Elena Moretti had never been anywhere like this. The gates loomed over her like sentinels, black iron twisting upward into sharp points. Beyond them stretched a driveway lined with flickering lanterns, each one illuminating the immaculate cobblestones beneath her feet. She could hear the quiet hum of engines in the distance, the whisper of guards moving like shadows.
The car slowed, and her escort—a man whose eyes were sharper than a blade—opened the door with mechanical precision. Elena stepped out, her stomach twisting with fear and awe. The mansion ahead of her wasn't just large; it was a fortress. Stone walls rose into towers, windows dark and unyielding. Every detail screamed wealth, power, control, and danger.
Luca De Santis walked beside her, hands in his coat pockets, eyes scanning everything. The faintest smirk curved his lips as he glanced at her trembling hands. "Welcome to your new home," he said. His voice was calm, almost courteous, but Elena felt the steel beneath it.
She swallowed. "I… don't belong here."
"You do now," Luca replied, his gaze unflinching. "And it's time you learned the rules."
The front doors opened before he reached them, revealing a grand hall that seemed to stretch endlessly. Polished marble floors reflected the dim light of chandeliers, and the air smelled faintly of smoke and cedar. Guards lined the walls like statues, watching silently as Elena's eyes darted around, taking in everything—the portraits of stern-faced men in tailored suits, the gleaming weapons displayed as decorations, the way the house seemed to breathe with quiet authority.
One of the lieutenants stepped forward, bowing slightly. "Sir, she's here."
Luca nodded. Elena noticed the subtle tension in the men; they didn't touch her, didn't speak unless spoken to, but the weight of their presence pressed on her chest like armor. She realized immediately that every single person in this place had a role—and any misstep could be fatal.
"Follow me," Luca said, turning toward a grand staircase. Elena hesitated for only a moment before obeying. Every step up the stairs felt heavier than the last. She kept glancing at him, trying to read anything from his expression. But Luca De Santis didn't reveal anything he didn't want revealed.
They arrived at a long corridor lined with closed doors. Luca stopped in front of one. "This will be your room." He pushed it open, and Elena blinked. The room was lavish—silk sheets, heavy curtains, a desk with a neat stack of papers, and a window overlooking the estate's gardens. Sunlight—or what little the evening allowed—glinted off the marble floor. But despite the beauty, the room felt like a cage.
Elena set down her small bag, hands trembling. She didn't know if it was fear, awe, or anger coursing through her veins. Probably all three.
Luca leaned against the doorway, silent, observing. "You'll stay here until you learn the rules," he said.
"What rules?" she asked, her voice steadier than she felt.
"The rules of survival," he said simply. "And obedience. But mostly survival."
She wanted to argue, to yell, to run, to do anything—but her mind refused to work that way. She had survived the night, but survival came at a price. She knew it, and she hated it.
Luca's gaze swept the room once more, then back to her. "Your father left a mark you don't understand yet," he said, almost casually. "I will tell you when the time is right. Until then, behave."
Elena felt her stomach drop. Her father. Carlo Moretti. She had thought his death was an accident, a robbery gone wrong. Now she understood, faintly, that she had walked straight into the story of his life—and into the danger that had killed him.
The footsteps of guards echoed down the hall, a soft reminder that she was never truly alone. She sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping her arms around herself, trying to breathe, trying to anchor herself in the small corner of the world she could call hers.
The door clicked shut behind Luca, and she realized the sound carried finality.
She wasn't in the alley anymore. She wasn't a bystander. She was claimed.
And in the silence of the mansion, Elena understood what it meant.
She had survived the gun.
But survival was only the beginning