Chapter 1

Rain battered the tall windows of the mansion. Alessia stood in the middle of the dining room, her hands clasped.

Her skirt was old and faded, and the cold had already found its way through the thin fabric, but she didn’t notice. She was too busy watching Elena.

Her mother sat at the head of the dining table, drinking tea as though Alessia wasn’t standing there at all. Alessia kept her eyes on the floor, knowing better than to meet Elena’s gaze when she was in one of these moods.

After a long silence, Elena placed her teacup on the table. The small sound made Alessia’s shoulders tense.

Elena looked up at her with a stern gaze. “You look just like him today.”

Alessia’s fingers tightened, her nails digging into her skin.

Elena’s mouth twisted in disgust. “That same lost look on your face. I hate it.”

“I finished cleaning the kitchen, Madre.”

“Do you think I care about the kitchen?” Elena snapped. Alessia flinched, taking a panicked step backward.

Elena pushed herself away from the table. “Do you honestly think wiping counters and washing dishes will bring your father back?”

“No,” Alessia whispered.

“Then why do you keep doing it?,” she sneered.

Alessia didn’t know what answer Elena wanted. Staying busy was simply easier than listening to Elena remind her that she was the reason her father was dead.

“I just wanted to help,” she murmured.

“Help?” Elena gave a short, bitter laugh. “You’ve done enough.”

Alessia’s throat tightened as Elena walked toward her. Elena stopped directly in front of her, her perfume strong enough to make Alessia’s stomach turn. She grabbed Alessia’s chin, nails pressing into her skin and forcing her face upward.

“Look at me,” she commanded.

Alessia’s eyes lifted reluctantly. For a moment, she wished she could just disappear.

“Every time I look at you, I see him,” her voice was quiet now, but that was always worse. “I see the man you took from me.”

A tear slipped down Alessia’s cheek. “I’m sorry, Madre.”

Elena’s expression hardened. “Don’t call me that, stupid.”

“Sorry.”

“You took him away from me,” Elena says, her voice dropping low.

“I didn’t—“ Alessia tried to say, bracing for a slap that never came.

Instead, Elena shoved her. Alessia stumbled backward, her hip striking the edge of a side table. A sharp pain traveled up her back. She bit down on the inside of her cheek. Don’t cry in front of her.

Elena watched her, straightened the fabric of her dress. “Get out.”

“Yes, Madre.”

“I told you not to call me that,” Elena snapped.

Alessia bit her lip. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Go to your room. And don’t come down for dinner,” she warned, walking back to the table. “Tomorrow is my big day. If you mess up, you will kneel under the rain for a day.”

Alessia nodded and hurried out, breaking into a run when she reached the staircase. Her footsteps were quiet against the floor, desperate to reach her room before Elena could call her back or say something worse.

She reached the second floor and went straight down the hallway to her room. It was the smallest and coldest in the mansion, with no heater.

Alessia closed the door and leaned against it until her legs gave in. She sat on the edge of her narrow bed, pulling her arms around herself. Outside, rain streaked down the glass, blurring the lights.

Her mother hated her, and Bianca barely spoke to her unless she wanted a dress washed or a room cleaned. Alessia had stopped expecting anything else a long time ago.

She pulled her knees against her chest. She had spent years telling herself that one day she’d save enough money to leave and build a life of her own, but sitting alone in the cold, listening to the rain, that hope felt smaller than ever.

She wanted someone to love her — not because she was useful, but just because she was Alessia. She wanted to be someone’s daughter without feeling like an apology.

Her eyes burned as she lay down and pulled the thin blanket over herself. The mansion remained silent. No one came looking for her.

And as the rain continued outside, Alessia realized. She was never going to escape this house alive.

—

The morning of the wedding was quiet. Not peaceful, just quiet.

Alessia stood by the tall window in the guest room and looked down at the courtyard below. Men in black suits were stationed everywhere — beside the gates, and along the walls, speaking into their earpieces. She could see the shape of the weapons beneath a few of their jackets.

Beyond the walls, green hills and winding roads stretched through the Sicilian countryside. From this high up, Alessia could barely see them. Her fingers moved over the lace at her waist.

The dress Elena had given her was pale blue and far too big. The sleeves hung loose, and the waist didn’t sit properly. Alessia had tried to make it fit by pulling the fabric tighter, but there wasn’t much she could do.

