POV: Emilia Conti
I learned the rhythms of the penthouse by the end of the day.
Not because anyone explained them to me—but because I had nothing else to do except watch.
The windows didn't open. The doors stayed locked unless someone else decided otherwise. The quiet wasn't peaceful; it was deliberate. Designed to make you aware of yourself. Of time passing without permission.
I paced the living room, counting steps. Thirty-two from the glass wall to the hallway. Twelve from the sofa to the kitchen island. Everything immaculate. Untouched. Like no one really lived here—just waited.
By noon, I'd tested every surface for something sharp or heavy enough to be useful.
Nothing.
When the door finally opened again, it wasn't Alessio.
It was the woman from earlier, joined by a man this time. He wore a suit and carried a tablet. His eyes flicked to me, then away, like I was furniture he'd already memorized.
"Doctor Conti," he said. "I'm here to confirm a few details."
"Am I being interrogated?" I asked.
"No," he replied smoothly. "We prefer the term orientation."
I folded my arms. "You're wasting your time."
He didn't respond to that. "Your apartment has been secured. Your landlord has been notified of an extended absence. Utilities have been paid."
My stomach tightened. "You went into my home."
"Yes."
"That's illegal."
"So is what you witnessed last night," he said mildly. "We're past legality."
I forced myself to breathe. "My hospital."
"You are officially on medical leave due to exhaustion."
I stared at him. "They wouldn't do that without speaking to me."
"They did," he replied. "Your supervisor was… understanding."
Understanding.
I knew what that meant.
"You forged my consent," I said.
He didn't deny it. "You'll retain your position."
"When?"
"When circumstances allow."
The woman cleared her throat softly. "You should eat, Doctor."
I ignored her. "My phone."
The man tapped his tablet. "Restricted."
"Family?"
"You have no immediate dependents."
The words cut deeper than they should have.
"Your debts," he continued. "Resolved."
I laughed, sharp and disbelieving. "That's impossible."
"Not for us."
The room felt smaller suddenly. Like the walls had shifted while I wasn't looking.
"You don't get to dismantle my life and call it protection," I said.
"We're preventing escalation," he replied calmly. "Your continued presence in public would attract attention."
"From who?"
He glanced at the woman. Then back at me. "People who don't miss."
The implication settled cold in my chest.
They left shortly after, locking the door behind them.
I waited until their footsteps faded before moving again.
I checked the mirrors next.
Bathroom. Bedroom. Hallway.
Tiny black lenses stared back at me from corners I hadn't noticed before. Flush with the walls. Almost invisible.
My skin prickled.
They weren't hiding the surveillance. They were normalizing it.
I stepped deliberately into the center of the living room and raised my voice.
"I won't disappear quietly," I said.
No response.
I laughed softly. "Figures."
By late afternoon, the hunger I'd been ignoring became impossible to deny. I ate without tasting anything, seated at the island, staring out at the city that felt farther away than ever.
That was when I saw it.
Movement.
Not outside. Inside.
A reflection in the glass.
I turned slowly.
A man stood near the far wall, hands folded behind his back. He hadn't been there a moment ago.
I startled despite myself. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough," he replied.
He was older than the others. Gray threaded through his hair. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes were sharp.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"A friend," he said. "And sometimes a problem."
I snorted. "You'll have to be more specific."
He smiled faintly. "Luciano."
The name meant nothing to me yet—but the way he said it, like it should, told me it would soon.
"I'm guessing you don't approve of me," I said.
"Oh," he replied, studying me openly. "On the contrary. I find you fascinating."
"That makes one of us."
"You're calm," he noted. "Most people in your position are not."
"I'm not most people."
"No," he agreed. "That's why you're here."
I straightened. "If you're here to threaten me, get on with it."
He chuckled softly. "Threats are crude. I prefer clarity."
"Then be clear."
"You've entered a world where proximity is dangerous," he said. "Every step you take toward Alessio increases your risk."
"Then maybe he should let me go."
Luciano's eyes sharpened. "You misunderstand. You are the risk."
I stared at him. "Excuse me?"
"You soften him," he said simply. "That creates instability."
I felt a chill crawl up my spine. "I've been here less than a day."
"And already," he continued, "decisions are being made with you in mind."
"That sounds like his problem."
"It becomes ours when it spreads."
I crossed my arms. "Then convince him to send me home."
Luciano smiled again. "We're watching to see if you earn that privilege."
I bristled. "I don't need permission to exist."
"No," he said. "But you need it to survive here."
He turned to leave, then paused.
"One more thing," he added. "Try not to wander too much."
I frowned. "Why?"
"Some rooms don't forgive curiosity."
The door closed behind him.
I stood there for a long moment, heart pounding.
So this was it.
Not just captivity—but scrutiny.
I walked back to the window and pressed my palm against the glass, grounding myself in the cold surface.
Someone was always watching.
And I had the sinking feeling that the most dangerous ones weren't the men with guns—
But the ones smiling while they decided whether I should stay alive.