Ch. 2

ALESSANDRO

The screams are sharper in basements like this.

Cement walls. No windows. No hope. Just the hum of fluorescent lights, the iron stench of blood, and the occasional whimper of a dying man. My kind of place.

One of my father’s oldest associates, if you could call a parasite that, hangs from a meat hook in the center of the room. His face is swollen, half purple, half red, lips cracked, eyes fluttering open and shut like they can’t decide whether to beg or die.

The other two are strapped to chairs. Cowards. Their sweat stains spread like ink across silk shirts. Gucci. Tom Ford. Expensive fabric that can’t hide the smell of betrayal. And they stink like shit.

“You thought you could carve pieces from my empire,” I say as I circle them, slow and deliberate. My tone is low, almost bored. I never raise my voice. Men like this, rats in Brioni suits don’t need shouting. They need consequences.

I stop in front of the one with the twitching eye. “Tell me something,” I murmur. “Was it worth it? Stealing from my accounts? Bleeding my business dry while you smiled in my face?”

He opens his mouth, but I hold up a finger. “Don’t. Just don’t.” I glance at the man hanging from the hook. “I’m starting to think I’ve been too soft. My father would’ve fed you to the dogs by now.”

That’s when Luka walks in.

His boots echo across the floor like gunshots. He’s dragging someone behind him, a girl. Slender, legs too long for her frame, fair skin lit with defiance, and hair tangled like she’s been through hell already. Maybe she has. Maybe hell is just the place she came from.

Big eyes. Not crying. But alert. Searching. Like she’s trying to find all the exits at once.

“Boss,” Luka says, voice amused. “This one gave me trouble. Tried to bite.”

He shoves her forward. She stumbles but catches herself. She does not look at Luka, she does not look at the blood. She looks at me.

Rue.

The daughter. The payment. Luka called to tell me about the development.

I glance once, dismissive. “Not interested. Put her somewhere until I’m done here.”

But she doesn’t move and it's funny how Luka isn't carrying her away like I commanded.

She stands there like she belongs in the middle of all this violence. No flinching. No shrinking. Just quiet rebellion sitting on her shoulders.

I smirk without turning fully toward her. “Don’t like being ignored, huh?”

Silence.

“Welcome to the Vanillin estate, sweetheart,” I say. “Here, attention is earned. Not begged for.” Still nothing.

Luka grabs her arm to pull her back and everything shifts.

It happens so fast even my eyes barely catch it. She spins and yanks the pistol from Luka’s waistband like she was born knowing where to find it, and before anyone can react, she’s aiming it at my chest.

Not his head. Mine.

The room goes silent. Even the bastard on the hook stops groaning.

Her hands are shaking, breath coming fast, but her eyes, Jesus. Those eyes, they are not scared anymore. They are on fire.

“You’re going to shoot me?” I ask, amused.

“I’ll do it,” she snaps. “Don’t test me.”

The heat in her voice is pure. Not practiced. Not posturing. Despite being scared, she means it.

And suddenly, I’m intrigued.

I lift a hand to stop Luka, who’s halfway to her already. “It seems she is desperate to be heard. Let’s hear her out.”

Her eyes flick between us, wild and bright. “You don’t get to treat me like some mutt you picked off the street. I came to speak to you, you should listen to what I'm saying before you dismiss me”

I step forward, slowly. Her grip tightens, but the gun dips slightly.

She’s not trained. One shot, and she might hit my shoulder if she’s lucky. But still.

No one else in this room has dared to point a weapon at me in years.

Now we’re close. Her fingers are trembling. Her lips slightly parted. That same scent again, pain and desperation.

“If you pull that trigger,” I say softly, “you won’t survive the next minute.”

“Then stop testing me,” she hisses.

I let the words hang. Then, deliberately, I move forward until the barrel touches my chest, right above my heart.

She freezes. She was not expecting that movement.

I lower my gaze to her fingers. Still shaking. But not loosening.

I could snap her wrist in a second, disarm her. Have her thrown into the cellar until the only thing left is screams? But instead… I smile.

“You just became interesting, Rue,” I murmur. “And I don’t do well with interesting things. I tend to break them.”

She swallows hard. She is nervous now but she is trying so hard to conceal it.

I reach up and, gently, slide the gun from her hands. She doesn’t resist. Not because she is afraid. But because she’s already calculated the odds. Smart girl.

I pass the weapon back to Luka, my eyes never leaving hers.

But my blood is humming now. Not with rage. With something sharper. Hungrier.

Most girls like her fall apart before I even speak. They cry, beg and try to play soft, like it will earn them mercy but Rue didn’t flinch.

Even when I gave the order, “Strip her.”

Luka hesitated. Just for a moment. Probably thought she would plead. She didn’t.

“Don’t touch me,” she said, spitting venom. “I’m not a fucking whore.”

I stepped forward and then she looked at me. Really looked at me.

Not like she expected. I wasn’t wearing the monster mask she imagined. No scars, no chains, just power, quiet, cold, and absolute.

She blinked once. Then again. Then straightened her spine. Then repeated “Don’t touch me”

I could’ve laughed. But I didn’t.

“I am your master,” I told her, voice low and calm. “I own you and you will accept everything I do to you. Until your father pays what he owes, or until you give me an heir, you are mine.”

Her fist clenched. Her jaw twitched. She was seething. “I am not agreeing to any of your demands, I am going to pay you back,” she growled. “Tell me how much he owes right now and I will pay everything back, YOU SON OF A BITCH!”

That fire. That fucking fire.

I grinned then. Not because it was funny. But because it was the first honest thing anyone had said to me in months.

“Half a million,” I said. “And since you have decided to take on the debt, I give you one month.”

She didn’t cry. But the shock is unmistaken. She is speechless. Didn't she understand what she was getting into before she decided to take the burden upon herself?

She stood there, shaking, lips pressed into a line, eyes blazing like a woman who already knew she was walking into hell and dared me to watch her do it.

“Put her in my suite,” I say. “Let’s see how long her fire lasts.”

Then I turn back to the traitors.

I tell myself that I am keeping her because she makes my blood run like fire. Because she reminds me that not all beautiful things are soft. Some are sharp, wild, and deadly.

And if I’m lucky, this one might just destroy me.

But first, I’m going to break her. Piece by exquisite piece.