The drive out to Alessio Valterra's estate dragged on, way longer than it should've. The black SUV slid through the sleeping city, barely making a sound—just eating up streetlights and leaving a heavy darkness pressing against the glass. Elara sat wedged between Luca and Matteo, Alessio's men. Both of them are silent. Both armed. Both looked like they'd been carved out of stone and then taught not to blink.
Her wrists were free now, but honestly? The invisible leash felt even tighter.
Alessio sat up front, half-lit by the glow of his cigarette. Sharp jaw, eyes ahead, saying absolutely nothing to her since that alley. Not a word. Not a glance. He acted like she didn't exist, but she could feel his attention anyway, crawling over her skin, squeezing her lungs.
The city faded behind them. The road curved into the countryside, winding through tall cypresses and dense woods that rustled in the wind. It got colder. Quieter. The kind of silence that makes your heartbeat sound embarrassingly loud.
Elara pressed her forehead to the window, breath fogging up the glass.
"Where are we?" she whispered.
No answer from Matteo. Luca didn't so much as twitch.
And Alessio? He just exhaled smoke, like she hadn't even spoken.
But something had shifted. She felt it in her bones. The rules out here weren't the ones she grew up with. This was his world—a place where people vanished, where deals were sealed with blood, where loyalty cost more than money.
A place where she belonged to him.
Her throat went dry.
When the SUV turned left, she finally saw it.
The Valterra Estate rose out of the dark like a relic—massive wrought-iron gates, taller than anything she'd ever seen, flanked by two armored trucks. Men in black stood on either side, rifles slung across their chests, eyes flat and cold.
The gates slid open, quiet as a secret.
The SUV rolled on through.
As they wound up the long driveway, Elara's heart thudded in her throat. Calling this place a house was a joke—it was a fortress. A huge mansion built of dark stone, three stories and then some, with towers and balconies and windows that caught the moonlight and threw it back, sharp as a knife.
The air felt ancient.
Dangerous.
Finally, Matteo spoke. "Welcome home."
Elara gritted her teeth. "This isn't my home."
Alessio flicked his cigarette out the window, just barely turning his head. His eyes caught hers in the rearview mirror.
"Everything of mine is home to you."
First words he'd said to her since that alley. Not a threat. Just a fact.
The SUV stopped in front of the main entrance. Luca got out first, then Matteo. Elara followed, not dragged, not shoved—just guided, like someone carrying a rare vase.
Or something breakable.
Alessio came out last. Night air seemed to settle around him, giving him even more presence. He lit another cigarette, didn't bother looking at her.
"Follow me."
She didn't move. Couldn't. Her feet were glued to the stone, her chest tight.
He didn't look back, but his voice sharpened. "Elara."
She flinched. Hearing her name in his mouth felt like being touched without warning.
"Don't make me repeat myself."
Finally, her legs worked. She followed him up the marble steps and past the massive doors, carved with symbols she couldn't recognize.
Two guards swung them open.
She stepped inside and felt the line between old life and new snap shut behind her.
The place was stunning—and terrifying. The foyer was huge, with a staircase that split in two, dark marble floors polished to a shine, chandeliers dripping with crystals. Portraits of Valterra men lined the walls, their painted eyes following her, cold and watchful.
Men who'd killed. Men who'd ruled.
The air smelled like cedar, smoke, and something secret.
"This way," Alessio said, not bothering to slow down.
She followed, her footsteps echoing. Every room they passed seemed more intimidating than the last—security rooms, steel doors, lavish sitting rooms, endless hallways glowing gold.
Finally, Alessio stopped at a door and opened it.
Her breath caught.
It wasn't a cell. Not even close. The bedroom was beautiful—a canopy bed with white curtains, soft lighting, a fireplace, a balcony with a view of the grounds. Dresser, armchair, vanity, wardrobe. Way too nice for someone like her.
Too gentle, considering how he'd brought her here.
Her throat tightened.
"This… is for me?"
"For now," Alessio said.
"For now?"
He didn't even blink. "Don't make me repeat myself."
She squeezed her eyes shut for a second.
His words were always cold, but underneath there was something else—something dangerous, something she didn't have a name for.
Alessio stepped in, close enough for her to feel the air tighten.
"You stay here," he said. "Eat here. Sleep here. Don't move unless I say."
Her lips shook. "I'm not your prisoner."
He stared at her—really stared this time, not looking away.
"Elara… you were sold at an auction for the dead."
His voice went low, almost dangerous.
"I'm the only reason you're still alive."
Now they were face to face. Too close.
"You're mine until I decide you're not."
Her heart hammered so hard she could barely hear.
Alessio reached out, not to hurt her, just to tip her chin up with his fingers—gentle, almost careful.
"And you'll learn," he murmured, "that being mine isn't the worst thing that can happen."
Her breath hitched.
Not from fear.
Something sharper, something she didn't want to name.
He let her go and stepped back.
Just then, Luca walked in with a tray of clothes—soft things, delicate, nothing like the roughness outside these walls.
Elara felt a rush of confusion. And something like betrayal, but aimed at herself.
Why did some part of her feel safe here?
Why did she feel, for the first time, truly seen?
She hated it.
Alessio headed for the door, hand on the knob. He paused, and didn't look back.
"Elara," he said, voice softer than before.
She froze.
"Don't leave this room tonight. Not until I say."
He left.
The door shut behind him.
And the weight of the Valterra Estate pressed in on her.
She wasn't free.
She wasn't safe.
She wasn't alone.
She belonged to a man she should fear—
and she couldn't stop thinking about it.