Across the room, Bianca was having a very different morning. She stood in front of the large mirror while two women worked on her hair and makeup. Pearls were woven through her dark curls, and her rose-gold dress fitted her perfectly. Bianca smiled at herself, then her eyes drifted to Alessia with a mock chuckle.

“Look at this place, Alessia,” she said, taking slow, prideful steps toward, spreading her arms slightly. “It’s beautiful. I still can’t believe we’re here. We’re practically royalty.”

Alessia glanced through the window. “There’s nothing royal about all those guards.”

Bianca rolled her eyes. “Stupid girl. They’re security.”

“There are enough of them to start a war,” Alessia whispered.

“You’re always looking for something to complain about,” Bianca snapped.

Alessia lowered her voice, her fingers digging into the fabric of her dress. “Antonio isn’t just some rich man.”

Bianca’s smile disappeared. “Don’t start.”

“I’ve heard people talking about him. They’re afraid of him.”

Bianca shrugged. “People are afraid of powerful men. That’s nothing new.”

Alessia didn’t answer, she had heard the staff whispering the moment they stepped into the De Rossi estate this morning. Whenever Antonio De Rossi’s name came up, voices became quieter.

People looked around before speaking. Even those who had worked for him for years seemed careful. Alessia didn’t know exactly what Antonio had done to earn that reputation, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

The doors opened, and Elena entered. She looked nothing like the woman who had screamed at Alessia in their old home.

Her white satin gown was covered in delicate details, and diamonds circled her neck. She looked like a woman who had finally gotten what she wanted.

Elena smiled when she saw Bianca. “Look at you. You look beautiful.”

Bianca’s face lit up. Then Elena’s eyes moved to Alessia, her gaze dropped to the blue dress as her face squeezed in disgust. “What are you wearing?”

Alessia looked down. “The dress you gave me.”

Elena walked over and grabbed the fabric at Alessia’s waist. “It’s hanging off you.”

“I’m sorry,” Alessia whispered.

“Of course you are," Elena sneered, releasing the dress. “I spent money bringing you here, and you couldn’t even manage to look presentable.”

“I can fix it.”

“Don’t.” Elena slapped her hand away when Alessia reached for the fabric. “Just stay out of the way today.”

“Yes, Madre,” Alessia whispered.

Elena’s expression hardened into stone. “And don’t call me that.”

Alessia immediately lowered her eyes. “Yes.”

“You’ll stay at the back. Don’t speak unless someone speaks to you first, don’t stare, and try to look less miserable.” When Alessia nodded, Elena leaned closer, her eyes flashing. “This is my wedding. I will not have you embarrassing me. If you ruin this day for me, you’ll spend tonight in the cellar.”

Alessia’s stomach tightened. “Yes.”

Elena straightened and turned to Bianca, the change in her face immediate. “Come, sweetheart. The cars are waiting.”

Bianca took her arm, casting a spiteful look at Alessia. “Are we going straight to the chapel?”

“Yes. Antonio wants everyone there before the guests arrive,” Elena said.

They walked out together while Alessia waited. Then she followed them into the corridor, keeping several steps behind. No one had ever told her to walk behind them, she simply knew she was supposed to.

The chapel stood behind the main house, built into the rocky side of the property. The stone walls were nearly black, and candles burned along the sides of the room.

Guests sat in neat rows, dressed in expensive suits and dresses. Nobody was laughing or talking loudly. Men kept glancing toward the doors.

Alessia chose a seat near the back, hoping to become invisible. Then she saw the man waiting at the altar. Antonio De Rossi.

He was tall and heavily built, with silver-grey hair combed away from his face and a scar running from his left temple down toward his jaw. His pale grey eyes were cold.

He wasn’t looking around the room nervously like the other men. He didn’t need to. Everyone else was watching him.

Alessia lowered her gaze. The music started and Elena appeared at the entrance, smiling as she walked down the aisle.

Alessia watched Antonio. He didn’t smile back, he simply stood there and waited. When Elena reached him, he placed his hands on her shoulders.

His fingers were large enough to cover most of them, making Elena’s smile slip for a second. Then Antonio kissed her — quick and firm — and when he pulled away, Elena immediately smiled again.

The priest began speaking in Latin and the ceremony was over before Alessia even had time to relax. When the priest declared them husband and wife, Elena turned toward Antonio.

“Welcome to the family, Elena,” Antonio said, his voice deep.

“Thank you.” Elena placed a hand against his chest. “My daughters and I are very grateful.”

