Prisoner’s Bargain

RENZO POV

It’s another fucking day with me stuck with Brian with Bram.

I’m so fucking bored I could scream. There’s nothing to do here except rot in front of the TV watching movies and play video games like a damn princess locked in a tower. I used to have clubs. Late nights. Good drugs. Great sex. I used to have people around me.

Now? Nothing. No calls. No visits. Just me, Bram, and the walls closing in.

The doctor left yesterday, which was the last bit of interaction I had with an actual human being who didn’t make me feel like I was one wrong move away from getting body-slammed. And no offense, but I was hoping she’d stay longer. At least she had great tits.

Now the only thing keeping me sane is p**n and my right hand. And even that’s losing its charm.

I was sprawled on the couch, staring at the stupid screen like it might suddenly entertain me better if I glared hard enough, when Bram walked in and turned the TV off. No warning. Just walked in and—click.

I sat up, scowling.

“What the hell, Bram? Taking my only source of happiness away?” My voice came out sharp, bitter. “Are you here to bodyguard me or annoy me?”

He didn’t speak. Of course not. That would be too easy. Instead, he pulled out his phone and started typing.

A second later, the phone next to me beeped. I picked it up, expecting another stupid schedule update or some passive-aggressive warning.

Bram: Your father called. He wants me to start training you.

I scoffed, loud and theatrical. It echoed in the room. “Of course he did,” I muttered, rolling my eyes so hard they almost got stuck.

I looked up at Bram, who was standing there like some marble statue—cold, immovable, and about as emotionally expressive as a wall.

“Well, tell my father I can take care of myself,” I said, voice cutting. It wasn’t a lie. I could. I had before.

He didn’t flinch. Just typed again.

Bram: Well, you’re obviously not good enough. That’s why he wants me to train you.

My laugh came out sharp and loud. Too loud. It didn’t sound like amusement. It sounded like something cracking.

“Oh, really? Just because I’m not built like you doesn’t mean I can’t fight.” I stood, walking toward him with slow, deliberate steps. “I'm D'Amico. You expect me to be weak? Joke’s on you, Bram.”

But he didn’t react. Not to my tone. Not to the fire in my eyes. Not to the tension rising in my body like a lit fuse.

Ding.

Bram: You’ll let me do my job. You won’t stop me. I don’t care about you or your name.

That one hit differently.

I felt something inside me snap, the way it always does when people act like I’m nothing but a fucking name with a pretty face and a target on my back. Like they don’t see me. Like they don’t care to.

“I’m your fucking boss, Bram. Why the fuck do you think you can command me?” My voice was shaking, not from fear from fury. “My father hired you to guard me, not to act like some mute, overgrown babysitter with a god complex!”

His eyes didn’t move. Didn’t soften. Didn’t do anything. They just stared back into mine—cold, unreadable, like he was looking right through me. Like I wasn’t even real.

Ding.

Bram: Your father hired me, like you said. And I’ll do my job.

“Fuck off, Bram,” I snapped, voice breaking into something sharper, something that hurt.

He didn’t flinch. Just typed again.

A second later, my phone rang.

I didn’t even need to look. I knew who it was.

I gave Bram a long side-eye, full of spite,disappointment and disbelief.

“Really? You’re texting my dad now?” I muttered, jaw clenched tight.

I picked up the phone anyway.

“Renzo, what the fuck is Bram telling me about?” My father’s voice exploded through the line like gunfire.

I sighed, my fingers pinching the bridge of my nose.

“What did he say about me now?”

“I asked him to train you and you refused? Are you out of your goddamn mind, Rex?”

“I’m not out of my mind,” I snapped. “I’m trained already. What else am I supposed to learn that I don’t already know?”

“You’re weak,” he barked. “You’re not strong enough. Bram is a professional mercenary. You better listen to him or I’ll send you back to Italy. And you won’t ever see your mother again.”

And just like that ice in my veins.

He always knew how to get under my skin. Always knew where to dig to hurt the most.

My jaw locked. My blood ran hot.

“You know there’s something called a cellphone, right?” I muttered with a smirk that didn’t reach my eyes.

“Don’t test me, Renzo,” he warned. “You know me.”

Yeah. I did. I do. That was the problem.

“What do I get in return?”

“Are you bargaining with me now?”

“Of course I am. You let me out of this damn estate, and I’ll train with your mute bodyguard. Deal?”

He hesitated. Then: “Fine. You listen to Bram. He knows what he’s doing.”

I chuckled darkly. “Seems like he doesn’t to me.”

“Don’t fucking play with me, Rex,” my father snapped.

I rolled my eyes, pacing across the room like a caged animal. Every part of me wanted to hang up on him. But I didn’t. Not yet.

“My regards to Mother,” I said with a smirk curling at the corner of my mouth.

He scoffed on the other end. “She’ll call you herself.”

Click.

The line went dead.

I stared at the screen for a beat longer, jaw clenched tight. My pulse drummed hot under my skin. Typical. Always barking orders. Always threats and control and do this or lose that. Never once asking how I was.

I lowered the phone and turned slowly toward Bram.

Our eyes locked.

God, he looked the same. Like nothing ever touched him. Not words. Not emotion. Not me. Like he was made of stone and willpower and perfectly measured silence.

But I heard it, the soft beep of his phone.

I smirked.

“Got what you want, princess,” I said, voice dripping with sarcasm as I leaned my weight to one side. “I’ll train with you.”

He didn’t react. Of course not. He never did.

“But first,” I added, pushing past him, “I need to get out of this damn place. I’m not training like some stray dog in a cage.”

I paused halfway up the stairs and glanced back at him.

“And you should probably change into something less… terrifying,” I grinned. “Wouldn’t want to scare the people.”

He didn’t respond. Not that I expected him to. The man was built like a statue and about as expressive as one.

I walked past him, half-turning on the stairs. “I’m gonna go change. And maybe you should too—into something a little less… psych ward chic.” I grinned.

Upstairs, I tossed my old shirt aside and pulled on a clean black tee, followed by a sweatshirt. Nothing fancy—just something that didn’t scream hostage chic.

I headed back down the stairs in a half-dazed hurry, thinking about anything but my footing. My sock caught on the edge of a step.

Shit.

My foot slipped, and gravity yanked me forward. My eyes squeezed shut, bracing for impact expecting to crash face-first into the hardwood.

But I didn’t hit the floor.

I crashed into something solid. Hard. Warm.

Arms wrapped around me, stopping me mid-fall. My face landed against a chest—broad, unmoving and then my lips hit…