CHAPTER THREE
The Terms of Captivity
By the third hour of the morning, Seraphina understood one thing clearly.
Alessandro De Luca did not sleep when danger was near.
The house moved around him like a living organism. Men whispered through corridors. Phones vibrated. Orders were given without raised voices. Control here was not loud. It was absolute.
She stood by the tall window of the east wing study where he had ordered her to wait. Outside, fog clung to the gardens, dulling the edges of statues and hedges until everything looked unreal. Like a painting left out in the rain.
She had changed clothes. Not because she was told to. Because she refused to sit across from him smelling like smoke and fear.
The door opened.
She did not turn.
You should knock, she said.
This is my house, Alessandro replied.
She finally faced him.
He had changed too. Dark shirt. No jacket. A gun rested openly at his waist. His expression was sharp with restraint, the kind that came from men who had just killed someone and still had work to do.
Sit.
She did.
He remained standing, pacing slowly like a predator deciding where to bite.
You knew there was a traitor, he said.
I knew there would be one, she corrected.
Explain.
She folded her hands on the table. Calm was armor.
When power shifts violently, old loyalties panic. Someone always thinks they can get ahead by selling information. My father used to say betrayal was not about hatred. It was about timing.
Alessandro stopped pacing.
Your father said many things, it seems.
He taught me how to survive men like you.
That earned her a look. Dark. Evaluating.
You are implying he prepared you for this.
I am implying he prepared me for everything.
Silence stretched.
He leaned back against the desk, arms crossed.
The ledger.
Her pulse spiked. She kept her face neutral.
What about it.
Where is it.
Safe.
That is not an answer.
It is the only one you get for now.
His jaw tightened.
You do understand that I can hurt you.
She nodded once.
You also understand that if you do, I die. And if I die, you lose the ledger and whatever names are inside it.
I could torture you.
She met his eyes.
You could try.
Something flickered across his face. Surprise. Then interest.
I am not afraid of pain, Alessandro. I am afraid of stupidity. Hurting me would be stupid.
You assume I am not capable of stupidity.
I assume you are too controlled to waste leverage.
He stared at her for a long moment. Then he laughed quietly.
You speak like someone who has already decided how this ends.
She leaned forward.
No. I speak like someone who knows this will not end cleanly.
He pushed off the desk and walked closer until the table was the only thing between them.
Here are the terms, he said. You stay here. You do not contact anyone. You do not leave this estate without me. In return, you live comfortably.
Comfortably.
He raised a brow.
And my father, she said. I want his body released to me. I want a proper burial.
That is not possible yet.
Then we have nothing to discuss.
She stood.
He moved fast. Too fast. One hand slammed onto the table, stopping her path. The sound cracked through the room.
Sit.
She did not.
They stared at each other, the air between them charged and sharp.
You are in no position to make demands, he said.
I am the only reason you are still breathing this morning.
Wrong, she replied softly. I am the reason you woke up alive.
His fingers flexed against the wood.
You think I do not already have people searching for the ledger.
I think you do, she said. I also think you will not find it without me.
Why.
Because my father did not trust anyone. Not even me fully. He trusted patterns. Codes. Emotional triggers.
His eyes narrowed.
Explain.
He hid it where it would only reveal itself if something happened to him.
So if he was alive, it would stay hidden.
If he died.
She stopped.
Alessandro waited.
It would surface, she finished quietly. But only to someone who knew what to look for.
And you know.
Yes.
He studied her like a puzzle that refused to solve.
Then why did he not tell you where it was.
Because if I knew, I would be dead already.
Another pause.
You planned for this.
I prepared for it.
He straightened.
Fine.
The word fell like a verdict.
Your father's body will be released within forty eight hours. You will attend the burial under guard.
Her chest tightened. She nodded once.
In return, you will start talking.
About what.
About the names. The connections. The threats coming for me.
I will give you pieces, she said. Not the whole picture.
He stepped closer, close enough that she could feel his heat.
You are testing my patience.
I am testing your intelligence.
A beat.
You are dangerous.
So are you.
He searched her face for fear. Found none. Found something else instead. Resolve. Rage buried deep. Control sharpened by loss.
You are not what I expected, he said.
Neither are you.
That earned her the ghost of a smile.
He turned away first.
You will dine with me tonight.
That was not a request.
I am not your date.
You are my responsibility.
She scoffed.
Is that what you call kidnapping now.
He looked back over his shoulder.
I call it containment.
She folded her arms.
I will not be paraded.
You will sit beside me, he said. You will speak when spoken to. And you will observe.
Observe what.
My enemies.
Her stomach sank.
I am not bait.
He faced her fully now.
Everyone in my world is bait. Including me.
She hesitated. Then nodded.
Fine.
Good.
He moved to leave, then stopped.
One more thing.
She looked up.
Do not lie to me, Seraphina.
She smiled faintly.
I would never insult you like that.
He left.
Later that evening, she stood in her room staring at her reflection. She looked composed. Collected. Untouched.
It was a lie.
Her hands trembled as she fastened the simple black dress Giulia had laid out. Modest. Elegant. Chosen to make her blend in rather than stand out.
Alessandro wanted her invisible.
She planned to be unforgettable.
The dining hall was already full when she entered. Men turned. Conversations paused. Eyes assessed.
Alessandro stood at the head of the table.
Come, he said.
She walked to him, every step deliberate.
As she took her seat beside him, she felt it. The shift. The curiosity. The danger.
Whispers followed.
Who is she.
Why is she here.
Why is she sitting there.
Alessandro placed his hand briefly on the back of her chair. Possessive. Clear.
She did not flinch.
Dinner began.
Wine flowed. Laughter sounded forced. Deals were hinted at. Threats disguised as jokes.
Seraphina listened.
And learned.
The man on Alessandro's right hated him.
The one across the table feared him.
The quiet one near the end watched her too closely.
She leaned toward Alessandro slightly.
Your house is loud, she murmured.
His jaw tightened.
Meaning.
Too many people know too much.
His fingers brushed her knee beneath the table. A warning. Or a claim.
Careful.
She met his gaze.
I told you. Ownership cuts both ways.
A muscle ticked in his jaw.
Later, as the night wound down and guests departed, Alessandro stopped her at the doorway.
You did well.
That sounded too close to praise.
Do not get used to it, she replied.
He stepped closer. Too close.
You will sleep tonight knowing you are safe.
She looked up at him.
Safe is a temporary condition.
His eyes darkened.
So is mercy.
They stood there, locked in something neither was ready to name.
Then he stepped back.
Goodnight, Seraphina.
Goodnight, devil, she thought.
As she walked away, she felt it settle deep in her bones.
This was no longer about survival.
This was a war of control.
And the most dangerous thing about Alessandro De Luca was not his violence.
It was that he was starting to enjoy this.
And so was she.