The blue light of the holding room didn't fade into morning. It simply flickered, a jagged pulse of electricity that signaled the end of my first night as a ghost.
I hadn't slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the orange tongues of fire licking the velvet curtains of my bedroom. I heard the scream of the grand piano as it fell. When I finally drifted into a shallow, feverish daze, I felt Noah's fingers behind my ear, his skin warm and smelling of rain...a ghost of a touch that made me bolt upright, my heart hammering against my ribs like a frantic prisoner.
I sat on the edge of the steel cot, my fingers digging into the scratchy grey cotton of the sweatpants. The Velvet Ledger was still there, tucked against the small of my back, a hard, rectangular weight that felt like a shield. It was the only piece of the Vitale name I had left, and it was currently the only thing keeping me from shattering into a thousand jagged pieces.
The door didn't open; it hissed.
The pneumatic sound was becoming the soundtrack to my new life. Two men entered. They weren't Russo or Marco. These men were dressed in sterile white tactical gear, their faces hidden behind matte-black visors. They didn't look like soldiers; they looked like cleaners.
"Asset 704, stand," a voice commanded from a speaker in the ceiling. It was the same hollow, automated woman from the night before.
I didn't move. I kept my gaze fixed on the far wall, where the blue light caught the seams of the concrete. "My name is Bianca Vitale."
"Asset 704, stand," the voice repeated. No emotion. No recognition. Just a command issued to a machine.
One of the men in white stepped forward. He didn't reach for a weapon. He reached for a pressurized canister at his hip. "Compliance is mandatory for the preservation of the asset's physical integrity, 704. Do not make us use chemical restraints. The Don prefers you conscious for the intake."
I felt the bile rise in my throat. The Don. Noah was somewhere behind those one-way mirrors, watching this like a scientist observing a lab rat.
Slowly, I stood. My muscles were stiff, my joints protesting every movement. I felt small in the oversized grey clothes, but I kept my shoulders back. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing me slouch.
"Walk," the guard said, gesturing toward the door.
They led me out into a different corridor than the one I'd arrived through. This one was lined with glass-fronted rooms. As we passed, I saw glimpses of other "assets." A man in his fifties, his face bruised, sitting motionless on a bench. A girl who couldn't have been older than nineteen, weeping silently into her hands.
This was the Moretti "Vault." It wasn't just a prison; it was a warehouse of human leverage. Everyone here was a debt, a secret, or a weapon.
We reached a heavy set of double doors labeled PROCESSING - STAGE 2. Inside, the room was blindingly white, dominated by a series of stainless-steel stations that looked like a cross between a high-end spa and a morgue.
"Remove the issue clothing," a woman stood at a central terminal. She didn't look at me. She was busy swiping through data on a holographic screen. She looked like a mid-level bureaucrat, a woman who probably went home to a cat and a quiet apartment after her shift of stripping people of their humanity.
"I already did this last night," I said, my voice echoing off the sterile surfaces.
"That was the physical appraisal," she replied, finally looking up. Her eyes were hidden behind thick, rimless glasses. "This is the intake. We need to categorize your belongings and issue your permanent designation."
"I have no belongings," I hissed. "Your boss burned them all."
"The clothes you arrived in," she said, pointing to a plastic bin on a side table. My red silk robe was there, a crumpled, soot-stained rag that looked pathetically out of place in this bleached world. "And whatever you are currently concealing."
My heart skipped a beat. My hand instinctively twitched toward the small of my back.
The guards moved instantly. One grabbed my arms, pinning them to my sides, while the other stepped behind me. I struggled, kicking at their shins, but they were machines of muscle.
The guard's hand slid under the back of my shirt. I felt the moment he found it.
"Concealed item recovered," he grunted.
He pulled the Velvet Ledger out. He held it up like it was a piece of evidence, the dark red leather catching the harsh fluorescent light.
"Give it back!" I screamed, my voice cracking. "That's mine! It's private!"
The woman in the lab coat took the ledger, turning it over in her gloved hands. She looked at the obsidian seal...the Moretti eye that Noah had broken the night before.
"Moretti property," she noted, her voice flat. "It will be delivered to the Don't private study. Along with the other Vitale remnants."
"It's not his property! It's my life!" I lunged for her, but the guards slammed me down onto a steel chair, a set of restraints clicking into place around my wrists and ankles.
I sat there, gasping, my chest heaving. I felt a sudden, hollow emptiness in the pit of my stomach. The ledger was gone,My only leverage, my only connection to my father's secrets, was on its way to Noah's desk. I was truly naked now.
"Proceed with the designation," the woman said, dismissive of my outburst.
She walked toward me, holding a small, silver device that looked like a heavy-duty stapler. Behind her, a shadow moved in the darkened observation gallery above. I knew it was him. I could feel the cold, heavy pressure of his attention.
"Noah!" I yelled, looking up at the glass. "You think taking a book makes you a Don? You think a number makes me yours? You're a coward hiding behind a desk and a mirror!"
There was no answer. Only the hum of the air filtration system.
"Hold her head," the woman commanded.
