LOGINOne witnessed murder. One ruthless mafia king. One ballerina who became his beautiful obsession. They say you can’t fall for your captor. They’ve never met Enzo Santini. He locks me up and tells me I mean nothing. Then touches me like I’m everything. His brother wants to save me. But I’m starting to wonder if I want to be saved.
View More“Enzo,” I said. Loud enough apparently because behind me I heard movement. Giulia’s feet on the floor. Her voice still rough from almost sleeping. “Enzo?” Giulia called out too. He stood in the doorway looking exactly like himself. His eyes moved past me to Giulia then back to me. “Are we going to keep staring at each other at the door?” he said. No smile. Just Enzo. I stepped aside. He came in and Giulia crossed the room and threw her arms around him before he’d fully cleared the entrance. He caught her. His arms came around her completely, one hand at the back of her head, holding her tight. They stayed like that for a full minute. Nobody said anything. I stood by the door and looked at the wall and gave them whatever that moment was. When Giulia finally pulled back she looked up at him. Her eyes were wet but she wasn’t crying, just looking at him. “What are you doing here?” she said quietly. “Why are you in Rome?” He looked at her for a moment. “Well, I'm
NICO’S POV The hotel room was quiet. Giulia was lying on the couch. She had been there for the past hour since we arrived, curled up on her side, still wearing the same clothes from Dimitri’s office that morning. Her shoes were off, and her bag sat on the floor beside her. Her phone rested on the coffee table, turned off since last night. She wasn’t sleeping. I could tell by the way she was lying there, too still, that something was off. Her deliberate stillness suggested she was trying to convince her body to rest, while her mind refused to cooperate. It was as if sleep felt too vulnerable at that moment, as if closing her eyes would mean losing control over something she was still trying to hold onto. I sat in the armchair across from her, scrolling through my phone without really seeing anything on the screen. News notifications popped up, messages from people I hadn’t responded to, and articles with headlines I couldn’t bring myself to fully read. Fire at Kostas Penth
DIMITRI’S POV Before I got to the entrance where the reporters were, I saw Nico pulling her away. Larson was already in my office when I got back. Sitting in the chair across from my desk, jacket off, looking like a man who hadn’t slept either. He looked up when I walked in. Took one look at my face. “She was here,” he said. “Yes.” “And? What happened?” I sat down, then leaned back and looked at the ceiling for a moment. “She found out about the contract,” I said. Larson was quiet. “Victoria probably showed her the document,” I said. “Last night. Before the fire.” “So the fire wasn’t just about finding Victoria in your bed.” “No.” I looked at him. “She knew everything... she walked in here this morning knowing everything and waited for me to tell her myself.” “Damn!” “She gave me the chance to deny it.” I pressed my hand over my face. “I couldn’t.” Larson exhaled slowly and sat back. “Dimitri, the press would barely let this slide, she set your house on fire,” he said
“Why are you quiet?” My voice was shaking now. “Why are you not saying anything, Dimitri?” Nothing. “Answer me!” The words burst out louder than I intended. Loud enough that somewhere outside the office I heard movement stop. He exhaled slowly. “I didn’t know how to bring it up to you.” His voice was low. Rough. “It was important and I didn’t want to lose you Giulia. I thought if I could just get through the two months without—” I stopped hearing the rest. My legs folded under me slowly and I crouched down right there on the floor of his office and covered my mouth with both hands. Part of me had still been hoping. Even after the document. Even after Victoria’s face. Even after the bridge and Matteo’s couch and the whole sleepless night. Some small stubborn part of me had held onto the possibility that there was an explanation. That I’d misread something. That Victoria had forged it or twisted it or made it into something it wasn’t. But the way he’d just said it. ‘I d












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