04

•RAFFAELE MANCINI•

The moment the phone call ended, I leaned back in my chair, lacing my fingers lightly. The surveillance footage on my screen showed Hazel Santoro stepping out of her father’s rundown apartment building, her head held high despite the clear frustration in her stride.

Her stubbornness amused me and tested my patience at the same time. I had ordered my men to tail her the second she'd stepped out of that building, couldn't risk the feisty cat running away. Hazel didn’t realize it yet, but she was already caught in my web.

“Bring her in,” I instructed over the intercom, my voice calm yet commanding.

“Yes, Don,” came the reply.

I watched as my men approached her. She ran, of course. Hazel was definitely the kind of woman who’d fight a losing battle just to prove she wouldn’t submit easily. It made me laugh; I admired that in her, even if it was reckless.

When she collided with Bruno, my most intimidating enforcer, she looked like a cornered fox with fear flashing briefly in her eyes before defiance quickly replaced it.

“Interesting,” I muttered to myself as I turned off the screen.

By the time she arrived at the mansion, her fiery energy had only intensified. The moment the guards opened the double doors, she stormed into the foyer, her boots clicking sharply against the marble floor.

“Raffaele Mancini!” she called out, her voice echoing through the vast space. “Show your face!”

I descended the staircase slowly, letting her anger simmer as I made my entrance. Hazel’s glare fixed on me, her pretty emerald eyes practically shooting daggers.

“Miss Hazel,” I greeted smoothly, my lips curving into a faint smirk. “Welcome home.”

“Home?” She scoffed, crossing her arms. “You’ve got to be kidding me. We both know this isn’t, and would never be my home.”

“Not yet maybe,” I said, reaching the bottom of the staircase. “But for the next year, it sure as hell will be.”

Her nostrils flared as she took a step forward. “So that's why you had your goons drag me here like a criminal? What’s wrong with you?”

I chuckled. “You left me no choice, Testolina. I told you not to try to run, and I couldn’t just sit here and watch you running off to possibly do something foolish.”

“Like what? Breathe?” her tone dripping with sarcasm. "And what the fuck does testolina mean? Do not insult me you Italian jerk," she snapped.

"You know I actually ensured your safety, you should be thanking me.”

“Thanking you?” She let out a bitter laugh. “For kidnapping me? Wow, you’re delusional.”

“I’m merely practical,” I replied, my tone even.

She stepped closer, the scent of her anger and defiance filling the space between us. “You’re insane if you think I’m just going to roll over and play the obedient little houseguest.”

“I never said you had to roll over...or bend over yet,” I said, my voice dropping slightly, a smirk tugging at my lips. “But you will follow my rules.”

Her jaw tightened, and my smile widened, enjoying her displeasure. “You have a sharp tongue, Hazel. I wonder if it’s as sharp when you’re on your knees.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t falter. “Keep wondering, maybe one day you'd be fortunate enough to experience it in your dreams, asshole.”

I took a step closer, towering over her. She didn’t back away, but instead tilted her chin to look directly at me.

“You have spirit,” I said, my voice lowering. “But spirit won’t save you here. Let me make one thing clear, you are under my roof, my protection, and my rules. Do you understand?”

“Of course, I understand that you’re a controlling, egotistical prick,” she shot back.

I laughed, the sound echoing through the room. “Careful, Hazel. You don’t want to see how far I’m willing to go to remind you who’s in charge.”

She went silent but still gave me her unwavering death glare. I'm sure if she had a gun she would definitely have lodged three bullets probably in my skull.

“Come. Let’s make this official,” I said, turning on my heel.

She hesitated, but eventually followed as I led her to my study. The room was dark and overwhelming, with a couple of leather chairs, bookshelves, and a large mahogany desk at its center.

I gestured for her to sit, but she remained standing.

“Suit yourself then,” I said, pulling a folder from my desk and sliding it across to her. “This is your contract.”

She gave an irritated frown as she picked it up and began flipping through the pages.

“A contract?” she asked, skeptical.

“Yes. It outlines the terms of your stay and the rules you are expected to follow.”

Her eyes skimmed the document, her frown deepening with every word. "Rule 1: Hazel Santoro shall not leave the mansion without express permission from Don Raffaele Mancini,” she read aloud, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Are you serious? What am I, a child?”

“You’re now my responsibility, and I can't risk you doing something stupid,” I replied, unfazed by her indignation.

She glared at me and continued reading. “‘Rule 2: Hazel Santoro shall not interact with staff or visitors unless explicitly authorized by Don Raffaele Mancini.’” She looked up, her brows raised. “So now I’m supposed to be a hermit?”

“Consider it a precaution,” I said. “I doubt everyone in this house has my best interests at heart and I can't allow you to play a part.”

She flipped to another page, her frustration mounting. “‘Rule 5: Hazel Santoro must inform Don Raffaele Mancini of her whereabouts at all times, even within the mansion.’ Are you kidding me?”

“Not in the slightest,” I said, watching her reaction with amusement. “It’s for your safety.”

She slapped the folder shut and pushed it across the desk. “This is ridiculous. I’m not signing this.”

“You will,” I said, my tone firm. “If you care about your father’s life, you don’t have a choice.”

Her eyes softened momentarily at the mention of her father, her stubbornness replaced by something softer, maybe pain or guilt. “You can’t just control my every move.”

“I can and I will,” I said, leaning forward. “And you’ll thank me for it when you’re still breathing by the end of this year.”

She glared at me, her lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, I thought she might walk out. Instead, she grabbed the folder and flipped back to the signature page.

“You’re an arrogant bastard, you know that?” she said as she scribbled her name across the line.

I smirked. “And you’re a stubborn brat. We’ll get along just fine.”

She shoved the contract back toward me, her reluctance evident even as she complied. “There. Happy now?”

“Almost,” I said, rising from my chair. I walked around the desk until I was standing in front of her, towering over her smaller frame. “There’s one last thing.”

“What now?” she asked, exasperated.

“Kneel,” I said, my voice calm but commanding.

Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” I said, holding her gaze. “Kneel. If you’re going to live under my roof, you’ll need to learn respect and obedience. Start now.”

She stared at me, her jaw clenched so tightly I thought she might break her teeth. “Over my dead body.”

“Your choice,” I said, crossing my arms. “But keep in mind, defiance comes with consequences.”

Her lips parted as if she were about to unleash a string of curses, but she stopped herself. She was smart enough to know that testing me wouldn’t end well. Still, the fight in her eyes didn’t waver.

“Do it, Hazel,” I said, my voice low and commanding. “Or this arrangement ends here, and so does your father’s safety.”