Chapter 4

Elara took a sharp intake of breath, her eyes suddenly opening. She grabbed her chest, feeling an immense amount of pain in it. It took a while for yesterday's memories to rush back into her head, but once they did, she panicked.

The screech of tires.

The gunshot.

Lucas’s lifeless eyes staring straight through her.

The cold metal of the gun butt cracking against her temple.

Her heart slammed so hard it hurt more than the ache in her skull. She lunged upward—only to be yanked back down. Cold steel bit into her right wrist and she realized she was handcuffed. To the headboard. She twist and turned, hoping to unlock it somehow but nothing worked.

“No—no—no—”

The word came out in short, frantic bursts. One of her father's enemies must've gotten her... but which one could it be?

She scanned the room for the first time since she got opened her eyes. The room was wide, unbelievable wide for where a prisoner should be kept. The walls and floor were covered with black wallpaper that had the wood illusion.

There was a long white rug that trailed all the way from the brown door that was obviously the entrance, to another brown door at the end of the room.

The bed that she was on, has black bedspread on it with a thick white blanket that she had kicked away from her frantic jerking. There was a small nightstand, beside the bed and sn oddly shaped lap sat on it.

The whole room had a very familiar scent but she couldn't pinpoint who it belongs to. Or where she had perceived it before.

She yanked at the cuff again—harder this time. The metal clinked loudly against the headboard. But instead of her wrist slipping out a bit like she expected, the iron seemed to have tightened.

In her frenzied state, she heard a small click from the door opposite to her. Her heart hammered against her chest and she scampered back, pressing her back against the headboard. Her free arm came instinctively, as if to protect her from whoever was coming.

" The more you struggle princessa, the tighter the cuffs become". The voice rolled over her like low thunder in her mind—calm, unhurried, unmistakably Italian. She recognized it instantly.

The same voice that had whispered against her ear in the dim room at the gala. The same one that belonged to a man that had haunted her sleep for weeks. The same voice that infiltrated through her mind, each time, demanding control. The same voice that belonged to the man she had countless made research about, starting from when she got back to the estate after the gala.

No, no, it can't be.

She moved her arm away from her face, prying open her clamped eyes.

A gasp escaped her mouth as she stared at the man before her. Goosebumps pricked on her skin and if she could disappear into the headboard, she would have.

The man before her was neatly dressed in a plain black shirt that had few button untucked and an equally black pant. Yet, somehow, he looked more dangerous than the masked men with guns.

Lorenzo stood just inside the doorway, one hand still resting on the knob he had just released. He didn’t move closer right away. He simply watched her—eyes dark and unblinking, taking in every detail: the wild rise and fall of her chest, the blood-streaked temple, the way her free hand trembled even as she tried to hold it steady like a shield.

“You,” she whispered. The word cracked the silence that had settled the room.

“Yes, Princessa. Me.”

He finally stepped forward, slow and deliberate, his dark boot, a contrast to the white rug. Each step made her pulse spike higher and the desperation to run, clawed her throat. But she couldn't move, she was frozen with fear.

When he reached the foot of the bed he stopped, arms loose at his sides, posture relaxed in a way that felt almost mocking.

She jerked the cuff again out of pure reflex and the steel pinched into her skin. Fresh pain flared up her wrist., a thin line of blood welling along the edge of the cuff.

Lorenzo's gaze dropped to her wrist. “I told you,” he said quietly. “It tightens.”

Her breathing turned ragged. “Let me go.”

He tilted his head the barest fraction—the same small movement she remembered from the hallway.

“No.”

Elara’s free hand fisted in the black sheets. “You killed Lucas."

He didn't bat an eyelid at her accusations “My men did what was sufficient to achieve the goal .”

Her vision blurred for a second—anger, fear, disbelief crashing together. “And the goal? Taking me hostage?”

His eyes darkened and he leaned on the bed. She gasped when she felt the tip of his finger on the exposed skin on her legs.

The touch was featherly light but it burned along her pale skin. It danced on the little hairs on her sin, along the outside of her thigh and stopped just above where the torn dress had ridden up

Elara jerked her leg away as far as the position allowed. Her skin prickled where his finger had been, heat blooming against her will.

“Don’t,” she hissed.

Lorenzo withdrew his hand without hurry, resting it on the footboard instead. His expression hadn’t changed—still that calm, unreadable mask—but the air between them thickened, charged. " You act so brave, but your whole body is trembling". he tsked " I can smell your fears, princessà".

“I’m not afraid of you,” she lied, the words coming out too fast, than she intended. She tried to convince her mind that it was true but the prominent, immersive fear that she felt, was enough to tell the truth. And he knew too.

“Liar,” his deep voice mumbled. “Your pulse is racing under that pretty skin. Your breath is shallow and your pupils are blown wide.” He leaned in fractionally, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off him. “You’re terrified. As you should be.”

Elara swallowed hard, forcing her chin up even as her free hand shook against the sheets.

“Then why not just kill me?” she asked. “I know I am here because of my father and that I am leverage. But you don't know my father, he'll never give you whatever you want from him. Even if my life depends on it” Although, it was the sad truth. It was true, nevertheless.

He went silent for a few seconds, his eyes roaming around her face before he leaned in AGAIN. "And who told you that I want something from your father?". her heart raced with their proximity but she refused to falter.

Until his last words

" What if it's from you? Will you give me?".