005

Svetlana felt panic rise in her chest once more. She turned her head slowly—and there he was. A man in his twenties, tall, athletic, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, with dark hair and piercing eyes. He had stepped through a hidden door, one that seemed to emerge from the hedges like a secret passage only he knew.

His gaze lingered on her with a mix of intrigue and amusement. It was as if he were savoring the moment, waiting to see what she would do next.

Fear rooted her in place, and her grip faltered. Before she could react, her hands slipped, and she began to fall.

But she never hit the ground.

He moved faster than her thoughts. In one swift motion, he closed the distance and caught her midair. Her breath fled her lungs from the shock of their bodies colliding. When she looked up, she found herself staring into his eyes.

Time stopped.

He held her with ease, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. His eyes, which just seconds ago had gleamed with mischief, now shimmered with something else—something she couldn’t quite name.

“Who are you?” he asked, his voice softer now, nearly a whisper.

Svetlana couldn’t answer. Her mind was a whirlwind of fear and confusion.

Dante, on the other hand, was stunned. He recognized her. But what the hell was she doing here? In Calabria?

Svetlana stepped back, the marble floor cold under her shoes as she put distance between herself and the man who had emerged from the shadows like he belonged to them. Distrust shone in her eyes—a sharp blend of fear and defiance.

“Who are you?” she asked in English, her foreign accent stretching the words. Her voice trembled, but there was a thread of steel beneath it. She scanned him, looking for a clue in the way he wore that expensive suit, the way he carried the gun at his side. Friend or foe? “Please… don’t turn me in.”

Dante raised an eyebrow, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and a flicker of curiosity.

“Turn you in?” he repeated with dangerous calm. His gray eyes, cold as steel, locked onto hers with a focus that made it hard to breathe. “To whom?”

“To those bastards who brought me here,” Svetlana blurted, then paused, as if some hidden realization dawned on her. Her eyes narrowed as she studied him more closely. “Dio mio…” she whispered, lifting a trembling hand to her lips. “You’re one of them.”

Dante tilted his head, his expression unreadable—somewhere between amusement and indifference.

“That expensive suit, that smug attitude…” she went on, pointing at him as if she’d uncovered something monstrous. “You must be one of the capo’s men.”

His brow creased slightly.

“What capo?”

“The one who runs this place!” she cried, her eyes wide with panic. “The soulless monster who ordered my kidnapping. Please—I beg you—help me escape.”

Her voice was frantic, full of desperation, but Dante remained still, his face a mask carved in stone. Inside, however, something stirred—something uncomfortable and foreign.

“I have a little sister,” Svetlana went on, inching closer, her hands lifted in a trembling plea. “She must be terrified, wondering where I am.”

Dante closed his eyes briefly, as though needing a moment to breathe, to absorb the weight of her words.

“Where did you come in from?” she asked suddenly, her gaze darting past him, searching the shadows for an escape route.

He exhaled lightly, his voice finally emerging, calm in a way that felt cruel compared to her frenzy.

“Why do you want to escape?” he asked, curiosity laced with something darker. “Isn’t this place… charming?”

Svetlana looked at him as if he’d gone mad.

“Charming?” she echoed, her voice rising, disbelief spilling over. “They tore me from my life, from my family, because of the whim of a sadistic bastard! They say he’s a monster who enjoys watching people suffer. Please…” Her voice cracked, collapsing into a sob. “Help me.”

A knot tightened in Dante’s gut. An ache bloomed in his chest. Was that really what they thought of him?

“That’s not true,” he said, voice low and firm. A flicker of indignation flared in his icy stare.

“Of course it’s not,” she snapped bitterly. “You wouldn’t say otherwise. It would cost you your life.”

He shook his head, baffled by the magnitude of her accusations.

“Listen…” he started, but she cut him off, her voice jagged with desperation.

“They told me he killed a girl just because she looked him in the eye.”

Dante felt the words hit like a punch to the chest.

“What? Who told you that?”

“It doesn’t matter!” she screamed, tears spilling down her pale cheeks. “Just help me!”

He stared at her, eyes caught on the raw pain etched into every tremor of her body. There was something in her—something that undid him.

At last, he stepped forward and gently took her hands, guiding her to her feet.

“I’ll help you,” he murmured, his voice unexpectedly tender beneath his hard shell. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Svetlana looked up, tears shining in her eyes, but a spark of hope glimmered within them.

“Will you really help me?”

“Yes,” he answered, nodding slowly.

“What’s your name?”

Dante hesitated for a second before replying:

“Gianluca.”

Svetlana frowned, a shadow of skepticism clouding her expression.

