Chapter 3

Caged Bird, Sharp Beak

The dining room’s long table could seat twenty, but it was just her, the clink of her fork echoing off marble walls. Livia pushed the eggs around her plate, ignoring the maid’s glance. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday’s pastries, and her stomach growled, but she’d be damned if she gave Alessandro the satisfaction.

The maid hovered. “Mr. Moretti says you need to eat, Ma’am.”

“Tell Mr. Moretti I’m not his pet,” Livia snapped, shoving the plate away.

The maid scurried off. Livia leaned back, glaring at the chandelier above. Three days in this estate—three days of locked doors, delivered clothes, and Alessandro’s cryptic texts. Be ready for the gala. Your accounts are active. Don’t test my patience. She’d deleted them all, but his voice stuck in her head, low and unyielding.

She stood, pacing to the window. The garden stretched below, all manicured hedges and stone paths. A cage with better views. Her phone buzzed on the table. Another text from Dante. You good, Liv? Talk to him. He’ll let you go.

She laughed, bitter, and typed back. You bet me away. Fix this. No signal again. She tossed the phone, her hands shaking. Dante hadn’t called, hadn’t shown up. Just texts, like she was an afterthought.

Footsteps. She turned as Alessandro entered, black suit sharp, no tie. His eyes flicked to the untouched plate. “Starving yourself won’t make a point.”

“It’s making one now,” she said, crossing her arms.

He pulled out a chair, sitting like he owned the world. He did, in this house. “Gala’s tomorrow. You’ll need a dress.”

“Not going.” She lifted her chin. “I’m not your arm candy.”

“You’ll go.” His voice was calm, but his eyes held a warning. “Or you stay in this room. Your choice.”

“Some choice,” she muttered, turning back to the window. “What’s next? Collar and leash?”

He chuckled, low. “You’d bite through it.”

She spun, glaring. “Then stop treating me like a dog.”

“I’m not.” He stood, closing the distance in three steps. “I’m treating you like you’re worth something.”

Her breath hitched. She stepped back, hitting the window. “Don’t. I’m not falling for your saviour act.”

“No act.” His gaze pinned her. “Dante saw a decoration. I see a woman.”

She snorted, dodging his intensity. “You see a trophy. Same difference.”

He tilted his head, studying her. “Keep telling yourself that.”

A knock interrupted. A man in a black suit leaned in, voice low. “Sir, Vitale’s asking questions. Says you stole his wife.”

Livia’s stomach dropped. Dante. Finally crawling out of his hole.

Alessandro’s jaw tightened. “Tell him to choke on his debt. She’s not his anymore.”

The man nodded, leaving. Livia’s pulse raced. “What’s he doing?”

“Whining,” Alessandro said, turning back to her. “He’s got no claim. Not legally. Not morally.”

She laughed, sharp. “Morally? You’re a crime lord.”

“And he’s a coward.” His voice cut like a blade. “You deserve better than his shadow.”

Her chest tightened. She wanted to snap back, but his words hit too close. She turned away, stalking to the piano in the corner. It was old, out of tune, but she sat, her fingers hitting the keys. A jagged melody spilled out, raw and angry.

Alessandro watched, silent. She didn’t look at him, just played harder, the notes her only weapon. The song stopped abruptly, her hands shaking.

“Did he know you played?” Alessandro asked, his voice softer now.

She slammed the keys, the sound jarring. “I didn’t exist enough for talents.”

He stepped closer, his shadow falling over the piano. “You exist now. Every key. Every note. Every word.”

Her fingers froze. She met his eyes, hating how they saw through her. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” He leaned in, hands on the piano’s edge.

“Like I’m a puzzle you’re solving.” Her voice cracked, but she held his gaze.

“Too late,” he said, with a faint smile tugging his lips. “You’re one I want to crack.”

She stood, shoving past him. “Good luck. I’m not that easy.”

He caught her wrist, not tight, just enough to stop her. “I’m counting on it.”

She yanked free, her skin tingling where he’d touched her. “Don’t touch me.”

He raised his hands, stepping back. “Your move, Livia.”

She stormed out, heart pounding, heading for the garden. The air was cool, the paths lined with roses that smelled too sweet. She sat on a stone bench, her breath uneven. Dante’s text burned in her mind. Talk to him. Like it was that simple. Like she could just ask a kingpin for freedom.

Her phone buzzed. Unknown number. Gala’s at eight. Black dress. Don’t make me come find you. – A.M.

She deleted it, her jaw tight. But her eyes caught the black card in her pocket—Livia Rossi, not Vitale. She turned it over, her thumb tracing the letters. He’d given her back her name, her money. Why? To control her? To mock her?

Footsteps crunched behind her. She spun, expecting Alessandro, but it was a new man, older, in a grey suit. His smile was too slick. “Mrs. Vitale?”

“Rossi,” she corrected, standing. “Who are you?”

“Friend of your husband’s.” He stepped closer, voice distinctly low. “He’s worried. Says you’re in over your head.”

Her stomach twisted. “Tell Dante to worry about himself.”

The man’s smile didn’t waver. “Careful, sweetheart. Moretti’s not the only one watching.”

He left before she could respond. Her hands shook as she sat back down, the garden suddenly too quiet. Dante was moving, and now others were circling. The stakes weren’t just her freedom anymore—they were her survival.

She glanced at the house, Alessandro’s shadow passing a window. He wasn’t her saviour, but he wasn’t Dante either. He saw her, and that scared her more than the lock on her door.

She stood, heading inside. If this was a game, she’d oblige. She’d play. But she’d play dirty. Alessandro wanted a fight? She’d give him one he wouldn’t forget.