Alesia's POV.
I signed the contract.
I gripped the hem of my black silk gown so tightly my knuckles went white. I refused to look at the man lounging beside me in the back of the Maybach, legs spread like he owned the entire world. Which, in this city, he practically did.
"We are here," the driver announced, tires crunching over gravel as the gates swung open.
The mansion rose ahead of us like a cathedral built for sin—three stories of matte black stone, windows tinted darker than midnight, spotlights bleeding crimson across the façade. It looked like the kind of place people disappeared into and were never seen again.
I didn't wait for anyone to open the door. I shoved it myself and stepped onto the driveway, the cold night air slapping my bare shoulders. My heels clicked against the polished obsidian tiles.
"My bags," I snapped at the two silent drivers already unloading the trunk.
"They will bring them in. Let's go." Jericho's voice came from behind me, low and lazy, the way a lion speaks right before it eats you.
His hand reached for the small of my back. I jerked away like his fingers were fire.
A dark chuckle. "Amore, you're really testing my patience."
I scoffed and marched ahead of him.
Inside, the mansion screamed money and menace. Black marble floors, crystal chandeliers dripping blood-red light, walls lined with art that probably cost more than most people made in a lifetime. Armed men in tailored suits stood at every corner, eyes tracking me like I was already property.
Jericho stopped in the center of the grand foyer, hands sliding into the pockets of his trousers, looking every inch the mafia king he was.
"I have a few rules for you," he said, voice velvet over steel.
"Seriously? I already signed the contract".
"First," he stepped closer, towering over me, "you will have no contact with your husband."
A cold rush shot through me. "Are you insane?" I yelled before I could stop myself.
Gasps filled the air. The maids and guards nearby all stiffened as if I had slapped their Don in the face.
Jericho's lips twitched into a wicked smile. "I am, thanks for asking."
My throat tightened.
"Second," he continued, "under no circumstances—especially without my permission—will you leave this mansion."
"That wasn't in the contract," I snapped, gripping my gown so tightly my knuckles turned white.
"In the contract, piccola. It was stated you will follow every one of my rules." He leaned in until his breath brushed my ear. "Interrupt me again, and I will forget I ever pretended to be gentle. I'll bend you over that table and take you right here, in front of all of them, until the only name you remember is mine."
My breath caught hard enough to hurt.
He straightened, expression cold again. "If I ever catch you trying to sneak out, you can forget your husband ever existed. I'll send him to you in pieces so small they'll fit in a shoebox."
Horror flooded me, ice-cold. I couldn't speak. Couldn't move.
He closed the distance once more, his hand rising to cup my cheek with mocking tenderness. I tried to turn away; his fingers tightened, forcing my gaze to his.
"I assure you, Sia," he murmured, the nickname slicing through me like a blade, "before the end of these three months, you will be on your knees begging me not to let you go."
He released me so suddenly I nearly stumbled.
A shiver ran through me.
"Eliza!" he called suddenly.
A maid, maybe in her late twenties, rushed in immediately, bowing her head. "Yes, Jericho."
"Show her to my bedroom," he ordered. Not a guest room. His bedroom. "Bath and prepare her. Make sure she eats. You know the consequences if she doesn't."
Eliza bowed her head. "Of course, sir."
He didn't spare me another glance. Just turned and disappeared up the sweeping staircase like a king dismissing a servant.
Footmen carried my bags past me.
Eliza touched my elbow gently. "Come, signora. This way."
Once inside the massive dark-themed bedroom—his bedroom—something inside me cracked. I sank to the edge of the bed, the tears falling before I could stop them.
Eliza rushed to my side immediately. "It'll be alright, miss. Please don't cry."
But how could I not? My life—my freedom—my husband—everything that held meaning… all gone in a moment, crushed under Jericho's command.
Eliza placed a careful hand on my shoulder. "Listen, the Don… he might be cruel, assertive, controlling—yes. But he is not a man who takes advantage of those weaker than him. If you're cooperative, he won't make your life miserable."
I looked at her like she was insane. "He literally forced me here!"
"But you signed the contract".
"Like I had a choice?"
"Look, we all know what happened between you two. He's… he needs you here..". She paused, looking around.
"You're scared, I know," she whispered. "But think… Think of what you've come from. That nightclub… those men… the way you were forced to strip in front of strangers."
I flinched, my stomach twisting in shame.
"At least here," Eliza said softly, "you won't have to do that anymore. No one will touch you. No one will degrade you. You will never again feel their hands on you while you dance for tips just to eat. Here, there is only one man. One audience. Compared to before… is this truly worse?"
I stared at the floor, tears splashing onto my hands.
I hated the club. Hated the leering eyes, the grabbing fingers, the way I smiled while my soul curdled. Even more I hated Jericho.
"But my husband..".
"Careful miss. You have no husband the moment you sign those papers".