The mansion was quiet.
Guards stationed. Lights dimmed. The night had settled over the Moretti estate like a velvet blanket , heavy and still.
Dante was alone in his room.
It was spacious, dark-toned , sleek black marble floors, floor-to-ceiling glass that overlooked the hills, shelves of expensive liquor, no signs of warmth. Nothing personal. Just power.
He poured a drink.
No ice.
He leaned against the edge of the window and took a sip.
The room was dead silent , but his mind wasn't.
"I'd rather die than expose my body to you."
Her voice played again.
Not loud.
Not emotional.
Just clear. Burned into his memory.
He exhaled, slow. His jaw flexed once.
Of all the things he'd been called ,monster, psycho, freak, devil , none of them echoed like that one sentence.
He'd bought women before.
Toys. Rewards. Distractions.
They all knew the rules.
They didn't scream. They didn't fight. And if they did, they broke easy. He was used to tears, not fire.
But her?
She looked him dead in the eyes , and welcomed death over obedience.
He took another sip, slower this time.
And then… he smiled.
Not wide. Not joyful.
Just a slight twitch of the lips, like he'd remembered something funny. Or dangerous.
He didn't know what exactly stirred inside him ,wasn't sure if it was anger, respect, or curiosity.
Didn't matter.
She was his now.
And whatever she was hiding under that stubborn silence… he'd find it.
Eventually..
.
.
.
Her head throbbed.
A sharp, pulsing pain behind her eyes pulled her out of the darkness. The floor beneath her was cold , stone cold , and it smelled like metal dried blood.
Aria's eyes flew open.
Bars, walls, no windows.
She was in a cage.
Her breath caught in her throat. Her hands fumbled over the stone floor, her body aching from being thrown, dragged, slapped. Her heart slammed against her ribs.
And then it all came back. The van, the club.
Dante.
The slap.
Her face burned with the memory.
"Lasciatemi uscire!" she screamed, scrambling up and grabbing the cold bars.
(Let me out!)
"Fatemi uscire, bastardi!"
(Let me out, bastards!)
She slammed her fists against the bars again and again. Metal rattled through the stone room. Her voice echoed down the hall.
"Non sono una di loro! Non appartengo a voi!"
(I'm not one of them! I don't belong to you!)
Footsteps. Voices.
Two men approached the cell ,both dressed in black, clearly guards, both with guns strapped under their jackets.
They smirked the second they saw her.
"Cos'è tutto questo rumore? Hai appena dormito in un letto da principessa."
(What's all this noise? You just had a princess bed.)
Aria's hands gripped the bars tighter. Her face twisted in rage.
"Andate al diavolo! Lasciatemi uscire!"
(Go to hell! Let me out!)
One of the men let out a short laugh. The other nudged him, amused.
"Questa ha fuoco."
(This one's got fire.)
"Vedrai... anche i più selvaggi imparano a obbedire."
(You'll see… even the wild ones learn to obey.)
"Alla fine, tutte si inginocchiano."
(In the end, they all kneel.)
Aria screamed in fury and threw her shoe at the bars , it clattered between them, missing both men, but making her point loud and clear.
The men laughed louder.
"Molto coraggiosa. Ma vedremo per quanto."
(Very brave. But we'll see for how long.)
They turned and walked off, still laughing, their voices fading.
Aria slid down the bars slowly, breathing hard.
Her hands shook. Her lips trembled. She bit down to stop herself from crying.
.
..
.
Dante sat in his study, a glass of dark liquor in his hand, one leg crossed over the other. The fireplace crackled quietly across the room, but the heat didn't reach him. He liked the cold.
There was a knock on the door.
"Avanti," he muttered. (Come in.)
The door opened and in stepped Marco , tall, shaved head.. Dante's right hand man.
Behind him stood Luca, a younger guy, still getting used to the job.
"Capo… la ragazza è sveglia."
(Boss… the girl is awake.)
Dante didn't look up.
"E?"
