Chapter 8: Hidden Strength

The morning light slices through the heavy curtains like a blade, cutting across the marble floor of my prison. Three days since the gala. Three days of Luca's cold silence and Marcella's satisfied smirks at the charity gala.

I trace the route I've memorized forty-seven steps from my bedroom door to the main staircase, sixty-three to the kitchen, eighty-nine to the front entrance where two guards smoke cigarettes and pretend they're not watching me.

The guards rotate every six hours. Marco and Giuseppe take the morning shift, both lazy enough to let their attention wander when the housekeeper brings them coffee. The afternoon crew is sharper, Tony and Sal, who track my movements like hunting dogs. But it's the night shift I need to understand.

My silk slippers whisper against marble as I make my way downstairs. The mansion breathes around me, all shadows and secrets. Somewhere in this labyrinth is Luca's study—the room I glimpsed on my wedding night before he dragged me away.

"Going somewhere, princess?"

I freeze. Tommy Bianchi materializes from the shadows near the library entrance, his bulk filling the doorway. Luca's lieutenant moves like a predator despite his size, all coiled violence beneath expensive suits.

"Just walking," I say carefully. "I couldn't sleep."

His laugh is like gravel scraping glass. "Couldn't sleep? Maybe you're missing your old life. Your old bed. Your old... company."

The implication hangs in the air like smoke. I keep my expression neutral, but my pulse kicks up a notch.

"I think I'll go back to my room."

"I think you'll stay right where you are." He steps into the hallway, blocking my path. "See, I've been watching you, Mrs. Valenti. Counting your steps. Timing your little... explorations."

My mouth goes dry. "I don't know what you mean."

"Sure you don't." He moves closer, and I catch the scent of cigarettes and something darker violence, maybe. "You think we're all stupid? That we don't see you mapping this place like you're planning something?"

"Planning what?" I force confusion into my voice. "This is my home now."

"Home." He spits the word. "You're poison, princess. Romano poison, running through Valenti veins. The boss might be blind to it, but I see you."

My back hits the wall. When did he get so close?

"I think there's been a misunderstanding…"

"No misunderstanding." His hand slams against the marble beside my head. "You're planning something. Maybe an escape. Maybe something worse. But I'm going to find out what."

"I'm not…."

"Shut up." His other hand grabs my wrist, squeezing hard enough to bruise. "You want to play innocent? Fine. But I know what you are. I know what your family did."

The pressure on my wrist increases. Pain shoots up my arm, but I don't cry out. Won't give him the satisfaction.

"My family….."

"Murdered innocent people." His face is inches from mine now, breath hot and sour. "Including a sixteen-year-old boy who never hurt anyone.”

The words hit like a physical blow. I've heard whispers, fragments of the story, but never the details. Never the age.

"I didn't know…."

"Course you didn't. Princess Elena, living in her ivory tower while her daddy butchered children." His grip shifts to my throat, not choking but threatening. "The boss wants to break you slow, but me? I think you need to understand your place right now."

Fire races through my veins. The helpless girl who walked down that aisle two weeks ago is gone, burned away by days of humiliation and threats.

"Get. Your hands. Off me."

He laughs. "Or what? You'll scream? Who's gonna help you? The guards work for us. The staff knows better than to interfere. You're all alone, princess."

Something snaps inside me.

My knee drives upward, connecting with soft tissue. Tommy doubles over with a strangled curse, his grip on my throat loosening. I don't wait my elbow comes down hard on the back of his neck.

He stumbles but doesn't fall. Big men rarely do. Instead, he straightens with murder in his eyes.

"You little bitch…."

His fist swings toward my face. I duck, muscle memory from self-defense classes my father insisted on taking over. The punch whistles past my ear, and I drive my palm upward into his nose.

Blood explodes across his face.

"Fuck!" He staggers back, clutching his nose. Blood streams between his fingers. "You broke my fucking nose!"

"Good." The word comes out savage, primal. "Touch me again and I'll break more than that."

He charges like an enraged bull. This time I'm not fast enough. His shoulder drives into my stomach, slamming me back against the wall. Air explodes from my lungs. Stars dance across my vision.

