GIANNA POV
Time does strange things when you're terrified.
Gianna doesn't know how long she's been sitting in this chair. An hour maybe. Or three hours. The fluorescent lights overhead don't have shadows so there's nothing to measure by except her own heartbeat and the way her throat keeps closing up.
Nobody's touched her since Matteo left.
She's alone in the basement except for two men standing by the door who don't blink and don't look at her. They could be statues. She's tried talking to them twice. Got nothing but silence in return. Now she just sits and breathes and fights the panic that keeps trying to claw its way out of her chest.
Her wrists are red where they grabbed her. Not broken. Just marked. She keeps staring at the marks like they're proof this is real. Like her mind might be playing tricks and soon she'll wake up in her apartment and this will be a nightmare.
But nightmares fade when you wake up.
This doesn't feel like it's going anywhere.
The basement door opens and Matteo Corsini walks in like he owns the space. He probably does. He probably owns everything in a ten-block radius. He has the kind of presence that makes other people seem smaller just by existing in the same room.
He pulls a chair and sits directly in front of her. Close enough that she can see the details. The sharp line of his jaw. The way his dark eyes don't blink much. The way he moves like someone who's never second-guessed himself in his entire life.
"You're probably wondering what happens next," he says.
His voice is different now. Softer than it was in the van. That almost scares her more. Softness in dangerous people is just violence wearing a mask.
"Your father is Vincent DeLuca."
It's not a question.
She nods because her throat won't work for words.
"Two weeks ago, he moved into territory that belongs to me. Territory that was clearly marked as belonging to me. Thirty of my men died clearing his people out. That's thirty families that lost someone. Thirty people who won't come home."
He says it the way someone might recite facts about weather. No anger. No grief. Just information being transferred from one person to another.
"In organized crime, there are rules. Your father knows this. He knew when he crossed that line that there would be consequences. He chose to accept the risk. That was his decision."
Gianna's hands clench into fists. She's never heard anyone talk about her father this way. Like he's just another problem to be solved.
"Those thirty deaths have to mean something," Matteo continues. "If they don't, if I just let it slide and move on, then every other organization in this city thinks they can test me too. They think I'm weak. They start moving on my territory. Before long, I have nothing left."
He leans back slightly. His eyes never leave hers.
"So here's what happens. You're going to be here for seventy-two hours. Your father will hear about it. He'll understand that you're my leverage. He'll have a choice to make. Return the territory he stole, withdraw his operations, and acknowledge that he made a mistake. Or he'll refuse. And then you stop being useful to me."
The last part comes out quiet. That's what scares her. Not the volume. The gentleness.
"That's it?" she manages to say. "You kidnap me and give him three days?"
"That's more than he gave my men," Matteo says. "They got no warning. They got dead."
She understands then. This isn't cruelty. It's mathematics. It's a formula where her life is a variable and her father's choices are the answer.
"What if he doesn't comply?" she asks even though she knows the answer.
"Then you become a liability instead of an asset."
He stands. He's taller when he's standing. Everything about him is bigger and sharper and more terrifying from this angle.
"You'll be moved to a room upstairs. You'll have water and food. You won't be restrained. You won't be hurt. As long as you don't do anything stupid, this is temporary."
"And if I try to escape?" She hates that her voice shakes on the word.
"Then you prove you're dangerous. And dangerous prisoners either die or become useful. I'm betting you're smart enough to figure out which one's the better option."
He walks toward the door and she realizes this is her moment. This is the moment where she's supposed to do something. Fight or scream or throw herself at him or any of the thousand things that brave people do in situations like this.
But her father didn't raise her to be brave. He raised her to be invisible.
So she sits and watches him leave and hates herself for it.
The two men by the door move toward her. This time their hands are gentler when they help her stand. They guide her upstairs. The basement fades. She passes through hallways that smell like old wood and expensive leather. They stop at a room on the second floor.
It's not a prison cell.
It's a bedroom. A real one. Soft carpet. A bed with actual sheets. A window with bars on the outside that she only notices because she's looking for them. The men point to the bathroom and leave. Lock the door from the outside. Of course they lock it.
She stands in the middle of the room and realizes she's still wearing her dress. The one her father chose. The blood from the window cuts has dried on her arm. She looks like someone who's been hurt. She looks like a victim.
She goes to the window.
The street below is quiet. It's still dark outside but the kind of dark that's starting to fade. Dawn is coming. Another day. The city keeps moving like nothing happened. Like a girl didn't just disappear from the FDR Drive at 2 AM.
Her phone is gone. Of course it is. Sofia is probably texting wondering where she is. Her father might be waking up to news that his daughter was taken. Or maybe he already knows. Maybe Matteo sent him a message.
She touches her reflection on the glass. The woman looking back at her looks like a stranger. Eyes too wide. Face too pale. Hair falling out of its careful style.
That's when the realization hits.
Her father will pay. He'll restore the territory. He'll do whatever Matteo asks because he loves her. Because that's what fathers do. They sacrifice everything for their daughters.
And Matteo knows this.
Which means he knew from the start that her father would comply.
Which means the seventy-two hours isn't actually about her father's choice at all.
It's about something else.
Something Matteo isn't telling her.
She turns from the window just as she hears the lock click. The door opens. Matteo stands in the doorway again. Alone this time. He's changed. No longer wearing the suit. Now he's in dark clothes that make him blend with the shadows.
"You should sleep," he says.
"How did you know my father would choose me?" she asks instead.
His expression shifts. Just slightly. Like she's said something that actually matters.
"Because," he says slowly, "I know what it's like to love someone more than you love power. It's the most dangerous thing a person can do."
He closes the door before she can ask what he means.
And that's when she understands.
This isn't just a kidnapping.
It's something else entirely.