Antonio’s eyes moved toward Bianca, who lowered her head and smiled. Then his gaze continued until It stopped on Alessia. Her stomach dropped.

She looked down quickly, but she could still feel his eyes on her. When she dared to look up again, Antonio was smiling — a cold, unfriendly smile. She spent the rest of the ceremony wishing she could disappear.

By evening, the reception was held in a large ballroom decorated with flowers, candles, and crystal. Music played while waiters moved through the room with trays of champagne.

There was more food than Alessia had ever seen, but she didn’t eat. She stayed near the curtains beside the garden doors.

No one had offered her anything, and she didn’t dare take food from the tables. She watched Elena throughout the evening.

Her mother introduced Bianca to one man after another — men with guards, men who spoke quietly and shook hands with Antonio. Whenever someone asked Elena about Alessia, her mother gave the same answer: “Oh, Alessia is shy. She prefers keeping to herself.” Then she would change the subject.

Around midnight, someone came to tell them Antonio wanted the family upstairs. Alessia followed Elena and Bianca into the private wing where the doors closed behind them and the noise had faded.

The study was large, with dark furniture, leather chairs, and a fireplace burning against one wall. Antonio stood behind the bar pouring himself a drink.

Elena sat on the couch while Bianca stood nearby, trying very hard to look comfortable. Alessia remained by the door, waiting for someone to tell her where to go.

Antonio took a drink and placed the glass on the desk. “Now that the wedding is over, we need to discuss how things will work here. This house has rules.”

Elena’s smile became smaller. “I understand, Antonio.”

“Do you?” Antonio walked around the desk. “I don’t care who you were before you married me. You’re my wife now. You will have everything you need — money, protection, a comfortable life. But you will follow my rules.” He stopped in front of her, reaching down to take her chin. Elena’s eyes widened slightly. “My word is final. You don’t question my decisions.”

Elena swallowed. “Yes, Antonio.”

He released her and turned his dark gaze to Bianca, who blinked and immediately straightened. “You.”

She swallowed hard. “Yes, Don Antonio?”

“You are part of this family now. You will behave accordingly When the time comes, you’ll marry whoever I decide is useful to this family.”

Bianca’s face twisted in shock, but she covered it with a smile. “Of course.”

“Until then, you stay out of trouble and listen to your mother.”

“Yes, Don Antonio,” she responded, her fingers clenched into a tight fist.

Antonio turned, his eyes finding Alessia. She backed up until her shoulders hit the doorframe. Antonio walked over, stopping directly in front of her. She could smell tobacco, cologne, something sharp and unpleasant on him.

His fingers closed around her chin, titling her face upward. “Look at me. What is your name?”

“Alessia,” she murmured.

“Good. You look frightened,” Antonio studied her face. “What happened to your voice?”

“Nothing.”

His fingers tightened. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Her eyes lifted again.

“You are weak,” Antonio sneered. “People like you don’t last long in a house like this. You’ll keep your head down. You’ll do whatever work you’re given. You won’t interfere with my business, and you won’t cause problems for your mother or sister.”

Alessia nodded quickly. “Yes, Don Antonio.”

“And if I call for you, you come. Do you understand?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

Antonio released her. She stumbled backward against the door, her chin aching.

Antonio turned away. “Put her in the East Wing.”

Elena looked at him. “The servant quarters?”

“That one.”

“Of course,” Elena agreed without objection or a glance in Alessia’s direction.

Antonio walked toward the balcony. Once he was gone, Alessia left. She walked quickly, then broke into a fast stride, not wanting anyone to see her cry.

Guards stood outside several doors in the endless corridors, watching her pass in silence.

Eventually, she reached the East Wing.

The walls were bare stone, with no paintings or furniture — just a narrow corridor lined with small rooms. A woman showed her to her room and left without a word.

Alessia opened the door. The space was barely big enough for the bed, with a small wooden chair, and a light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Her suitcase sat in the corner.

She closed the door and she stood there, touching her tender, aching skin. For a moment, she couldn’t move, her chin was still aching.

She sat on the narrow bed, pulled her knees up, and rested her forehead against them as quiet tears came. She covered her mouth so no one outside could hear.

She had thought leaving her father’s house would change things — that maybe life would get better once Elena married someone else.

Instead, she had been brought to another man’s house, another set of rules, and another person she had to fear.

Outside her door, boots passed along the corridor. One guard, then another. Alessia listened until their footsteps faded.

She hadn’t escaped anything. She had only been brought somewhere else. And this time, the door was guarded.