Deals were made behind closed doors—money, bodies, favors, powers exchanged in hushed tones I wasn't allowed to hear.
The Mancusos had backed off– temporarily, and we were back at the mansion. But this silence didn't feel like safety; it felt like something had just ended and something else was about to begin.
I stretched out. My muscles ached, not from rest, but from being taken.
My limbs were sore in places that still remembered his grip.
Even the mattress felt bruised from my presence.
Everything I had allowed him to do—every thrust, every command, every brutal, beautiful breaking point flooded my memory. My wrists were still raw from the makeshift restraints. My thighs trembled with a soreness I hadn't known I could crave.
But it wasn't the ache that woke me.
I exhaled shakily, reaching toward the cold side of the bed and my hand brushed something solid and warm.
Don Pedro.
My eyes snapped open.
He was sitting at the edge of the bed, staring at me. Not in the way men leer but with the cold focus of a predator watching it's prey.
His suit was immaculate—pressed, black, and tailored to perfection. His tie hung loosely around his neck, and he was exceptionally charming. How could I not want this devil?
His presence still swallowed all the oxygen in the room. But this morning, it didn't make me flinch.
I blinked hard. "You're staring."
"I'm making sure you're still breathing."
"That's creepy," I muttered, pulling the duvet
He chuckled—barely. "That's caution."
His gaze dropped. "You bruise easily." He scanned my body.
I glanced down.
A dark mark bloomed across my hip bone shaped like fingers–his fingers. Another mark circled my wrist from the restraint.
I shifted under the duvet. There was something shameful about being seen after the storm.
"You should rest." His command was etched with care.
"Stop watching me sleep," I chuckled, avoiding his gaze.
He stood.
"I'm going away."
My breath caught. Just for a second. Just long enough to sting.
"Huh." I exhaled, sitting up too fast.
"I have a business meeting in Paris. I'll be gone for a week." His hand slid into my hair, stroking it with deliberate softness.
A week.
Seven nights with no armor, no Don Pedro.
I frowned. "That's seven days."
He nodded. "I know."
"Can I come?" I asked softly, almost afraid of the answer.
He shook his head. "No. It's not safe."
I searched his eyes. "Can I ask you not to go?"
His lips twitched slightly. "I wasn't asking your permission."
The words stung even though he said it quietly. Corners of my eyes burned from holding back tears.
"I'm going to miss you," A hairline crack slipped into the words.
"You shouldn't," he replied in a low, almost regretful tone, like he hated that I felt anything at all for him.
"But I will," I leaned towards him.
He exhaled, not in frustration, more like... restraint.
His gaze lingered on me for a moment, the space between us crackling with things neither of us knew how to say.
"Don't leave the house. Damien is here. Osaro too."
I didn't want Damien, because I definitely didn't want to have to explain why I wasn't the same girl he touched.
"When do you leave?" I tried not to sound like a child clinging to her monster.
"Now." He said plainly.
I reached for him, but his hand closed over mine before I could make contact. An instinctive move, like muscle memory.
I faltered.
"You don't let me touch you."
He didn't respond.
Just his concentrated stare.
I shrugged. "I'll be waiting."
He brushed a strand of hair from my face. "Do not leave the house. I can't protect you if you won't listen." His tone this time was more plea than order.
I nodded.
He grabbed his suitcase, walked out and the click of the door echoed in the still room.
The silence that followed was loud.
I got out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom. I washed quickly, willing the ache to swirl down the drain.
Emerging in a towel, I heard a knock at the door.
"Who's there?"
No answer.
The door opened anyway.
Damien stepped inside, ignoring that I was half-naked, raw and fragile.
My grip tightened in the towel. "What are you doing here?"
He grinned. "Relax. I've seen you naked before...touched you too." Cocky.
My blood ran cold, I stepped back instinctively.
"Don't be ridiculous. Leave, Damien."
He flopped on the bed, arms stretched. "Do you wanna go out?"
I blinked. "What?"
"Shopping, dinner… anywhere you want. A real fun."
I shook my head. "No."
He smiled. "You sure?"
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"You scared of my old man?" he teased.
"He told me not to leave the house. I intend to listen."
Damien scoffed. "He told me that all the time. Guess what? I never listened. And he never found out cause I don't get caught."
I shrugged. "Damien just go, I'm not interested."
"Are you sure you're okay just rotting in here without a life?" He sat up. "Come on...you need to cool off. Breathe."
I hesitated. Just a second.
And that was all it took for him to spot the weakness.
"You really think he's gonna find out?" He pressed. "Osaro won't say shit. Not if we're careful."
I chewed my lip. "I don't know…"
Another pause.
Then.. "Fine. Let me get dressed."
His grin widened. "Yo."
I tilted my head. "Leave."
He chuckled. "Nothing I haven't seen before."
I glared. "Damien."
"Can I touch it?" he teased.
I snatched the pillow from the edge of the bed and hurled it at him. He dodged, laughing.
Finally, he left the room.
I pulled on jeans and a black top with trembling hands.
Maybe I just needed air. Just for a few hours. No harm, right?
A few minutes later, I was slouched low in the front seat of his tinted car, my hair falling forward like a curtain.
As we rolled past the gate, Damien angled his body to block Osaro's view. Osaro's gaze lingered, but he didn't stop him.
The city unfolded before me in color and sound. Catania—loud, beautiful and alive. It felt like another universe.
Damien took me to the biggest mall in Sicily—Centro Sicilia. My mom and I used to make the three-hour drive from Palermo just to come here. It literally has everything anyone could ever need.
He let me try on gold jewelries, dresses, diamond bracelets and perfumes I didn't need. I laughed too loud, twirled in front of a mirror and took up space. For once after a long while, I didn't feel like a possession, I felt like a person.
We ate gelato, played arcade games, took photos in a booth—silly faces, messy hair, full laughter.
It felt good. Too good.
And then Damien ruined it. He leaned in to kiss me, warm breath brushing my cheek.
I turned my head just in time.
"I think we should go home."
He pulled back, his smile tightening. "You hate me that much now?"
"I don't hate you, Damien. I never did. But we can't… do that anymore."
"So that night meant nothing to you?"
I shrugged. "Not anymore."
He glanced down. "I'm not giving up on us, I won't."
My lips parted and closed searching for the right words.
Then, a scream ripped through the mall.
Gunshots.
The arcade lights flickered. People scattered like ants.
We rushed out of the photo booth to see what was happening.
The mall was under siege by masked gunmen, dressed in black, armed to the teeth.
The main doors slammed shut with a bang.
"Nobody leaves!" one of them bellowed.
Chaos erupted—screams pierced the air, a child's wail echoed, a mother crouched trembling under a bench, shoppers stampeded up the escalators.
I met Damien's gaze. He held mine.
Heart hammering.
We shouldn't have left the house.