Four months had passed since the night Elena Russo walked into the life of the most feared man in Italy.
Four months since she was sold… and yet, she was no longer a prisoner.
At least, not the kind they expected her to be.
Elena had changed — she was no longer the timid girl who begged to be freed. The mansion that once felt like a cage now bent to her quiet strength. The maids whispered when she walked by, guards lowered their heads in respect, and even Lorenzo's most trusted men treated her like someone who held power over their boss.
And perhaps, she did.
Lorenzo De Luca — Il Diavolo himself — had softened. Not publicly. Not to his men. But behind closed doors, when only Elena could see him, his eyes weren't as cold anymore. He still carried his gun, his scars, his danger… but with her, he was something else. Something human.
The underworld was beginning to talk.
They said the Devil had fallen for a girl with soft hands and fire in her eyes.
And rumors, of course, travel fast.
Luciana Russo stood before her mirror, fury burning beneath layers of diamonds and perfume. Her reflection looked perfect, but her heart was clawed by jealousy.
How could that girl — that worthless, naive child — be living like a queen?
She crushed the newspaper in her hand. The headline was impossible to ignore:
"Mafia Boss Lorenzo De Luca Seen With Mysterious Woman — Is the Devil in Love?"
Luciana's lips twisted. "Impossible," she hissed. "That little witch couldn't charm the Devil himself."
Beside her, her daughter Clara — all painted innocence and poisoned beauty — shifted nervously. "Mother… maybe it's not true. You know the press—"
"It is true," Luciana spat, slamming the paper down. "And if Elena has found a way to make that man obey her, then she's more dangerous than I thought."
She turned sharply to her daughter, eyes glinting with cruel calculation. "You want power, don't you, Clara?"
Clara hesitated. "Of course, Mother."
"Then you'll go to him."
"Go?"
"As his maid. As his companion. I don't care what you call it. You'll remind him what kind of woman a man like him deserves — not some fragile girl with pretty eyes and a bleeding heart."
Clara swallowed. "And if she's really changed? If she's not the same Elena anymore?"
Luciana's voice was ice. "Then we'll destroy her. Just like her mother."
The De Luca mansion was alive that evening, music echoing faintly from the courtyard where Lorenzo was meeting with his lieutenants. Elena stood on the balcony, watching the moonlight fall over the gardens. She'd grown used to the silence, to the safety she felt within these walls.
Until the gates opened.
The guards announced the new arrival — a maid sent from the Russo household as a "gift of gratitude."
Elena's heart dropped the moment she saw her.
"Clara?" she whispered.
Her stepsister smiled sweetly. "Sister. You didn't think I'd forget you, did you?"
Elena's pulse quickened. Something was wrong — Clara never did anything without Luciana's orders.
"What are you doing here?"
"I've come to serve," Clara said innocently, bowing her head. "Mr. De Luca has been kind enough to let me stay."
Lorenzo's voice came from behind her — calm, deep, unreadable. "You know her?"
Elena turned to him, nerves sparking in her chest. "She's my stepsister."
His eyes darkened just slightly. He said nothing, only nodded once before walking away toward his office.
Clara smirked. "Oh, he's handsome," she whispered. "No wonder you didn't come back home."
Elena ignored her, but inside, her hands trembled. She could already feel the shadow of her stepmother reaching into this new life.
Days passed, and Clara's sweetness turned venomous.
She lingered too close to Lorenzo, laughed at things he didn't say, tried to touch his arm when she poured his drink.
Elena saw it all — and though jealousy was something she hated to admit, it burned deep in her.
Lorenzo, however, was unmoved. He barely looked at Clara, his attention always flicking back to Elena, even when he tried not to. At dinner, at meetings, at night when she passed his study door — his eyes always found her.
It wasn't long before Clara's patience cracked.
One evening, when Lorenzo had gone to meet his business partners, Clara cornered Elena in the hallway.
"I see how he looks at you," she sneered. "You really think you've tamed the Devil? You're nothing, Elena. You were sold because no one wanted you."
Elena's eyes flashed. "And yet, here you are — sent by the same mother who sold me."
Clara's hand twitched, but she didn't strike. "Enjoy your fantasy while it lasts. Once I tell him what kind of family you come from, he'll see the truth."
"You mean," Elena said softly, "once he sees what kind of monster raised you."
The air grew cold between them.
Later that night, Lorenzo found Elena sitting alone in his office, the firelight painting gold across her skin. He stopped in the doorway, watching her.
"You shouldn't be in here," he said quietly.
She looked up at him — eyes red, but voice steady. "Do you believe in second chances, Lorenzo?"
He frowned. "No. Not in my world."
"Then why did you give one to me?"
His jaw tightened. "Because you didn't deserve what they did."
Elena rose slowly, stepping closer. "Then believe me when I say — if Clara's here, something worse is coming."
He studied her face for a long moment. Then he reached out, fingers brushing her chin, lifting her gaze to his. "Let them come," he said darkly. "No one touches what's mine."
Her heart skipped. "I'm not yours, Lorenzo."
He smirked faintly, voice low and dangerous. "Keep telling yourself that, stella mia."
That night, as the wind howled outside the De Luca mansion, Elena lay awake — the sound of Lorenzo's footsteps echoing faintly down the hall.
He didn't knock on her door, but she could feel his presence, the tension that lived between them growing thicker each day.
And far away, in the Russo estate, Luciana sat by the fire, smiling coldly as she poured herself a glass of wine.
"Let her think she's safe," she whispered. "The game has just begun."