CHAPTER 1

Nancy’s POV

The man in the gray suit had been staring at me for twenty minutes.

I knew because I kept counting the seconds in my head. Pretending not to notice him took effort. Too much effort. My fingers were tight around my champagne glass, even though I barely drank from it. I smiled when I was supposed to. I nodded at the right moments. I tried to look like a normal student at a normal art gallery opening.

But I wasn’t normal. And this wasn’t normal.

The gallery owner was talking about my work, saying words like brilliant and insightful. Professor Chen stood beside me, clearly proud, her eyes lighting up every time she mentioned my name. I should have felt happy. Proud. Excited.

Instead, my heart was racing so fast it scared me.

The man wasn’t even pretending to look at the art.

He stood near the big red painting on the wall, his hands clasped in front of him, his posture stiff and alert. His eyes never left me. Not once. It was like the whole room disappeared for him. Like I was the assignment. The target.

I knew exactly who he was.

He worked for my father.

They all looked the same after a while. Expensive suits that sat too perfectly on their bodies. Jackets cut in a way that made hiding guns easy. Faces that never smiled. Eyes that had seen things no one should see and survived anyway. Men trained to protect, to hurt, to kill if needed.

I’d grown up around men like this. They’d been at my birthdays. My school events. Outside my bedroom door at night.

“Your paper about Caravaggio is really good, Nancy,” Professor Chen said, lifting her wine glass slightly. “The way you explained his use of light and shadow was beautiful. Have you thought about doing your PhD on it?”

“Maybe,” I said.

The word tasted like a lie.

I already knew the answer. My father would never allow it. A PhD meant years more at school. Years more of independence. Of living away from him. Of being out of his reach.

Too much freedom.

I glanced around the room again, my chest tight.

There was another man in a blue suit standing near the front door. He pretended to study a sculpture, but his eyes kept moving, scanning faces. A third man stood by the food table, not touching the plates, just watching everyone who passed by.

They thought they blended in.

They didn’t.

I could spot them easily. I always could. Maybe because I’d been trained without realizing it. Maybe because fear sharpens your vision.

“I’m just going to use the bathroom,” I told Professor Chen.

She smiled and nodded, already turning back to the gallery owner.

I walked away, my heels clicking loudly against the polished floor. Each step felt too slow, like I was walking through water. The gallery was in one of the most expensive parts of the city, inside an old building that had been turned into an art space. Exposed brick walls. Soft lighting aimed perfectly at each piece. Everything carefully planned. Carefully controlled.

Just like my life.

My work hung on the far wall. Framed papers. Essays I’d spent nights crying over, rewriting again and again. Pages about old masters and their secrets. About light, shadow, pain, beauty.

Two years of hard work.

And it felt like I’d hung up homework from my cage.

In the bathroom, I leaned over the sink and stared at myself in the mirror.

My dark hair was pulled back tightly, not a single strand out of place. Pearl earrings dangled from my ears—my father’s birthday gift to me. The black dress hugged my body just enough to look elegant, not enough to look rebellious.

I looked perfect.

I looked obedient.

Marco Valentino’s daughter.

A pretty bird behind golden bars.

“I hate this,” I whispered to my reflection.

My phone buzzed in my hand.

A text from my father.

Enjoy the evening, fiore mio. Roberto will drive you home.

My stomach dropped.

Roberto.

So that was his name. The man in the gray suit. Of course my father had already planned it. Of course he had decided who would take me home, without asking me, without even pretending to give me a choice.

I typed back quickly: I can drive myself home.

The reply came almost immediately.

Roberto will drive you home.

That was it. No explanation. No discussion.

Just a command.

I stared at the screen for a long moment, my vision blurring. Something inside me cracked. Not loudly. Not all at once. Just a quiet snap. Like a thread pulled too tight for too long.

No.

I deleted the message.

Then I turned my phone off completely.

My hands were shaking as I slipped it back into my purse.

I walked out of the bathroom, said quick goodbyes to Professor Chen and the gallery owner, my voice steady even though I felt anything but. Then I headed toward the exit.

Not the main door.

The side door.

The one that led to the loading area.

