Smoke still lingered in the mansion the morning after the attack. The corridors smelled of gunpowder and blood, the marble floors streaked with dark stains that servants scrubbed at with trembling hands. Elena sat in a velvet chair in his study, her wrists still sore from his grip, her cheek throbbing from the slap she'd received from one of the masked men. Her mind replayed the night on a vicious loop: the gunfire, the screams, the Don's knife flashing in the dark.
He stood at the window, his white shirt replaced with a crisp black one, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. His presence dominated the room, heavy, suffocating. Men filtered in and out, murmuring updates, handing him folders, speaking in hushed voices. Every time one of them looked at Elena, their eyes darted quickly away—as if even acknowledging her existence was dangerous.
"They came directly for her," one of his lieutenants muttered, his accent sharp. "They bypassed the vault, the armory. Straight to her quarters."
Elena's stomach dropped. She gripped the armrests tighter, her nails digging into the fabric.
The Don's jaw ticked as he stared out the window. "Then they know." His voice was a low growl, dangerous in its calm.
"Know what?" Elena snapped, her voice raw. "That you kidnapped me? That you're keeping me here against my will? Maybe the universe is trying to do me a favor."
The room fell silent. Every soldier stiffened. No one spoke to him like that.
Slowly, he turned from the window. His eyes locked on her, cold and sharp. "Careful, Elena."
She stood, her chest heaving, fear battling fury. "No. You don't get to tell me to be careful. Last night, I was almost dragged out of this house by men who wanted me dead—or worse. Because of you. Because I'm here."
He crossed the room in three strides, his hand shooting out to seize her chin. He tilted her face up, forcing her to look at him. "They didn't come for you because of me. They came for you because of what you are to me."
Her breath hitched. "I'm nothing to you."
His eyes burned into hers, relentless. "You're everything."
Her chest tightened painfully. She tried to twist away, but his grip was iron. Finally, he released her, his voice dropping to something almost intimate. "And that means you've become the most dangerous weakness I have. Every enemy I have will try to use you. Every bullet, every blade, will aim for your heart before it reaches mine."
Elena stumbled back, shaking her head. "No. No, I never wanted this. I never asked—"
"You think wanting matters?" he cut in sharply. "You've stepped into my world. Now you live by its rules."
The words landed like shackles around her wrists. She sank back into the chair, her hands trembling.
Later that day, the mansion transformed into a fortress. More guards patrolled the grounds, their rifles glinting in the sunlight. Surveillance cameras blinked red in every corner. The iron gates slammed shut, chains and locks rattling like prison bars.
Elena paced her room like a caged animal. Every time she peeked through the curtains, she saw soldiers posted below, scanning the horizon with tense eyes. She was trapped tighter than ever.
When the maid brought food, Elena grabbed her wrist. "Please," she whispered desperately. "Help me. Just a phone call. One message. Anything."
The maid's eyes darted to the camera in the corner. She shook her head quickly, whispering back, "He sees everything. Don't ask me again." She slipped free and hurried out, leaving Elena's chest burning with helpless rage.
That evening, he came to her again.
Elena was curled in the window seat, arms wrapped around her knees, staring out at the setting sun. She didn't turn when the lock clicked. She didn't move when his shadow stretched across the room.
"You haven't eaten," he said.
"I'm not hungry."
He walked closer, stopping just behind her. "You're pale. Weak. Do you think starving yourself will change anything?"
Her throat tightened. "It's the only choice I have left."
He crouched down, so close she could feel his presence pressing against her. "Your choices are illusions. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be."
She turned sharply, anger sparking through her fear. "Easier for who? For you? So you can play puppet master with my life?"
His hand lifted, brushing her cheek—not rough this time, but unsettlingly gentle. "No. Easier for you. Because every time you fight me, you paint another target on your back. And I won't always get there in time."
Her breath caught. The memory of last night's knife, the blood splattering across the walls, surged back with terrifying clarity.
"I don't want your protection," she whispered hoarsely.
He leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "You don't have a choice."
Her body went rigid. Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back, refusing to give him that satisfaction.
He pulled back slowly, his gaze unreadable. "Tomorrow, you won't leave this room without me. Guards will shadow your every step. If anyone gets within ten feet of you, they die. Do you understand?"
She shook her head furiously. "You can't cage me like an animal."
His eyes hardened. "I can. And I will. Until my enemies are nothing but ashes."
Her breath came in sharp bursts. "And what happens when you run out of enemies? What happens to me then?"
For the first time, his expression flickered. Something unreadable flashed in his gaze—something dangerous, but almost vulnerable. He said nothing.
Then he straightened, his mask of control sliding back into place. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow will not be easier."
The lock clicked as he left.
Alone, Elena pressed her forehead to the glass. The grounds outside were cloaked in darkness, shadows shifting between the trees. She could almost hear whispers carried on the wind. Her pulse quickened.
Movement.
In the far distance, beyond the gates, she swore she saw figures. Watching. Waiting.
A chill swept over her.
She whispered to herself, "They're coming back."
And she knew, deep in her bones, that the Don was right. She wasn't just a prisoner. She was the prize in a war she didn't understand. A war that would end with her either consumed by him—or destroyed by those who wanted to rip her from his grasp.