Chapter 3: The Rules

She stood under the scalding spray of the shower until the water ran clear. She scrubbed viciously at her skin, watching Marco’s blood swirl down the drain. The dress lay in a heap on the bathroom floor like a discarded ghost. When she finally stepped out, a stack of clothes waited on the bed. Soft black leggings, a silk blouse the color of midnight, and simple underwear that somehow fit perfectly. She wondered how he guessed her size so accurately.

She dressed quickly, braiding her damp hair over one shoulder. The terrace doors were still open, letting in the salty breeze and the distant roar of waves. For one wild moment, she considered climbing down the cliffs. Then she remembered the guards and the sheer drop. That was sucide.

A soft knock sounded before the door unlocked. The same middle-aged woman from earlier entered with a silver tray.

“Signor Moretti (Sir Morretti) requests your presence for dinner on the terrace,” she said politely, setting the tray down. “He suggests you eat first. The conversation may… ruin your appetite.”

Elena almost laughed. “Tell him I’m not hungry.”

The woman’s expression remained neutral. “He anticipated that answer. He said to remind you that refusing will only make things more difficult.” She bowed slightly and left, locking the door again.

Elena stared at the food—grilled octopus, fresh bread, olives, and a glass of red wine. Her stomach betrayed her with a growl. She sat on the edge of the bed and ate quickly, refusing to savor anything he provided.

Twenty minutes later, the door opened again. Enzo filled the frame, now dressed in a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing powerful forearms. No tie. No jacket.

“You clean up nicely,” he observed, eyes sweeping over her.

“And you look every bit the dangerous predator you are,” Elena shot back.

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Come now. We have rules to discuss.”

He didn’t wait for her agreement. Elena followed him out of spite, heels clicking on the marble floors. He led her to a wide private terrace overlooking the sea. The table was set with candles and more wine. The sun had dipped low, painting the sky in blood reds and deep purples.

“Sit,” Enzo said.

This time, she did. Mostly because her legs still felt unsteady from the long day. He poured two glasses of wine and slid one toward her.

“Rule number one: You do not leave this villa without my permission or an escort. The grounds are safe. Beyond them, you’re a target for both the Rossis and possibly your own family.”

Elena crossed her arms. “My own family would never hurt me.”

Enzo’s expression darkened. “Your father was willing to marry you off to a man who enjoyed breaking pretty things. Your father was well aware and didn't give a fuck what would happen to you."

She flinched but held his gaze. “Rule number two?”

“You speak to no one outside this house without my knowledge. No phone. No messages. Your old life is on hold, for now.”

Her hands clenched into fists. “You can’t just lock me away and pretend I no longer exist.”

“I already did.” He stepped closer, towering over her. “Rule number three: You will not attempt to escape. Every guard here is loyal to me. They have orders to bring you back unharmed… but they won’t be gentle if you fight them.”

Elena’s temper snapped. She shot to her feet and shoved at his chest, solid as a wall. “And what if I make your perfect little prison a living hell every single day?”

Enzo caught her wrists gently but firmly, pulling her flush against him. The contact sent an unwanted spark through her body. Up close, he smelled like citrus, spice, and danger. His dark eyes locked onto hers, intense and unyielding.

“Then I’ll have to find more creative ways to keep you occupied,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Ways that don’t involve you leaving this villa… or this room.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. She could feel the hard planes of his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat. For a man who had just murdered someone hours ago, he was impossibly warm.

“You disgust me,” she whispered, but her voice wavered.

“Liar.” Enzo’s thumb brushed over her racing pulse at her wrist. “Your body doesn’t lie, Elena. You’re terrified… but you’re also curious. You’ve spent your whole life surrounded by weak, greedy men. Now you’re standing in front of a man who takes what he wants. And part of you wants to know what that feels like.”

She yanked her hands free and stepped back, breathing hard. “I will never want you.”

Enzo smiled then, a slow, predatory curve of his lips that made her knees feel weak. “Challenge accepted, principessa.”

He gestured to the table. “Finish your wine at least. We still have more rules to discuss, and I prefer doing business over dinner.”

The sea wind tugged at her hair as silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant crash of waves. Elena hated how right some of his words felt. She hated even more how aware she was of every movement he made.

Dinner passed in tense silence broken by occasional sharp exchanges. By the time the plates were cleared, the stars had come out overhead.

Enzo stood and offered her his hand. “One last rule for tonight. You sleep in your room. Alone. But if you need me…” His eyes darkened. “My room is at the end of the hall.”

Elena ignored his hand and stood on her own. “I’d rather die.”

His soft chuckle followed her as she walked back inside, head high.

But as she lay in the unfamiliar bed later that night, staring at the moonlit ceiling, Elena couldn’t stop replaying the feel of his hands on her wrists or the dangerous promise in his eyes.

Lorenzo Moretti was a monster.

And monsters, she was learning, could be dangerously tempting.