THE CAGE

A violent knock echoed through Elena’s skull as she jolted awake. Her breath came in short, shallow bursts. The dim passage was gone. The man’s shadow, the weapon—gone.

She was back in the same room. The same velvet bed. The same gold chandelier swaying faintly overhead.

Had she dreamed it?

Her pulse thudded painfully as she scanned the room. The fire had burned down to embers. Her head felt heavy, like she’d been drugged again. Every breath came with a dull ache in her ribs.

The door creaked open, and a woman entered—a tall figure dressed in black, her face expressionless. She carried a tray of food: bread, fruit, and a steaming cup of coffee. She set it down silently, bowing her head before turning to leave.

“Wait,” Elena croaked. “What happened? How did I get back here?”

The woman didn’t answer. The lock clicked behind her, sealing the silence once again.

Elena sat perfectly still, the sound of her heartbeat filling the room. Slowly, she pushed herself up and crossed to the window. The bars were still there, firm and unyielding. Beyond them, dawn was breaking—a dull gray light washing over the fog-soaked hills.

It was morning. She had no idea how much time had passed.

Her stomach twisted. She was supposed to be home. Her father was supposed to be alive.“He’s gone,” Alessandro’s voice echoed in her mind. “If Romano thinks he can hide—he’s already dead.”

Elena’s fingers tightened against the window bars until her knuckles went white. “You’re lying,” she whispered to no one. “You have to be.”

The lock turned again. She spun around.

Alessandro De Luca stood in the doorway. No guards this time. No smile. Only that same lethal calm.

He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, crossing his arms. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the sharp line of his throat and a faint scar running along his jaw.“You tried to run,” he said.

Elena’s throat went dry. “You drugged me.”

“Because you ran,” he countered smoothly. “And I don’t tolerate disobedience.”

Her hands trembled with anger. “You can’t keep me here.”

“I already am.”

He pushed off the door and began to circle her, slow, measured, like a lion stalking prey. “You’re fortunate I found you before my men did. They aren’t as gentle when it comes to punishment.”

Her stomach turned. “Gentle? You think this is gentle?”

“You’re still breathing, aren’t you?”

The sharpness of his tone made her flinch. He stopped in front of her, eyes burning with a cold intensity that sent a shiver through her.

“Your father has vanished,” he said finally. “He took my money, my weapons, and left my men dead in the street. Until he’s found, you will remain here. His debt—his crime—is yours to bear.”

Elena’s breath hitched. “That’s not fair.”

“Neither is betrayal.”

He stepped closer. She could smell the faint trace of smoke and rain on his clothes. Her instinct told her to step back, but pride held her ground.

“If you’re going to kill me,” she said, voice trembling but steady, “do it. But don’t pretend this is justice.”

For a long, dangerous moment, he said nothing. Then—slowly—he smiled.

“Kill you?” he murmured. “No, Elena. You’re far more valuable alive.”

Her heart pounded. “As a hostage?”

“As leverage. As a reminder. As… mine.”

He lifted a hand and brushed a damp strand of hair from her face. His touch was light but commanding, enough to make her breath falter.

“You’ll stay here,” he said. “You’ll eat. You’ll obey. And when your father comes crawling to my door, he’ll see exactly what happens when you cross Alessandro De Luca.”

Elena’s anger burned hotter than her fear. She slapped his hand away, her voice cracking as she spat, “You’re a monster.”

He didn’t flinch. Instead, he tilted his head, studying her with a mix of amusement and warning.

“Perhaps. But monsters keep their word.”

He turned toward the door, but before he reached it, Elena’s voice stopped him.

“What if he doesn’t come?” she whispered.

Alessandro paused. His back was to her, but she saw his shoulders tense. For a moment, the air between them felt charged—like thunder waiting to strike.

“Then,” he said quietly, “you’ll learn what it truly means to be a De Luca prisoner.”

He left, the door closing with a slow, echoing thud.

Elena sank to the floor, shaking, her chest tight with terror and defiance. She pressed her forehead to her knees, fighting to hold back tears. The silence around her was suffocating—until a faint sound made her head snap up.

A whisper. From inside the wall.

Her breath hitched. She crawled closer, pressing her ear against the cold paneling. There it was again—soft, hurried, unmistakably human.

“Elena,” a voice hissed. “Don’t make a sound. I’m here to get you out.”