too much light

He thought silence would scare me.

But I knew how the mafia worked. Not every man with a gun has a brain that works. And when a man like Zach Romano leads with authority that borders on religion, his men are usually too afraid to question.

Or more accurately... too stupid to suspect.

I opened the closet. Expensive dresses hung neatly, all in my size. That bastard even picked out clothes for me. As if this wasn’t a kidnapping. As if this was some kind of deranged vacation.

I took a long breath and chose a silk blouse. I changed slowly, deliberately.

What I needed was a map. A way out. A route to the garage. The back exits. Who was on night duty. Who looked the youngest, the most tired, the easiest to bend. And most of all, who was dumb enough to swallow my sweet smile without a second thought.

But to do that, I needed someone to talk to.

A soft knock broke the silence. I turned, shoulders squared.

It's him again.

The door opened, and the scent of fine tobacco drifted in first. Then he walked in.

He stood at the doorway, eyes scanning me from head to toe. "Still breathing," he muttered.

I tilted my head. "Were you hoping I'd die in my sleep?"

"I was hoping you'd stay quiet longer."

"Well," I said, walking over to the table near the window, pouring tea into a cup, "that's a little too optimistic for a Romano."

He stepped closer. "You trying to escape?"

I stared back. Didn’t answer. "I’m not running, Romano," I said softly. "Because running is stupid. And unfortunately for you, I’m not a stupid woman."

He stepped in. Now just a few paces away. The air between us thickened. Solidified.

"Good," he said quietly. "Because if you run... I’ll hunt you. And I won’t be nice if I have to catch you twice."

I smiled. Cold. "You thought you were nice last night?"

He nodded. "Very."

Bastard.

I sat back down. Let him think I was calm. That I was settling. That maybe, just maybe, I was beginning to soften.

But in my head, the details were lining up one by one.

How many steps from my room to the staircase. How fast a car showed up when summoned. Who guarded the halls during dinner. And more importantly... how many of them would get suspicious if a Serrano woman smiled just a little too sweetly.

And Zach...

Zach had no idea.

When the time came, I’d blow it apart from the inside.

:::

I showered for twenty minutes. Maybe more.

Not because I needed to be clean, but because it was the only place where the sound of water drowned everything else. And for a moment, I could pretend this was just a luxury hotel suite, not a gilded cage crafted by my husband’s enemy.

Steam filled the room, blurring the bruises on my temple and the chaos left from last night. But it couldn’t erase the plan already taking shape in the back of my mind.

I put on one of the dresses from the walk-in closet, and somehow... it fit too perfectly. A sand-colored linen dress, knee-length, with thin straps and a V-neckline that wasn’t too deep, but just enough to say I wasn’t afraid.

No makeup, even though the vanity was stocked with plenty. Just quickly dried hair and a hint of white tea from the body lotion I found tucked in the marble drawer of the bathroom.

When I stepped out of the bedroom, the mansion greeted me with light.

Too much light.

A soaring ceiling with two-story glass windows flooded the space with sunlight. Travertine stone columns arched elegantly, like the villa was built somewhere between Rome and the sky. The floors were dark oak, polished to perfection, and the walls reflected the brightness too well.

Everything here felt... designed to intimidate. And to be seen. No shadows. No hidden corners.

Everything was too open. Too bright. And far too easy to get lost in.

I passed two silent maids who kept their heads down and made my way down a marble staircase toward a dining room that opened onto a garden. The scent of roasted rosemary and lemon reached me before any sound did. A long walnut table stretched across the room, only two chairs pulled out from the dozen that lined it. Two plates. Two glasses. And at the far end—

Him.

Zach sat leaning slightly forward, cutting into something on his plate. A black shirt rolled to his elbows, revealing forearms that looked far too calm for a man that dangerous. His hair was still damp, a line of water trailing down his collarbone. He looked like someone who’d just finished a murder call and decided lunch was a reasonable transition.

I held my breath. Then walked slowly toward the chair across from him.

He looked up. Just briefly.

His eyes scanned. Fast. Sharp. And for a split second, I could’ve sworn something shifted in them...but I didn’t care to know what.

“Sit,” he ordered.

I sat.

There was already a plate in front of me: roasted sea bass with lemon thyme sauce, paired with a crisp green salad and a warm slice of focaccia. White wine chilled in a crystal glass. Dry.

Far too elegant for a prisoner.

Zach chewed slowly, in silence, composed.

I picked up my fork. Took a bite of the fish. “If you're trying to poison me,” I said flatly, “this is a very inefficient way to do it.”

Zach didn’t look over. “Poison’s for cowards,” he said. “I prefer people to know they’re dying.”

A chill crawled down my spine.

I dabbed the corner of my mouth with a linen napkin. “One more sentence like that and you could be in a crime novel.”

“I’ve already been in five,” he replied, eyes locking with mine. “One even won a minor award in Palermo.”

I almost laughed. Swallowed it with a piece of bread.

Silence filled the room again. Just the sound of silverware, knives against porcelain, and birds outside the window that sounded too peaceful for a day like this. The sea breeze slipped through the thin curtains, lifting strands of my hair now and then.

“I’m curious,” I said, finally. “What’s your actual plan?”

Zach didn’t answer right away. He set his fork down slowly, leaned back in his chair, and looked at me like I was a riddle with two answers....and both of them wrong.

“Matteo doesn’t know how to lose something without pain,” he said softly. “I just want to make sure he learns.”

I raised an eyebrow. “By kidnapping his wife?”

“By taking the one thing he can’t buy back.”

I hissed. “You think I’m... his property?”

“You’re his wife. But he seems to treat you more like an object than a person.” Zach held my gaze. Then said quietly, “At least, he thinks so. And that’s enough.”

I wrapped my fingers around the stem of the glass, turning it slowly. “Do you think I belong to anyone?”

He didn’t answer right away. But a faint smile, almost like a shadow, crossed his lips. “If I thought you did, I would’ve fucked you the night you got lost.”

I froze. Goosebumps rose across my skin. It didn’t feel like a threat. It felt worse.

“You seem more comfortable now,” he said eventually, resting his elbow on the table, watching me over the rim of his wineglass.

I lifted my chin. “Comfort’s a useful weapon.”

“For who?”

“For the one who knows how to wield it.”

Zach gave a smile, a challenge. “You’re like a designer-labeled time bomb,” he said. “Sharp. Beautifully wrapped. Waiting for someone dumb enough to pull the pin.”

I stared back, unflinching. “Do you like danger, Zach?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “I like knowing my enemies. And you...” He tapped the side of his glass with one finger. “...you’re not easy to read.”