The morning came soft and gray, but Elena couldn't shake the storm that still raged inside her.
She hadn't slept — every time she closed her eyes, she saw the gate, the rain, Lorenzo's face hovering inches from hers when he caught her. The way he looked at her… like she was both a problem and a secret he couldn't solve.
When the maid brought her breakfast, untouched from the night before, Elena stood abruptly. She was done sitting in silence. She needed air — she needed to think, to breathe, to feel something that wasn't fear.
So she went to find him.
Lorenzo was in his office, standing behind a massive oak desk covered in files, guns, and empty coffee cups. The light from the window caught the edge of his jaw, sharp as a blade. He didn't look up when she entered.
"You're not supposed to be here," he said flatly.
"I need to talk to you," Elena replied, trying to sound braver than she felt.
He finally looked up — dark eyes meeting hers, unreadable. "About what?"
"I need to go out," she said. "Just a walk. Some air."
He froze for a moment, then let out a low laugh. "A walk?"
"Yes," she insisted. "You can't keep me locked inside like a prisoner."
His tone was dry, cutting. "That's exactly what you are, bella."
Her heart clenched. "Please, Lorenzo. Just one hour. I won't run."
He arched a brow. "You tried that already."
She looked down, voice trembling. "I know. I just… I need to clear my head. Please."
For a long, unbearable silence, he said nothing. Then, finally, he sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "You'll have guards."
Her heart leapt. "So I can go?"
"I'll send three men with you," he said, his tone warning. "They don't take orders from you. You step out of sight, they bring you back — understood?"
Elena nodded quickly. "Understood."
But inside, she was already planning.
When the guards led her out an hour later, she could barely contain the mix of fear and hope twisting in her stomach. The city air felt strange after days inside — heavy with smoke and the faint scent of the sea. People walked by, laughing, living, free.
She followed the guards through the narrow streets, pretending to admire the old buildings. She smiled once or twice, trying to seem harmless. When they stopped by a small café, she asked softly, "Can I just look at the flowers? I won't go far."
The oldest guard hesitated, then nodded. "Two minutes."
She walked toward the alley beside the shop — and then she ran.
Her shoes hit the cobblestone hard. Her breath came out ragged. She darted through the crowd, heart hammering, her pulse screaming freedom, freedom, freedom.
"Miss Russo! Stop!" one of the guards shouted.
She didn't.
She turned a corner and nearly collided with a man. He caught her arm before she fell. "Whoa there, bella," he said, his voice smooth, laced with charm.
Elena looked up — dark hair, sharp suit, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "I— I'm sorry," she stammered.
His grip didn't loosen. "Why are you running?"
"I… I just need help," she whispered. "Please, someone is following me."
The man's eyes flickered with amusement. "Help, hm? You're far too pretty to be running alone."
Elena tried to pull back, but he tightened his hold. His cologne was heavy, suffocating. Something in his smile made her stomach twist with dread.
"Let go of me," she said, voice shaking.
He chuckled. "Relax, dolcezza. I'll take care of you."
Before she could scream, he shoved her toward a sleek black car parked nearby. Panic surged through her veins. She struggled, nails digging into his arm, but he was stronger — too strong.
"Stop it!" she cried. "Let me go!"
"Why would I?" he sneered. "A girl like you shouldn't wander. I'll make sure you never have to run again."
He opened the car door, forcing her closer. Elena's eyes filled with tears — she thought she'd escaped one cage, only to fall into another.
But then—
Bang!
The sound tore through the air — a gunshot, loud and sharp. People screamed and scattered. The man froze, his hand still gripping her arm.
A voice, low and furious, cut through the chaos.
"She's mine."
Elena turned toward the sound — and there he was.
Lorenzo De Luca stood at the mouth of the alley, rain beginning to fall again, his gun still smoking in his hand. His men fanned out behind him, weapons raised. But his eyes were only on her.
The man holding her laughed nervously, raising his free hand. "Relax, De Luca. Didn't know she was one of yours."
"Now you do," Lorenzo said coldly. "Let her go."
"She came running into my arms," the man said smugly. "Seems she didn't want to be yours anymore."
Lorenzo's expression darkened. "You have three seconds to let go."
The man smirked. "And if I don't?"
Lorenzo fired another shot — this one hit the wall an inch from the man's ear.
He flinched, releasing Elena instantly. "Alright! Alright! No need for violence."
Lorenzo stepped forward, eyes burning. "Violence is all I know."
The man backed away quickly, disappearing into the crowd.
Elena stood frozen, shaking. Lorenzo lowered his gun and looked at her — rain running down his face, his chest rising and falling hard.
"Are you hurt?" he asked.
She shook her head, tears mixing with the rain. "I… I thought I could make it."
He closed the distance between them, his voice rough. "You could've died."
"I didn't," she whispered.
He stared at her for a long moment, anger and something else flickering in his eyes — relief, maybe. Then, quietly, he said, "You're not leaving this house again. Not without me."
Elena bit her lip, trying not to cry. "You can't keep me forever."
He leaned closer, his voice a low promise. "Watch me."
For a heartbeat, neither moved. The storm around them raged, but the real one was in their eyes — fury, fear, and something dangerous neither wanted to name.
Then he took her hand — not gently, but firmly — and led her toward the waiting car.
The city watched as the Devil reclaimed what was his.
And for the first time, Elena realized the truth:
sometimes, being saved by a monster feels no different than being caught by one.