His hands wrap around my throat properly now, cutting off my air supply. I claw at his fingers, but he's too strong, too heavy.

"Should've stayed quiet, princess. Should've known your place."

Black spots creep in from the edges of my vision. My lungs burn. I'm going to die in this hallway, and no one will care. No one will even ask questions.

My hand finds the heavy crystal paperweight on the hall table. Without thinking, I grab it and bring it down on his wrist.

He screams, releasing my throat. I gasp, drawing precious air into my burning lungs.

"You psychotic…”

The paperweight catches him across the temple. He drops like a stone.

I stand over his unconscious form, chest heaving, blood singing in my ears. The crystal paperweight drips red onto the white marble floor.

"Well. That was unexpected."

I spin toward the voice, the paperweight still clutched in my hand. Dominic stands at the far end of the hallway, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

How long has he been watching?

"He attacked me," I gasp, wiping blood from a split lip I didn't realize I had.

"I saw." Dominic moves closer, his steps careful, non-threatening. "You've got good reflexes."

"Self-defense classes." The words come out shaky. Adrenaline is wearing off, leaving me hollow and trembling.

"Your father's idea?"

I nod, not trusting my voice.

Dominic crouches beside Tommy's prone form, checking his pulse. "He's alive. Concussed, but alive."

"I didn't mean to…."

"Yes, you did." He straightens, fixing me with those sharp eyes. "And you should have. Tommy's been pushing boundaries for weeks. Someone needed to push back."

The paperweight slips from my numb fingers, clattering against marble.

"Luca's going to be furious," I whisper.

"About what? Tommy attacking his wife?" Dominic's smile is cold. "Trust me, he'll be more angry about that than about you defending yourself."

"You don't understand. I hurt one of his men."

"You defended yourself against one of his men. There's a difference." He moves closer, and I catch the scent of expensive cologne and cigarettes. "Elena. Look at me."

I raise my eyes to his face. There's something almost gentle in his expression.

"You did nothing wrong. Tommy overstepped, and you handled it. End of story."

"But—"

"No buts." His voice carries quiet authority. "This is how it works in our world. Respect is earned through strength. Tommy disrespected you, so you made him pay. That's not weakness, it's survival."

Tommy groans, stirring slightly. Blood still streams from his broken nose.

"We need to get him medical attention," I say.

Dominic raises an eyebrow. "Concerned about his welfare?"

"I'm not a killer."

"Maybe not. But you're not a victim anymore either." He pulls out his phone, typing rapidly. "I'll have someone clean this up. Get Tommy to a doctor. Handle the... aftermath."

"What aftermath?"

"Tommy's going to want revenge. His pride's hurt worse than his face." Dominic pockets his phone, studying me with new interest. "You need to be ready for that."

Fear crawls up my spine. "What do you mean?"

"I mean Tommy's not the forgiving type. And he's not the only one in this house who sees you as a threat." His gaze flicks toward the main staircase, where Marcella's portrait watches from the landing. "You just proved you're dangerous. That changes things."

"I don't want to be dangerous."

"Too late for that." His voice is surprisingly gentle. "The moment you walked into this house, you became dangerous. The question is whether you're going to own it or let it own you."

Footsteps echo from the main staircase. Multiple sets, moving fast.

"Shit," Dominic mutters. "That'll be the morning guards. They heard the commotion."

Panic flutters in my chest. "What do I do?"

"Nothing. Let me handle this." He positions himself between me and Tommy's unconscious form. "And Elena? Next time someone threatens you, don't hesitate. In this world, hesitation gets you killed."

Marco and Giuseppe round the corner, hands already reaching for concealed weapons. They take in the scene….me bloodied and shaking, Tommy unconscious in a pool of blood, Dominic standing calm as a statue.

"What happened?" Marco demands.

"Tommy got handsy with Mrs. Valenti," Dominic says smoothly. "She reminded him of his place."

Giuseppe's eyes widen as he takes in Tommy's condition. "She did this?"

"Self-defense." Dominic's voice carries a warning. "Any man in this house who can't control himself around the boss's wife deserves what he gets."

The guards exchange glances. Some unspoken communication passes between them.

"Should we call the boss?" Marco asks.