Twenty minutes.
That was the deadline my father gave me. Twenty minutes to pack my life into a single bag.
I threw open my closet, pulling things from their hangers without even looking. Jeans, sweaters, shirts. Practical things. Prison clothes.
A hot, angry frustration burned in my chest. Other women my age were packing for weekend trips with their boyfriends. They were choosing what to wear to a concert or a party.
I was packing to hide. Again.
This wasn't a life. It was a sentence. And I hated it. I hated the fear, the isolation, and the beautiful, gilded cage I was forced to live in.
I zipped the bag shut, the sound harsh in the quiet room. My eyes swept over my bedroom one last time, and then they landed on him.
Hector.
My old teddy bear was sitting on my perfectly made bed. His button eyes were dull, his brown fur worn from a thousand nights of being held too tight. He was a piece of my childhood. A piece of my mom, who had given him to me on my fifth birthday.
He was the only thing in this house that felt truly safe.
Without a second thought, I grabbed him and stuffed him into the top of my bag, zipping it up before I could change my mind.
Dante was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. He took my bag from me without a word, his face a cold, unreadable mask.
The silence in the car was heavy. Thick. We were in a black, armored SUV that felt more like a hearse than a car. For hours, the only sound was the engine and the quiet click of the turn signal.
I watched him drive. His hands were steady on the steering wheel. His eyes were focused on the road, constantly scanning, checking the mirrors. He was a machine built for this. A predator in his natural habitat.
The question from the other room echoed in my head.
Who are you?
"You're not afraid of anything, are you, Volkov?" The words just came out. I needed to break the silence before it choked me.
He didn't look at me. "Fear makes you slow."
"So you're fast," I said, testing him.
He glanced at me then, just for a second. A quick, intense look that made my stomach flip.
"I'm efficient."
Efficient. The word was so cold. So detached.
"Efficient. Is that all you are? A machine?" I pushed, annoyed by his calm.
"Machines get the job done," he said, his voice perfectly even. His eyes never left the road.
I let out a frustrated breath and turned to look out the window, watching the trees blur into a green wall. But the silence felt worse now. "Do you even enjoy anything?" I asked, my voice sharp. "Or is your whole life just... a job?"
He was silent for a long moment. I didn't think he was going to answer.
"I enjoy being good at my job," he finally said.
It was another wall. Another perfect, professional answer that told me nothing. I decided to try a different way. A sharper way. "You must love this, then. Getting to order me around. Locking me up in some house. Does it make you feel powerful?"
This time, his hands tightened on the steering wheel, just for a second. It was the first real reaction I had gotten from him.
He looked at me again, his dark eyes holding mine for a beat too long. "This isn't about power," he said, his voice a low growl. "It's about keeping you alive. Your father's orders."
He threw my father's name at me like a shield. He was telling me to back off. He was reminding me that he was just a tool, and my father was the one holding him.
I leaned back in my seat, defeated. I had tried to find a crack in his armor, but he was made of solid steel.
Hours later, we turned off the main highway onto a small, unmarked road. The trees closed in around us, their branches making a dark tunnel. Finally, the trees opened up, and I saw it.
The lake house.
It was beautiful, all modern glass and dark wood, built right on the edge of a deep, black lake. It was also a perfect trap. Isolated. Hidden.
Only one road in. One road out.
Dante parked the car and killed the engine. The silence was even heavier here. He got out and walked around to my side, opening the door for me like a perfect gentleman.
I stepped out onto the gravel, my eyes fixed on the house.
He stood beside me, looking at the glass walls that reflected the dark trees.
"Welcome to your new cage, Miss Moretti."