Liviana
I don't know how long I've been staring at the wall.
The grime and filth smeared across it tell stories of suffering: blood, scrapes of fingernails, dried spit, and worse. Each mark, each stain, a testament to the countless souls who have been locked away before me. This dungeon is a pit of despair, a place meant to break the spirit, to crush resistance.
But they haven't broken me. Not yet.
I shift slightly, the cold metal shackles digging into my already bruised wrists and ankles. Every movement is agony, but I refuse to show weakness. That's what he wants; to see me crumble, to hear me beg.
My uncle, Dario De Luca, murdered my parents and took control of everything they had built: the estate, the vineyard, and me. No one questioned it. No one dared. He had money, influence, and a carefully crafted alibi.
I was just a teenager when it happened, screaming into the night while the police called it an accident. A fire, they said. A tragedy. But I know the truth.
He is disgustingly greedy, obsessed with power and control. He decided to kill my parents and steal the life they built, the life that was supposed to be mine when I turned 21. He wrapped himself in legal paperwork and charm, made himself my guardian, and played the grieving uncle for the cameras.
But behind closed doors, he revealed the monster he truly is.
He kept me close at first, smiling at lawyers and social workers, acting like the doting uncle. But the moment they were gone, the chains appeared, first metaphorical, then literal. The estate became a prison. The vineyard, a graveyard of memories.
Now I'm 24, and I'm locked in here again. In the same underground room he always throws me in when I step out of line.
And this time, all I did was ask to leave.
I don't want money. I don't want revenge. I just want freedom.
He says it's for my protection. That the world out there is worse. That I'd never survive without him.
Lies.
I clench my fists against the stone floor, my nails digging into my palms. Every day I spend in this pit, I lose a piece of myself. And still, I resist. I remember my parents' voices, my mother's laughter, my father's stories under the olive trees. I cling to them like a lifeline.
Dario thinks he's won. That the world has forgotten about me.
But I haven't forgotten what he did.
And I will escape.
I don't know how.
I don't know when.
But I must.
Because if I stay here much longer, I won't be Liviana anymore. I'll just be another one of his secrets, rotting away in the dark.
I hear footsteps. Heavy, deliberate, echoing against the stone floor. My heart lurches.
The door creaks open, light piercing through the darkness for a second.
Jeff stands in the doorway, the perverted giant of a man. With straying hands that is always grazing my hips and nipples here and there.
He makes me sick.
He doesn't go all the way, probably a warning from my uncle.
Sometimes I imagine what my fate would be if my uncle didn't label me as off limits to his men.
"get up and go to your room" he barks, I moved to my feet as he unlocked the shackles.
Caspian
Accidenti! I curse, slamming my glass down onto the mahogany desk. The whiskey sloshes over the rim, a single drop splattering onto the stack of documents in front of me.
"That bastard is blocking the deal," I mutter. "Again. How do we deal with this, Seb?"
Sebastian Bianchi, my right-hand man and oldest friend, leans against the desk, arms crossed.
"Brute force," he says simply. "It's the only language men like Dario De Luca understand."
I pinch the bridge of my nose, swallowing down the rising frustration. "I want to crush him, Seb. But you know the rules. No noise. No heat. No collateral."
The maps and contracts in front of me blur together. Land surveys, legal filings, rejected proposals. For months, I've been negotiating to acquire a prime piece of estate in the foothills outside Siena. Fertile land. Isolated. Perfect for expansion.
But Dario De Luca won't budge.
He holds the title, inherited under questionable circumstances. The Bureau of Land Management has been stalling me at every turn. I know why.
The director is on De Luca's payroll.
"You'd think a man who inherited his fortune off someone else's grave would be satisfied," I growl.
Seb shrugs. "Greed makes men bold. And stupid."
On paper, De Luca is just another businessman. But behind the suits and family portraits is a man who got away with murder. There are rumors. A fire. A niece. Disappearances, he whispers are low, but persistent, and yet he walks free.
He's untouchable.
Almost.
I'm not a saint. I built my empire with calculated decisions. But I don't hurt people to get ahead. I don't trap women in gilded cages. And I don't forget.
"I need that land," I say, standing. "And I always get what I want."
Seb raises an eyebrow. "So what's the move?"
"I go down there. Personally. Face to face. Let him see I'm not just some investor in a suit."
"You think he'll listen?"
I smirk, slow and cold. "No. But I want to look him in the eye when he lies to me."
Seb straightens. "Want backup?"
"yeah, get everyone ready."
As we head toward the elevator, I call over my assistant, Elsie. She's sharp as a blade, and twice as dangerous.
"Cancel my afternoon meetings."
She looks up from her laptop. "This about the land issue still?"
"Among other things."
Her eyes narrow. "Be careful, Caspian. That man doesn't play fair."
"Neither do I," I say, stepping into the elevator. "But it's not me who should be afraid."
As the doors slide shut, I think of the estate the tall gates, the winding vineyards, the decaying house that could be so much more. And something else.