(And?)
Marco cleared his throat.
"Sta… facendo casino. Urlando. Ha lanciato una scarpa. Ha quasi rotto le sbarre."
(She's… making a mess. Screaming. Threw a shoe. Nearly broke the bars.)
Luca added quickly, "Sta bestemmiando. Come un demonio."
(She's cursing. Like a demon.)
Dante smirked. Finally looked up.
"Tutta questa energia… dopo un colpo in faccia?"
(All that energy… after a hit to the face?)
"È pazza." Luca said.
(She's crazy.)
"Good." Dante said in English.
Marco tilted his head. "Boss?"
Dante stood up, slow and deliberate, walking toward the window. His drink still in hand.
"Means she's not soft," he said, switching back and forth. "Not like the others. She fights."
Marco stepped forward slightly. "Vuoi che la sediamo? Possiamo darle qualcosa… farla calmare."
(You want us to sedate her? We can give her something… calm her down.)
Dante turned, expression unreadable.
"Sedarla? Per cosa? Perché ha coraggio?"
(Sedate her? For what? Because she's got courage?)
He sipped his drink.
"Let her scream."
They stared at him.
He took one step closer, voice lower.
"Lasciatela urlare. Lasciatela perdere la voce."
(Let her scream. Let her lose her voice.
"She'll get tired eventually."
Luca nodded nervously. "Sì, capo."
(Yes, boss.)
Dante turned back to the fire.
"Now leave."
They both exited quickly, the heavy door closing behind them.
Dante didn't move for a moment. He stared into the flames.
Then , again , her voice rang in his mind.
"I'd rather die than expose my body to you."
He didn't smile this time.
He just finished his drink.
..
.
.
Aria didn't remember falling asleep.
After hours of yelling, kicking, and pacing in that frozen cage, her body finally gave out. Her voice was gone. Her fists were bruised. Her chest ached from breathing too hard.
The dungeon had no clock, no windows , just the cold. The kind of cold that seeps into your bones.
She was curled up against the wall, half-asleep, when the metal door slammed open.
Before she could lift her head, two men rushed in.
"Muoviti."
(Move.)
They grabbed her arms.
"No—stop!" Her voice cracked. She tried to fight, but her body was too weak. Too tired. Her stomach twisted from hunger, and her wrists felt like jelly.
She was dragged down a different hallway now , not the dungeon route.
It was cleaner. Warmer. Brighter.
Her eyes were barely open when they entered a massive bedroom.
Walls the color of soft beige stone. Golden chandeliers. White velvet curtains swaying by an open window. A fireplace at the far end, quietly burning. The bed alone looked like it belonged in a palace , oversized, layered with pale pink satin sheets, embroidered pillows, and a carved mahogany frame.
Without a word, they dropped her onto it.
She gasped at the sudden softness ,so different from the cold dungeon floor.
And before she could sit up, her eyes shut again.
Sleep dragged her under like a wave.
Later... around 11:00 a.m.
She stirred.
The smell of soap and firewood hung in the air. For a moment, she forgot where she was. The bed was too warm. Too soft.
Then she sat up , fast.
Panic hit.
This wasn't her room. This wasn't even her world.
She pushed the satin sheet off and looked around in confusion.
And that's when she saw her.
A woman.
Standing by a chair, holding a blush pink dress in her hands.
She looked to be in her late 30s. Hair tied neatly in a low bun. Dressed in a dark uniform. Professional. Beautiful. Cold.
Her eyes met Aria's ,no pity, no smile.
"Good," she said, her Italian accent smooth and proper. "You're awake."
She held up the dress.
"È ora di fare la doccia. Poi mangerai. Indosserai questo."
(It's time to shower. Then you'll eat. You'll wear this.)
Aria didn't respond.
She just stared at the woman, unsure whether to be confused, angry, or scared.
The maid laid the dress on the chair gently.
"You have thirty minutes."
Then she turned on her heels and walked out, closing the door behind her.