3

My eyes fluttered open to a blurry sight. I blinked rapidly, trying to clear the fog. My back was pressed against something soft, indicating that I was lying on a mattress.

Once the fog disappeared, all my senses awakened, and the first thing I felt was pain all over my body.

"Ugh, what happened?" I asked in my head, feeling disoriented.

I turned my head to the right, noticing I was in an unfamiliar room. High-end art adorned the walls, and there was luxurious furniture sitting around.

Where was I?

Panic set in as I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to regain my memory. My eyes snapped open when images of people scrambling around and bullets flying in the air flashed in my head.

"You're finally awake." A rich, baritone voice filled the room, and a shiver ran down my spine. "Welcome back, Farfalla."

Turning to the left, my heart thrummed in my chest when I sighted a man by the doorway, peering at me with orbs, which were interwoven with the captivating seems of blue.

I jerked, trying to sit up, but pain lapped over me like the waves of an ocean, forcing me to lie back on the bed.

I grunted, feeling sick in my stomach. I was too busy trying to regain my memory that I didn't hear him open the door.

Farfalla? Who was that?

Forcefully, I sat up, ignoring the excruciating back pain threatening to knock me back on the bed. I pressed myself against the bed's headboard, trembling with my eyes glued on the man's towering frame.

His dark hair fell to his temples and his nape, and on his jaw, I could make out a freshly shaved beard–boxed beard to be precise. His eyes burned with intensity, hinting that he had seen the rough side of life. My eyes drifted to his squared shoulders and broad chest. His biceps, I noticed, were bulging through his white T-shirt.

Returning my eyes to his face, I opened my mouth to speak, but only a pathetic croak came out. I shut my mouth, swallowing a big ball of saliva to ease the dry walls of my throat, but my saliva burned me like a scalding cup.of coffee.

He marched towards me, exuding a powerful aura. I cowered, heart pounding violently against my ribcage like or will burst out.

He stopped beside a small fridge and pulled it open. I watched him, studying his every move like a hawk.

He pulled out a bottle of water, and the rays of sunshine cascading down the window flattered his caramel skin, making it shine. He downed some of the bottle contents into a glass cup and headed towards the bed.

"Here, you need to drink some water," he said, offering me the cup. I couldn't help but notice his Italian accent.

I tossed a sceptical gaze at the water and shook my head in dismay.

"Drink up. It is important for you to stay hydrated. You need to ease your parched up throat," he said, urging me to drink. "I'm not here to hurt you."

I stretched a shaky hand and took the cup. Taking a sip, I grimaced when it stung my throat. I stopped drinking, but he ordered me to drink more. Not wanting to get on his bad side, I drank some more.

The water soothed my throat a little.

I handed the cup back to him, and he sat it on the bedside table.

"Where–where am I?" I managed to ask with a hoarse voice.

"My house," he answered, eyes never leaving my face, making me uncomfortable.

"What am I doing in your house?" I questioned, but I didn't get a response because his phone rang in his pocket.

Digging his hand into his pocket, he pulled it out, and an emotion I couldn't understand flashed in his eyes.

"I'll be right back," he said before leaving me in the room to take the call.

I glanced around again, wondering how I got here.

The door opened with a creak, and I snapped my head in its direction.

"Hello, careful not to bruise your neck," a young, olive-skinned girl said softly, walking into the room with what I assumed to be a laundry basket. "I'm glad you're finally awake. How do you feel?"

"Goo-good," I stuttered, eyeing her from under my lashes.

She sat the basket on the floor and picked out basic dresses. "My name is Viola. Your personal maid."

A frown creased my forehead. My maid? I gulped.

"Where am I?" I asked.

"Don Massimo's mansion," she answered, folding the clothes.

More confusion flooded my head, drowning me.

"Who is Don Massimo?" I questioned, curiosity bubbling.

"The most powerful godfather there is," she answered.

Fear gripped my heart, and I felt electric shocks zapping down my spine. My heart grew erratic, and I swallowed a sharp breath.

"What am I doing here?" My voice shook. "What happened to me? How did this happen?"

"You were shot in the middle of a guerra dei clan," she explained, and then added, "it italian for war of the clans. It is referred to as Faida dei Don, fued of the dons."

I stared at her with furrows of confusion on my forehead. She averted her gaze from the basket to mine. Seeing how dazed I was, she explained better.

"One week ago, two powerful mafia Lords were having a fight, and you got caught in the middle of it, which led to you being hit by a stray bullet," she explained.

My eyes widened, and my pulse raced. "I've been here for one week?!" I exclaimed, my heart palpitating.

Viola nodded. "And I've been taking care of you and changing your clothes."

Just as I was about to ask more questions, the door opened with a creak, and the man from earlier stepped in.

"Good morning, Mr. Massimo," Viola greeted, offering him a curt bow before picking her basket and leaving.

My heart was beating so hard that I could swear the man, whose name I had just learned to be Massimo, could hear it.

I swung my feet to the other side of the bed, curling my toes once they made contact with the cold tiles.

Clearing my throat, I started, "Thank you for taking care of me. I'd like to go back home now."

"Home?" He echoed, looking at me like I had said something foreign. "You're not leaving."

"Why?" I inquired, knitting my brows into a deep frown.

"Because you'll be staying here for a while," he stated, and I blinked rapidly, trying to process his words.

"What, why?"

"We are taking a flight to Italy today," he announced with severity in his tone. "And you're coming with me as my woman, Farfalla."

"What?!" I exclaimed in incredulity with my eyes wide open. "I can't come with you, and why have you been calling me Farfalla?"

"Because I don't know your name."

"My name is Heather."

"Farfalla is better. You're coming with me to Italy. I'll get Viola to pack your bags." He turned and strode towards the door.

Bile rushed up my throat, and I protested. "I can't come with you to Italy because I am going home."

I rose, but pins and needles pricked my skin when he spun to face me with a death glare.

"Do you want to do this the easy way or..." He trailed off, sliding his hand into his pocket and pulling out a gun, pointing it at me. "... or the hard way?"

My heart hammered against the walls of my chest, and I blanched, holding my breath.