?"

"I can still feel it. The belt. It's been going for... what, three hours now?"

You check your watch. Three and a half, actually.

"I know," you say.

Her fingers twist together in her lap. The leash pools slightly on the floor beside her chair. "I don't know if I can eat like this."

The waiter returns with wine and water, setting them down with practiced efficiency. "Are we ready to order?"