A guard's hand clamped onto my jaw, forcing my head to the side. I felt the cold metal of the device press against the skin of my inner wrist, just below the thumb.
"This is a sub-dermal biometric tag," the woman explained, her tone clinical. "It tracks your location within the estate, monitors your vitals, and serves as your key for authorized areas. It cannot be removed without a surgical procedure that you will not survive."
"Don't," I whispered, the defiance momentarily giving way to a raw, animal fear.
Click.
The pain was a sharp, searing bite, followed by a dull throb that radiated up my arm. I hissed through my teeth, my eyes watering.
The woman stepped back. "Intake complete. Asset 704 is now active."
I looked at my wrist. There was no visible mark, just a small, raised bump under the skin that glowed with a faint, pulsing blue light for a second before fading.
"Designation: 704," the guard grunted, unlocking the restraints.
I stood up, my legs shaking. I felt marked. Branded like cattle.
"Where are you taking me?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
"To the orientation chamber," the woman said. "The Don wishes to discuss the terms of your... residency."
They led me out of the processing room and through a series of increasingly luxurious hallways. The concrete gave way to marble, the fluorescent lights to warm, recessed gold. It was a jarring transition, a reminder that the Moretti empire was built on top of a dungeon.
We stopped in front of two massive doors made of dark, polished mahogany. The guards tapped their own wrist tags against the sensor, and the doors glided open.
The room was a library, two stories high and filled with thousands of books. A fire crackled in a hearth of black stone, and the scent of expensive tobacco and old paper filled the air. It was almost exactly like my father's study, but grander. More imposing.
Noah was standing by a floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the dark Sicilian coast. He had removed his jacket, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle and etched with tattoos I couldn't quite decipher in the dim light.
On the desk behind him sat the Velvet Ledger.
"Leave us," he said, his voice a low vibration that seemed to pull at the air in the room.
The guards bowed their heads and retreated, the doors closing with a heavy, final thunk.
I stood in the center of the room, my hands clenched at my sides. I wanted to run for the ledger, but I knew I'd never make it. Noah was a predator, and this was his den.
"You have a habit of hiding things, Bianca," he said, still looking out the window. "A ledger...A dagger,A legacy of debt, You Vitale's are very good at tucking secrets into dark corners."
"The ledger isn't yours to read," I said, my voice trembling with rage.
Noah turned. In the firelight, his eyes looked like molten lead. He walked toward the desk, his fingers trailing over the red leather of the book.
"Everything in this house belongs to me," he said. "The air you breathe. The clothes on your back. The blood in your veins. It all carries the Moretti mark now."
He picked up the ledger and tossed it toward me. It landed on the rug at my feet, the pages fluttering.
"Pick it up," he commanded.
I stared at him, my jaw set. "No."
Noah's expression didn't change, but the atmosphere in the room shifted. He moved with a sudden, violent grace, closing the distance between us in three long strides. He grabbed my wrist...the one with the pulsing tag...and pulled me toward the desk.
"You don't understand the math of your situation, 704," he hissed, his face inches from mine. "Your father skimmed fifty million from my family. With interest and the cost of the 'incident' last night, the debt is now five hundred million. Do you know what that buys in our world?"
"It buys a lot of fire," I spat.
"It buys a soul," Noah corrected. "For the next ten years, you are not a woman. You are a transaction. You will eat when I tell you. You will sleep where I tell you. And you will provide the intelligence I need to find the rest of your father's holdings."
"I'd rather die."
Noah leaned in closer, his thumb pressing into the sensitive skin over my pulse. "Death is an exit, Bianca. And I haven't given you a key. You're going to stay alive. You're going to stay here. And eventually, you're going to beg me for the very thing you're fighting right now."
"I will never beg you for anything," I whispered, though the proximity of him was starting to make my head swim. He was too large, too powerful, and he smelled like the life I had lost.
Noah's gaze dropped to my lips. For a second, I thought he was going to kiss me...a brutal, claiming kiss that would shatter the last of my resolve. Instead, he released my wrist with a flick of his hand, as if I were something he had grown bored of.
"We'll see," he said, turning back toward the fire. "Your first meal will be served in an hour. It will be the only thing you eat for the next two days. I suggest you finish every bite."
He gestured toward the ledger on the floor. "And take your book. I've already scanned every page. It's useless to you now, but perhaps it will remind you of why you're here."
I knelt, my fingers trembling as I gripped the ledger. I held it to my chest, but it didn't feel like a shield anymore. It felt like a tombstone.
"One more thing, 704," Noah said, his back still to me.
I stopped at the door, my hand on the cold wood.
"The number," he said. "704. Do you know what it stands for?"
"I don't care."
"It's the number of days I spent waiting to take you from that villa," he murmured.
I froze. The words sent a chill down my spine that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. He hadn't just reacted to my father's theft. He had been planning this—counting the days...for nearly two years.
I didn't look back. I pushed the doors open and walked out into the hallway, the faint blue light on my wrist pulsing like a heartbeat.
Noah Moretti hadn't just bought my debt. He had built a cage for me long before the first match was struck. And as I walked back toward my cell, the weight of the ledger in my arms felt like the first stone in a wall I might never climb