POV: Emilia Conti
Alessio didn't answer me right away.
He turned instead, walking past the wall of screens toward the bar at the far end of the room. He poured himself a drink with careful precision, like the act itself required focus. Ice. Liquid. Glass set down without a sound.
I waited.
The silence stretched, heavy enough to press against my ribs.
"You want to know everything," he said finally. "That's dangerous."
"So is ignorance," I replied.
He took a sip, eyes never leaving me. "Ignorance keeps people alive."
"That hasn't been working for me."
A faint curve touched his mouth. Not amusement. Recognition.
"Come," he said.
I hesitated only a moment before following him into the adjoining office. The door closed behind us with a soft click that sounded far too final.
The room was darker, more private. No windows. No art. Just a desk, a single chair on one side, two on the other.
He gestured to the chair facing him. "Sit."
I didn't.
"Emilia," he said, voice firm but controlled.
I met his gaze. "I'm not a subordinate."
"No," he agreed. "You're a liability."
The bluntness stung, even though I'd already heard it before.
"I'm also a surgeon," I said. "Which means I'm trained to handle unpleasant truths. So stop deciding what I can manage."
For a long moment, he studied me as if recalibrating something.
Then he nodded once. "Fine."
He moved behind the desk and tapped a key. The screen embedded into the surface lit up.
"Everything you saw tonight," he said, "was a message."
"I gathered that."
"They weren't trying to kill you," he continued. "Not yet."
My stomach tightened. "Yet."
"You're not the target," he said. "You're the pressure point."
I crossed my arms. "Explain."
"There's a vacuum forming," he said. "Territory. Influence. Control. When that happens, people test boundaries."
"And I'm the boundary."
"Yes."
The screen shifted, displaying a network of names, photos, connections. Men I didn't recognize. Cities I did.
"This is the structure they want," he continued. "And this—" he highlighted a section "—is where I stand in the way."
I stared at the web of power and violence laid out so clinically. "And me?"
He looked at me. "You destabilize it."
"By existing?"
"By mattering," he replied. "Publicly."
I laughed softly. "You made that choice for me."
"Yes," he said without apology. "Because once they knew about you, hiding you would have confirmed your value."
"So instead you… what? Claimed me?"
"I declared consequence."
I shook my head. "That man tonight—he said if I left, they'd stop knocking."
Alessio's jaw tightened. "He lied."
"You don't know that."
"I do," he said flatly. "They don't let go of assets."
I stared at him. "Is that what I am to you?"
A pause.
"No," he said. "But that's what they'll treat you as."
I took a step back, heart pounding. "So what's the endgame?"
"There isn't one," he replied. "There's containment. Control. Deterrence."
"That's not living."
"It's surviving."
I laughed again, bitter this time. "You keep saying that like it's enough."
"For most people," he said, "it is."
"And for me?"
He hesitated.
That was new.
"For you," he said slowly, "it depends on choices."
My breath caught. "Whose?"
"Ours."
I exhaled shakily. "You said earlier I wasn't controllable."
"You're not."
"Then stop trying."
"I'm not trying to control you," he replied. "I'm trying to limit the damage your freedom would cause."
"That's not better."
"It's honest."
I paced the room, adrenaline still humming through me. "You're asking me to trust you."
"No," he said. "I'm telling you the truth."
"And that truth is?"
He met my eyes. "You can't leave."
The words landed like a verdict.
"Not ever?" I asked.
"Not now," he corrected. "Not while they're watching."
"And when will that stop?"
"When the balance shifts."
I stopped pacing. "How?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Then, quietly, "By formalizing your position."
My pulse spiked. "What does that mean?"
"It means making it clear you're not temporary," he said. "That you're under my authority."
"I already am," I snapped.
"No," he replied. "You're under my protection. That's different."
I stared at him. "I don't like the sound of that distinction."
"You don't have to like it," he said. "You have to survive it."
I clenched my jaw. "You keep framing this like I have no choice."
"Because you don't," he said. "Not safely."
Silence fell between us again.
I thought of my apartment. My hospital. Maya's voice on the phone. The man in the dark saying my life was expensive.
"You're saying if I leave," I said slowly, "I die."
"I'm saying," he corrected, "that I won't be able to stop it."
That hurt more than the threat itself.
"And if I stay?"
"You live," he said. "Under conditions."
"What conditions?"
He stepped closer, voice low. "Visibility. Proximity. Compliance."
I laughed, sharp and hollow. "You want ownership."
"I want deterrence."
"That's not how the world sees it."
"No," he agreed. "But it's how they'll respect it."
I shook my head, backing away. "You're asking me to disappear into your world."
"I'm asking you to stay alive in it."
My chest felt tight, my thoughts racing.
"And what if I refuse?" I asked.
He looked at me for a long moment, expression unreadable.
"Then," he said quietly, "I'll still keep you here."
I stared at him. "That's not consent."
"No," he said. "It's necessity."
I felt something inside me fracture—not loudly, not completely, but enough to hurt.
"So that's it," I said. "I'm a prisoner."
"No," he replied. "You're under protection."
I laughed again. "You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
"For you," I said. "Not for me."
I turned toward the door.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"To breathe," I said. "If that's still allowed."
He didn't stop me.
In the hallway, guards stood straighter as I passed. Doors opened and closed with mechanical obedience.
When I reached my suite, I stopped short.
My things were gone.
The few personal items I'd managed to gather—the clothes Sofia had brought, the book from my bag—were missing.
In their place, the room had been… adjusted.
New furniture. New locks. New security panel beside the bed.
My throat tightened.
Alessio appeared behind me. "We moved you."
"You didn't say anything," I said, voice shaking despite my effort.
"It was necessary."
"Necessary for what?"
"For your own safety."
I turned to face him. "You keep using that phrase like it absolves you."
"It doesn't," he said quietly. "But it keeps you alive."
I looked around the room, the cameras, the reinforced door, the absence of anything that felt like me.
"This isn't protection," I said. "This is capture."
He didn't deny it.
"Emilia," he said, voice low, "I told you what would happen if you stayed."
"And you didn't tell me what would happen if I didn't," I replied.
His eyes darkened. "Now you know."
The door closed behind me.
Locked.
I stood in the center of the room, heart pounding, the weight of it all finally settling in.
This wasn't temporary.
This wasn't a misunderstanding.
This was containment.
And as I sank slowly onto the edge of the bed, one truth burned sharper than the rest—
I hadn't been taken because I was weak.
I'd been taken because I was valuable.