STOLEN BREATHS

The note trembled between Bianca’s fingers long after dawn stained the sky pale gold.

He isn’t the only one watching.

She turned the words over and over in her mind, the edges of the paper crumpling as if her grip could strangle meaning out of it. Who had written it? A friend? A trap? Another jailer hidden behind masks and shadows?

By the time noon passed, Bianca could no longer breathe inside the velvet prison of the Romano estate. The walls pressed too close, the windows gleamed like false promises, and the cameras always blinked their unblinking red eyes.

So when the maid slipped out after bringing lunch, Bianca acted. She stole down a side corridor she’d memorized during her forced tour of the villa, slid through a heavy door, and found herself outside.

The air was cool, sharp, and tasted of freedom.

The garden welcomed her with dew-damp hedges and winding stone paths. It was a labyrinth, each turn offering both sanctuary and threat. She trailed her hand along the greenery, letting its cool wetness ground her.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

The voice froze her. Lucia Barone emerged from behind a hedge, draped in black as though the morning sun had no claim on her. Her mask was gone, yet her eyes gleamed with secrets that made Bianca’s stomach tighten.

“I didn’t know anyone else wandered this early,” Bianca said cautiously.

Lucia smiled faintly, the expression sharp as glass. “When one lives in a house of wolves, one learns to walk before they wake.”

Her words slipped between them like a blade. Bianca straightened. “What do you want with me?”

Lucia approached slowly, her perfume heady, her heels silent on the stone. “To remind you that Matteo is not your only enemy. You think your father’s death was clean? That it ended a war? Foolish girl.”

Bianca’s heart jolted. “What do you know about my father?”

Lucia tilted her head. “Enough to know his blood didn’t wash the hands that spilled it. You’re a pawn in more than Matteo’s game.”

The air thickened with dread. Bianca took a step forward, voice trembling but fierce. “Tell me. Tell me everything.”

Lucia only smirked, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “Secrets are like poison. Too much, too quickly, and you’ll choke.” She leaned closer, her breath warm at Bianca’s ear. “But remember this, Bianca: wolves wear velvet. And not all of them bear the Barone name.”

Before Bianca could demand more, Lucia melted back into the maze, her figure swallowed by the hedges. Silence returned, heavier than before.

Bianca stood frozen, every nerve raw. If Matteo was not her only captor, then who was?

By nightfall, the garden’s warning still gnawed at Bianca’s chest. She replayed Lucia’s words until they carved her into pieces. Her father, Wolves, Poison, she couldn’t ignore it. She wouldn’t.

That evening, she slipped into Matteo’s study, hoping to catch sight of papers, letters or anything. But the silence broke before her search began.

“You’ve grown bold.”

His voice was silk over steel. Bianca spun to see Matteo leaning in the doorway, shadows licking at his frame. He was without a jacket, his shirt undone at the collar, as though he had just come from battle or was preparing for one.

“I wasn’t ” she began, but his raised hand silenced her.

“I am listening,” he said. “You always are like a little thief.” He stepped closer, slow, deliberate. “What did you hear?”

Bianca’s pulse quickened. She remembered Lucia’s warning and clung to it like armor. “Enough to know you’re not the only monster in this house.”

His eyes flickered with amusement? Or danger? “Careful,” he murmured. “Monsters bite when provoked.”

She grabbed the glass of red wine from his desk and hurled it at him. Scarlet splattered across his shirt, blooming like blood.

For a heartbeat, silence reigned.

Then he moved.

In two strides he had her pinned against the wall, his hand at her throat not squeezing, but holding her still. His body caged hers, heat radiating like fire from his chest. His eyes, dark as midnight, devoured her defiance.

“You should know by now,” he said softly, almost tenderly, “I don’t mind a little fight.”

Bianca’s breath trembled, fury burning in her veins. “Do it. Choke me. Kill me. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To own me until I break?”

But instead of tightening his grip, Matteo did something far worse. His hand slid lower, cradling her jaw. His mouth descended, not violent but deliberate, slow as if he savored her defiance.

His lips brushed her light, then pressed, calculated. It wasn’t tender. It wasn’t love. It was a war. Every second of the kiss screamed mine, every breath stole an act of domination.

Bianca struggled, but her own body betrayed her, her lungs fought for air, her heart pounded with betrayal. When he finally pulled back, his voice was a whisper against her skin.

“Now you understand.”

Her legs trembled, rage and something unnameable coursing through her. She wanted to spit in his face. She wanted to run. She wanted; God to help her to kiss him again just to reclaim control.

But she did nothing. And that was his victory.

Hours later, Bianca sat alone in her room, every inch of her skin still remembering his touch. She hated herself for the confusion. She hated him for planting it.

On the desk lay a journal she had found tucked in the nightstand. She opened it and scrawled in jagged ink:

I will escape. But not before I learn the truth.

The words bled onto the page like a vow. She shut the book, pressing it to her chest as though it could shield her.

She didn’t know that across the estate, Matteo was already watching.

In the security room, screens glowed with every corner of the mansion. Matteo sat before them, one hand still stained faintly red from the wine. He leaned forward, watching her write, watching her burn.

A smile ghosted his lips.

“Let’s see,” he murmured, voice dark silk, “how long the fire lasts.”

And as the screen flickered, a shadow moved in the corner of her room’s camera feed. A figure not Matteo. Not her. Someone else, watching from the dark.