The ride was silent. Not the peaceful kind of silence, the kind that presses down on your chest, makes you aware of every heartbeat, every shallow breath.
Alessio sat across from me, one arm draped over the seat, fingers tapping against his knee. His gaze never left the road. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. The car itself seemed like an extension of him—controlled, precise, dangerous.
I wanted to ask a hundred questions. Who were those men? Why was I here? What the hell did he want from me? But my voice felt small in the space between us.
Finally, he glanced at me, sharp, calculating. "Don't speak unless I ask you to."
I swallowed. "Right." My throat was dry, my hands itching to move. My mind, though, refused to cooperate.
He smirked, almost imperceptibly, and returned his attention to the city lights. "Good. That will save you some trouble."
Trouble. That word hung between us like a warning. I had been trying all my life to avoid trouble. Now it had found me—and it had a name. Alessio De Luca.
The car slowed outside a building I recognized from whispers and headlines: the De Luca estate. Dark walls, iron gates, guards that didn't blink. This was not just a home. This was a fortress.
Alessio stopped the car. "Get out."
My stomach dropped. "Excuse me?"
"Out." His tone left no room for argument. I hesitated, the air thick around us. This was a man who made threats without raising his voice. That alone made the world feel smaller, suffocating.
I climbed out, careful not to touch him, careful not to provoke him. The guard at the gate gave me a single, cold nod. Alessio followed. Quietly, like a shadow I couldn't outrun.
Inside, the estate was a maze of marble floors, velvet drapes, and the kind of luxury that makes you feel insignificant just standing in the room. He led me into a study, a room lined with books and weapons, a strange combination that somehow fit him perfectly.
He closed the door. The lock clicked.
"You stay here. Until I decide otherwise," he said, leaning against the desk. Eyes dark. Dangerous. Alive.
"Until you decide… what?" I managed, heart pounding.
"Until I know you won't make this worse," he said.
I opened my mouth, but no words came. What could I say to a man who just held my life in his hands like it was nothing?
He studied me, and for a moment, I thought I saw… curiosity. Interest. Something human, buried deep, but unmistakable. Then it was gone. Replaced by the calm, calculated control that had made him so terrifying in the first place.
"You've seen too much tonight," he said finally. "And if anyone finds out you're alive, it will be your fault. Understand?"
I nodded. My life, my choices, my freedom—it was no longer mine.
And in that instant, I realized something I couldn't deny: I was already drawn in.
I hated him for it. I hated him for making me feel so small, yet so alive.
And I hated that I wanted to see more.