Under His Watch

The biting cold seemed to seep into Marianna's bones, but she couldn't shake the feeling that it was his presence that sent shivers down her spine.

His aura seemed to radiate an icy chill, making it impossible to distinguish between the external temperature and the frostiness emanating from him. The hallway, though dimly lit, felt like a tunnel of fear, closing in on her with every step he took. 

The overhead chandelier flickered slightly, casting long, wavering shadows across the marble floor that mirrored her dread.

As he stepped closer, Marianna's instincts screamed for her to flee, but he blocked her path. He didn’t have to say a word—his presence alone was suffocating.

 His cold, piercing eyes seemed to bore into her very soul as he grasped her hand roughly, dragging her back before pinning her against the wall.

The impact knocked the wind out of her. Her hands immediately reached to push him away, but he was like a wall—unmovable.

 His body caged her in, a trap of flesh and fury. His eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, time froze. The air was thick with tension, heavy with unspoken words and unbearable power, as they stood there, frozen in a dangerous anticipation.

"I hate wasting my time, kitten. I must admit, you're quite stubborn—that’s a turn-on for me." His breath was warm on her skin, his voice a venom-laced whisper in her ear. Her body quaked with an uncontrollable fear, her knees threatening to buckle. He relished the sight of her trembling, a sick amusement glinting in his gaze.

"Please let me go; it hurts." Tears welled up in her eyes as she whimpered. She felt his grip dig deeper into her skin, sharp and unrelenting.

He smiled knowingly, slowly, cruelly.

"I told you the last time, kitten, I love seeing people in pain. Your cries? They’re like music to my ears. I warned you to run—but it’s too late now."

He finally released his grip, and she collapsed to the ground, gasping for air, her wrist throbbing, her chest heaving. Her vision blurred from the tears, and for a moment, she thought she might pass out.

Then, like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat, he crouched down and pulled a photo from his coat. He dangled it in front of her like a trophy, his smile curling with sinister pride.

"Your little boyfriend looks cute, by the way," he said, each word a bullet to her chest.

Anna's eyes widened in horror. Her heart stopped, then restarted with a painful thud.

"How?" Her voice cracked, her throat dry.

He tossed the picture onto her lap. "You are playing a dangerous game, kitten. You belong to me now—don’t forget that."

With a final, lingering glance and a dark smirk, he turned on his heel and strode away, the sound of his footsteps echoing like a countdown, each step a threat etched into the silence.

She sat there in a puddle of tears, her heart thudding against her ribs like a frantic drum. Her fingers trembled as she touched the photo, horror blooming in her chest.

"What just happened?" she thought, stunned and shattered, as the shadows swallowed her whole.

Sandro walked into his wing, shedding his coat before heading into the bathroom. He took a warm bath, the heat relaxing his muscles but doing little to thaw the ice in his veins. The steam clung to his skin like a ghost, but his mind was elsewhere, consumed by Marianna.

Cleaned and dressed in silk, he settled on his bed and brought out his phone. His fingers moved fast, dialing Kendrox’s number.

"Boss," Kendrox answered groggily, his voice hinting that he’d been in the middle of something.

"Send me all the information you found out about Marianna. I need it immediately," Sandro ordered and hung up without waiting for a reply.

His phone beeped after a while, the message long and detailed. Sandro sighed and leaned back against his pillows, scrolling through the text slowly.

"Her mother hasn’t spoken to her in months. But she forced her into the marriage," he thought. The more he read, the more it made sense.

He could tell from the way she behaved toward him that she hadn’t entered this marriage willingly. He should have known from the start—her guarded eyes, the quiet rebellion in her silence.

"Her dad is sick," he muttered aloud.

Suddenly, it all clicked.

Her mother had probably threatened her with her father’s failing health. Used him as a pawn to shove Marianna into this unwanted alliance. Her own mother gave her away to a monster like him, and not once did she look back.

He smirked as he recalled the way Marianna had cried when he showed her the picture. Her little toy boy had clearly meant something to her.

"Little kitten is getting tamed soon," he murmured.

He set his phone down and walked over to his drawer. Inside, nestled among several old guns and burner phones, was another cell. He brought it out, flipped it open, and dialed a number he hadn’t used in months.

The line connected immediately.

"Mr. Alessandro," the person on the other end greeted.

Sandro sat down on his bed, one leg crossed over the other. His voice was calm, deadly.

"I need you to work on a case for me. There’s a man in prison—he’s sick. I want him out. Use the medical grounds to submit an appeal. Kendrox will forward the details. Get it done quickly."

"Understood."

Sandro didn’t bother saying goodbye. He ended the call, tossed the phone aside, and leaned back, deep in thought.

Marianna stood by her mirror, tying her hair back as she readied herself for school. She wore baggy trousers and a plain crop top, hoping to blend in and keep attention at bay. Her eyes were puffy, her movements mechanical.

Today she would tell her friends the truth. About the marriage. About Sandro. About everything.

She stepped outside and nearly jumped back.

A tall man in a dark suit stood by the door, expression unreadable.

"Ma’am, the car is ready," the man said politely.

Marianna blinked. "Who are you?"

He bowed slightly. "Pardon my manners. My name is Marco. I’m one of your bodyguards from now on."

Her gaze shifted past him. Parked outside were three black cars. Four other men stood nearby, all suited, armed, and watching her closely.

"Bodyguards? What the hell is going on?"

"Boss gave the order. You are not to leave the house unless we accompany you," Marco explained.

Her stomach dropped. "He’s trying to trap me."

"If you have questions, he asked me to give you this." Marco handed her a phone.

She took it hesitantly and turned it on. It rang instantly.

She answered.

"Kitten," his cold voice slid into her ear like smoke.

Her body stiffened. Even without seeing him, fear gripped her.

"What is going on, Sandro?"

She could almost hear the smirk in his voice.

"Just my way of caring for my little kitten."

"By caging me?! What were you thinking?!"

"Mind your tone," he cut her off sharply. "Don’t make me punish you again, kitten."

She gulped. Her hands trembled. "I’m… sorry."

"Good girl. Now go on. This might be your last day at school."

Click.

He ended the call.

Her hand dropped to her side, the phone still clutched tight.

"Last day? What does that mean?"

She turned to Marco, flustered.

“I’m not walking into school with three black SUVs and a private SWAT team. I’ll look like a mafia heiress!”

"I’m sorry, ma’am. Only the boss can change the order."

Marianna groaned and stomped her foot like a frustrated child.

"Heartless bastard," she muttered as she turned and stormed back inside.

Her brow was furrowed, her eyes narrowed in frustration. Each step she took echoed through the marble hallway like a warning. The Veleno mansion was beautiful—but every inch of it reminded her of what she’d lost:

Her freedom.