Surrendered To The Italian Tycoon

AlinaThe silence was deafening. Even with the soft crackle of the fireplace, the ticking of an old clock somewhere in the room, the silence weighed heavier than any loud sound. It seeped through the pores, lodged itself in the bones, made the mind scream. And me? I was frozen. My hands, still tied, tingled from poor circulation. My neck ached. My knees, still scraped from falling in the street, throbbed in protest. But nothing hurt more than the loss of control. The certainty that I didn’t know where I was. That he—that man—knew everything about me. And I, nothing about him. Dante Morelli. That was the name I heard murmured among the guards. Whispered as if it were a sin to say it aloud. Dante. The devil in a suit. My gaze searched the dimly lit room, even though my legs trembled too much to stand. It was a large space, far too wide. The windows were covered by thick burgundy curtains. There was an enormous bed in one corner, made as if no one dared to lie on it. And I was on

AlinaLight filtered through the cracks in the heavy curtains when the sound of the door opening woke me. Still groggy from restless sleep and the tangled dreams that haunted me through the night, I slowly sat up in bed. The warmth of the fireplace no longer heated the room as before, and my feet touched the cold floor with a slight shiver.Standing before the bed was the same middle-aged woman from before, carrying a silver tray with breakfast. She wore a simple black dress, a white apron, and her hair was tightly pinned in a bun. Her features were serious, but her eyes were kind. The housekeeper.“Good morning, Miss Ribeiro,” she said with a slight nod. “Mr. Morelli asked that your breakfast be served.”I blinked, surprised. I still felt tangled in the memories of the previous night — the tension of dinner, the piano, the warmth of his presence. My heart still echoed with Dante’s dangerous whispers. But in the present, it was just the woman before me, offering warm croissants, homem