Ch 4

RUE

The silence in Alessandro’s suite is thicker than the air in that godforsaken basement. I sit on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped tightly around myself, trying not to look as shaken as I feel.

But I am shaken. Shaken to my core.

I can still feel the cold press of his chest beneath the muzzle of Luka’s gun. The heat of his gaze was like it could strip flesh from bone. The weight of his words as they curled around my throat like a noose.

“You just became interesting, Rue.”

I don’t want to be interesting. I want to be forgotten. I want to wake up and find out none of this is real, that I’m not the daughter of a gambling addict who traded me like poker chips. That I’m not now the reluctant prisoner of a man who could smile while snapping someone’s neck.

But here I am, on a bed that costs more than my tuition and probably soaked in blood, I will never see.

I glance toward the door. Locked. Of course. There’s a small table by the wall, a glass of water, and a few medical supplies, left by the person who came to clean me up. My elbow stings from where I scraped it during the scuffle, but I barely feel it. Pain is background noise now.

I can’t stop seeing him.

Alessandro Vanillin.

I’ve read about men like him. Whispers in news articles. Headlines that dance around the truth with words like “rumored” and “alleged.” But up close, there is nothing unclear about him. His power is made flesh, cold, calculating, and the worst part? He made something in me light up. Something I don’t want to name.

God, what is wrong with me? I should be thinking of ways to pay 500k dollars, after talking that way to him, after all strong and mighty.

I stand and start pacing, my boots echoing softly on the polished floors. I count each step like it’s going to bring me back to reality.

One. I am not property.

Two. I will not cry.

Three. I will find a way out of this.

Four. . .

The door swings open before I figure out what the number four is going to be...

Luka enters with a tray. His smirk makes my stomach curl. “Thought I’d bring you dinner,” he says, kicking the door shut with his boot. “Or were you planning on fasting until the Don gets bored and tosses you in a ditch?”

I stare at him.

He sets the tray down on the dresser, then leans back against it, folding his arms. “You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that. Pulling a gun on Alessandro? Girl, you’re either the bravest or the stupidest thing I’ve seen.” His words came out low as if he was getting bored even talking to me about it.

“I wasn’t trying to impress you,” I say.

He laughs. “No, you weren’t. But you did impress him. I look away. “That’s not something I want.”

Luka shrugs. “Too late for that, sweetheart. You are here now. And that month he gave you? It will feel like a lifetime if you don’t figure out how to survive him.”

I cross my arms. “And how exactly do I do that?”

Instead of giving me the answer to the question I asked, He starts toward the door but pauses before leaving. “Eat something. You’ll need your strength.”

I don’t move until I hear the door lock behind him. Then I collapse into the chair and stare at the untouched food. I don't feel like eating anything but he is right, I will need strength. And if I’m going to claw my way out of this hell, I can’t do it on an empty stomach.

I force down a few bites of pasta, even though the beautiful food only tastes like ash in my mouth.

After I’m done, I lie on the bed, staring at the ceiling. My mind won’t shut off.

I think about school, the bar, and my friends, or what few I have left. How quickly everything unraveled. One moment I’m scraping together tuition, and the next I’m locked inside the lair of a man who kills without blinking.

But the worst part, the thing I can’t stop thinking about, is how it felt when he stood in front of me. How calm he was, how close he came. How the world seemed to narrow to the sound of our breathing, like a storm ready to break.

He said he breaks interesting things. He looked at me like he couldn’t wait to start.

The next morning, I’m woken by the sound of the door unlocking. I sit up fast, heart thudding. It’s not Luka this time.

It’s him.

Alessandro. He didn't come to the suite last night.

He’s in a black dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, the top few buttons undone. There’s blood on his knuckles. His expression is unreadable.

“Get dressed,” he says.

I stare at him. “Where are we going?”

He doesn’t answer.

He just tosses a folded dress onto the bed. Black and fitted, probably designer. It looks like it was made to be worn once and then ripped off.

“I’m not a doll you can dress up,” I say, standing slowly.

His eyes flick over me. “You’re not much of a doll at all. But tonight, I need you to look like you belong.”

“Belong?” I scoff. “In your world? I don’t.”

His voice lowers. “You do now.”

I don’t argue. There’s no point. I take the dress and step into the bathroom. He doesn’t follow, but I feel his presence like a brand on my back.

As I slip into the dress, something twists in my chest. This isn’t who I am. I’m Rue, the girl who works double shifts to pay her bills. The girl who studied under flickering lights, who lived on instant noodles. I’ve never worn something this expensive. I’ve never belonged anywhere like this.

But maybe I can fake it.

I return to the room. Alessandro doesn’t speak. He just nods once and walks to the door and I follow him.

Down the halls of his estate, marble floors, gold accents, men with guns at every corner. The scent of expensive cologne and something darker clings to the air. Something like power and violence.

He leads me outside to a black car. The driver opens the door. I hesitate, but Alessandro places a hand on the small of my back.

“Don’t make me push you.”

The pressure of his hand lingers long after I slide into the seat.

As the car pulls away from the estate, I look at my reflection in the tinted window. This girl, this version of me, I don’t recognize her. She looks poised. Composed but inside, I’m screaming.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I say quietly.

He glances at me. “What question?”

“Where are we going?”

“To meet someone.”

“Another traitor?” I ask bitterly.

“No,” he says. “Worse.”

I want to ask more, but the look on his face silences me. There’s a coldness in his eyes again, deeper than before.