My heart pounded harder with every step. This was reckless. This was stupid. My father would be furious. He’d probably double my security. Maybe take my car away. Maybe ground me like I was a child.

But I didn’t care.

I pushed the door open and stepped outside.

Cold night air hit my face, sharp and real. It smelled like rain and concrete and freedom. The loading area was mostly empty, lit by a single flickering light. Trucks sat parked near dumpsters, silent and dark.

I hurried down the metal stairs, my heels clanging too loudly. Every sound made me flinch.

I felt exposed.

But also alive.

Freedom. Even if it was only for a few minutes. Even if it was just walking alone to my car.

The parking garage was two blocks away. I’d parked there myself that morning. I’d insisted on driving alone. My father’s men had followed me in another car, of course, but it had still felt like something. Like a small victory.

I turned the corner and almost laughed under my breath.

This was my rebellion?

Walking two blocks by myself?

God, my life was pathetic.

And yet… it felt good. It felt like breathing after holding my breath for too long.

The parking garage loomed ahead, a concrete building stained with oil and time. The air inside smelled like exhaust and dust. I took the stairs to the third floor, my footsteps echoing loudly.

My car sat where I’d left it. A black Mercedes. Expensive. Shiny.

Another gift I never asked for.

The floor was almost empty now. Too quiet.

As I walked toward the car, digging through my purse for my keys, a strange chill crawled up my spine.

It was sudden. Sharp. Like someone had poured ice down my back.

That’s when I saw it.

The security camera above the garage entrance was dark.

No blinking red light. No quiet hum. Just dead.

I stopped walking.

The camera was always on. Always. I’d parked here so many times I’d lost count, and that little red dot was never off. Not once. My father made sure of things like that.

My stomach twisted.

Slowly, my fingers wrapped around my keys. I slid them between my fingers the way one of my father’s security men had taught me when I was sixteen. He’d been serious that day. Almost gentle.

Not a real weapon, he’d said. But better than nothing. Go for the eyes.

I swallowed hard.

“Well, well. Marco Valentino’s little princess. All alone.”

The voice came from behind me.

My heart jumped into my throat.

I spun around so fast I almost lost my balance.

Three men stepped out from behind a concrete column.

They wore black jackets and dark jeans. Ski masks covered their faces, leaving only their eyes visible. The tallest one stood slightly ahead of the others. In his hand was a knife, the blade catching the harsh garage light.

It gleamed.

Every warning my father had ever given me came rushing back. Every argument. Every fight. Every time he told me the world was dangerous and I was safer under his watch.

This was what he meant.

This was real.

“Your daddy should’ve watched you closer,” the tall one said as he started walking toward me.

My body moved before my brain could think.

I ran.

My heels made it hard, my steps uneven, but I didn’t stop. I ran toward my car, jabbing the unlock button again and again. My hands were shaking so badly I almost dropped the keys.

Behind me, I heard footsteps.

Fast.

Too fast.

They were gaining on me.

I made it only a few more steps before rough hands grabbed me from behind.

I screamed.

I drove my elbow back with everything I had. It hit something solid. A grunt followed. The grip on me loosened just a little.

I twisted around and slashed his face with my keys.

He yelled, stumbling back, clutching his cheek.

“Bitch!”

Before I could move again, the other two were on me.

One grabbed my hair and yanked so hard my vision exploded into white spots. Pain shot through my scalp. I cried out, kicking and scratching, fighting like an animal.

It didn’t matter.

They were stronger. Bigger. Faster.

They slammed me against a concrete column. My head hit the wall hard, and the world tilted. Sounds became dull and far away, like I was underwater.

Through the ringing in my ears, I heard the tall one laugh.

“Hold her still.”

Hands pinned my arms. I struggled, but my body felt slow, weak. The tall man stepped closer, his knife raised.

“The Russo family doesn’t forgive. We’re gonna cut you into pieces and send you back to him.” he said, pressing the blade against my throat. The metal was cold. So cold it made me shiver. Tears burned my eyes.

I couldn’t breathe.

The knife pressed harder.

I closed my eyes.

And then—

Everything exploded.