“Am I supposed to believe you, Gianluca? What do you gain by helping me?”

Dante lowered his gaze, searching for the words to explain something he didn’t fully understand himself.

“Because I want to escape too,” he confessed, in a whisper that seemed to weigh a ton.

Svetlana stared at him, wide-eyed with surprise.

Dio mio! “You’re a prisoner of that monster too?”

Dante didn’t answer. He only offered a sad smile, one heavy with unspoken truths.

“Andiamo,” he said finally, extending his hand to her. “I’ll show you the way I came in.”

Svetlana took his hand, doubt pounding in her chest—but so did a fragile flicker of hope.

★★★★★

Svetlana moved down the silent hallway of the villa, her steps echoing softly against the cold marble floor. The sound mocked the thunder of her own heartbeat, which beat wildly in her chest. She had barely begun to make sense of the labyrinthine corridors when a figure emerged from the shadows—a man, broad-shouldered, his face chiseled by time and hardened by life. His eyes were as cold as steel, assessing her with a mixture of interest and suspicion. He wore a flawless black suit, his white shirt crisp beneath the dark gleam of a silk tie.

“What are you doing here?” His deep voice, heavy with authority, echoed like a warning through the corridor.

Svetlana swallowed hard, forcing herself to hold her ground even as her legs threatened to betray her.

“They brought me for the boss,” she replied, her tone steady despite the tremor building inside her.

The man narrowed his eyes, examining her with unsettling care. Then he let out a dry, humorless laugh.

“So you’re the girl Fabio had fetched,” he muttered, more to himself than to her, as though confirming a suspicion.

Before Svetlana could respond, a woman appeared at the end of the hallway—Giulia, her brow furrowed, her stride brisk with irritation.

“There you are!” she snapped, seizing Svetlana by the arm. “What part of stay where I left you didn’t you understand?”

Svetlana didn’t resist, but her eyes never left the man who had intercepted her. He stepped aside without another word, watching her as she was led away.

“You’ve no idea the kind of trouble you could cause, wandering around like that,” Giulia growled, dragging her through the halls, past doors guarded by armed men.

Eventually, they reached a room dimly lit by a crystal lamp. The air was thick with a rich scent—tobacco, spices, expensive perfume—a stark contrast to the cold austerity of the rest of the house. Two women dressed in black were waiting inside, their expressions blank.

Without a word, they began to prepare her. They stripped her with practiced efficiency, submerging her into a marble tub filled with warm, fragrant water. Their hands moved with precise, detached rhythm, washing her hair, scrubbing her skin, as if they were erasing all traces of her past. Svetlana remained still, her mind adrift in dark thoughts, imagining what would come next.

When the bath was over, they wrapped her in a white silk robe and led her to an antique mirror. They styled her hair into soft waves that fell gracefully over her shoulders, then applied delicate makeup to enhance her blue eyes and tint her lips a gentle rose.

Once they were done, one of the women brought in a coral silk dress—light as air, so delicate it seemed to whisper. Svetlana stared at it with a mix of awe and dread.

“Put it on,” one of the women ordered, her voice as cold as a blade.

Wordless, Svetlana let them help her dress. They handed her a pair of silver heels adorned with tiny crystals that shimmered in the warm light.

“Her feet are a mess,” one of them muttered while slipping the shoes on.

At that moment, a tall, lean man appeared in the doorway. His hair was streaked with the first signs of gray, but his presence radiated quiet command. It was Fabio. The room fell into a thick silence.

“She’s a ballet dancer,” he remarked, with a note of disdain. “It’s normal for her feet to be like that.”

One of the attendants opened her mouth to reply, but Fabio silenced her with a single glance. He then turned to Svetlana, his gaze cold, as if evaluating a prized possession.

“She’s perfect,” he said at last, a calculated smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He turned toward the door. “She’s to be ready in ten minutes. Someone will come collect her for Dante.”

The name echoed through Svetlana’s mind like a bad omen. A chill raced down her spine.

“Who is he?” she whispered once Fabio was gone.

“That, silly girl,” one of the women replied, “is the second in command. The boss’s right hand. You’d better show respect—unless you want to end up like the others.”

Svetlana’s heart thundered. Every passing second brought her closer to the monster everyone spoke of in hushed voices. She said nothing, the air in her lungs suddenly heavier.

When the attendants finished, one of them fastened a simple silver necklace around her neck.

“You’re ready.”

Svetlana stared at her reflection. The woman in the mirror looked like a stranger—a beautiful doll, fragile, trapped in a world that wasn’t hers.