Chapter 7: Rules of the Game (Continued)

He moves toward the door, and panic flares hot in my chest. This can’t be it. This can’t be my life, locked in this house, cut off from everyone I love, living by the schedule of a man who hates me.

“Wait.” The word comes out harder than I mean it to.

Luca pauses, looks back. “Yes?”

“My mother’s medication. Alessandro said "you control the supply.”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“Because your mother’s health is leveraged.” He says it simply, like it’s obvious. “As long as I control her medication, you’ll behave. You’ll follow the rules, play the devoted wife, and not cause problems. It’s simple math.”

“That’s sick.”

“That’s survival.” He checks his watch. “Your tutor arrives in twenty minutes. I suggest you compose yourself before then. First impressions matter.”

“Where are you going?”

“Business. The kind you don’t need to know about.” He pauses at the door. “Oh, and Elena? Don’t bother trying to make friends with the staff. They’re loyal to me, not you. Any attempt to recruit them, bribe them, or manipulate them will be reported immediately. And the consequences won’t fall on them.”

“They’ll fall on my family.”

“Now you’re learning.” He almost smiles. “See? You’re smarter than your father already.”

Then he’s gone, leaving me alone in this too-large room with my too-controlled schedule and the suffocating weight of my new reality.

I sink back into my chair, stare at the folder. Every hour mapped out. Every moment accounted for. This is my life now. Not days or weeks, but potentially years of this. Of being watched, controlled, isolated.

Of being his.

The older woman reappears, begins clearing plates with quiet efficiency. She doesn’t look at me, doesn’t speak. Just does her job and prepares to leave.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

She freezes, eyes darting to the door Luca left through. “Maria, signora.”

“How long have you worked here, Maria?”

“Ten years, signora.” Her hands shake slightly as she stacks plates. “Is there something you need?”

“No. I just…” What? Want a friend? An ally? Someone to talk to like I’m human? “Thank you for breakfast. It was excellent.”

She blinks, surprised. Then something softens in her face. “You’re welcome, signora.”

She leaves quickly, but I catch it. That moment of humanity. Of recognition that I’m a person, not just Luca’s possession.

It’s not much.

But it’s something.

The tutor is a severe woman named Signora Russo who spends two hours drilling me on proper Italian conjugations and the nuances of Sicilian dialect. She corrects my pronunciation with sharp taps of her pen against the table, tells me my accent is “adequate but common,” and assigns me homework like I’m twelve years old.

When she finally leaves, I’m exhausted and angry and so tired of being treated like a child.

I wander the villa, testing boundaries. The guard at the foot of the stairs follows at a distance. When I try the front door, it’s locked. Same with the side entrance I find near what looks like a library.

Every exit, every escape route, sealed tight.

In the afternoon, I’m summoned to meet with the household manager, an efficient woman who explains my duties as mistress of the house. Overseeing menus, approving staff schedules, hosting events. All the things a proper wife should do.

Like I’m playing house with a man who wants me dead.

By the time dinner rolls around, I’m ready to scream. But I don’t. I sit across from Luca at that massive table, eat food I can’t taste, and answer his questions about my day with civil, empty responses.

“The tutor says you’re a quick study,” he comments.

“I’m motivated.”

“By what?”

“By wanting this to end.”

He laughs, actually laughs. “It won’t. Not for a very long time.” He sets down his fork, studies me. “But I’ll make you a deal.”

“What kind of deal?”

“Follow the rules for one month. No complaints, no rebellion, perfect behavior. Do that, and I’ll arrange a supervised visit with your brother.”

One month. Thirty days of this cage, this schedule, this performance.

For one hour with Alessandro.

“Fine,” I say.

“Fine,” he echoes. Then, quieter, “You know, Elena, you could make this easier on yourself. Stop fighting. Accept your situation. Learn to be content with what you have.”

“Content?” I meet his eyes across the table. “You want me to be content in a prison?”

“I want you to understand that this is your life now. Fighting it only makes it worse.”

“For who? You or me?”

He doesn’t answer. Just stands, throws his napkin on the table.

“Goodnight, wife. Try to sleep tonight. You look terrible.”

I watch him leave, this man who controls every aspect of my existence, and make a silent promise.

One month.

I’ll give him one month of obedience.

And then I’ll find a way to destroy him.