Chapter 4

Later In The Evening

A soft knocking pulled Elena from the darkness.

Her eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dim light filtering through the heavy curtains. The bed beneath her was too soft, the sheets too smooth. ‘I must have slept for a long time,’ she thought.

Yawning, she stretched her hands, slowly taking in her surroundings.

Then she realized-

She wasn’t home.

She sucked in a shaky breath. The memories crashed into her like a tidal wave.

The betrayal. The capture. The cold, menacing gaze of Lorenzo Russo.

Her stomach twisted. She wanted to believe it was a nightmare, but the bruises on her wrists and the slight pain in her head, told her otherwise.

The knock came again, gentle yet firm. Before she could react, the door creaked open.

A woman stepped inside, dressed in a black maid’s uniform. She was young,almost like her age or probably more, tall, with caramel skin and piercing green eyes that softened the moment they met Elena’s.

“Elena, right?” Her voice was calm, careful.

Elena didn’t answer. She just stared.

The woman sighed and placed a silver tray on the bedside table. “You should eat.”

Elena’s stomach growled, but she ignored it. Her hands curled into the sheets, her pulse hammering.

“Where am I?” she asked, her voice hoarse.

The woman hesitated. “The Russo estate.”

Her worst fear was confirmed.

Elena’s throat tightened. “Who are you?”

“Alessia.” The woman pulled up a chair beside the bed, moving slowly as if she knew Elena was close to breaking. “I work here.”

A maid.

Elena’s chest clenched. There were maids at home too, but none had ever looked at her like this—like she was human.

Alessia exhaled softly. “Lorenzo asked me to help you settle in.”

Elena flinched at his name.

She thought of the way he had looked at her last night. The false kindness in his smile. The possessiveness in his gaze.

“I don’t want to be here,” she whispered.

Alessia didn’t respond right away. Her lips pressed into a thin line, but there was something in her eyes—a flicker of understanding.

After a long pause, she stood. “Eat. I’ll show you around when you’re done.”

~ ~ ~

Elena walked beside Alessia, her fingers tightly clasped together.

The hallways were too grand, too luxurious. Tall archways. Expensive chandeliers. Walls lined with paintings of past generations of the Russo family.

It looked like a palace.

But it was a prison.

Guards stood at every exit, their gazes cold and unreadable. Some wore black suits, others had guns strapped to their belts.

Elena’s throat went dry. She wasn’t a guest. She was a possession.

Alessia pointed out different rooms, the dining hall, the library, the lounge, but Elena barely heard her.

And then—

They passed a grand staircase.

And at the bottom stood her.

Valeria Russo.

Dante’s mother.

The woman’s icy blue eyes locked onto Elena’s, her lips curling into a sharp, disapproving smirk.

Elena’s breath hitched.

Alessia tensed beside her.

“Elena.” Valeria’s voice was smooth, but dripping with venom.

Elena’s fingers curled into fists.

She knew hate when she saw it.

Valeria took a slow step forward, her heels clicking against the marble floor. “I hope you understand your place here.”

Elena forced herself to hold her gaze.

“This house,” Valeria continued, “is not yours. It never will be. You are nothing more than a temporary distraction.”

The words stung more than they should have.

Alessia stepped forward, her voice calm and gentle “She’s had a long night, Mrs. Russo.”

A silent plea.

Valeria let out a soft laugh, brushing invisible dust off her sleeve. “Oh, I’m sure she has.”

Then, without another word, she turned and walked away, her posture as sharp as a blade.

Elena exhaled shakily.

Alessia touched her shoulder lightly. “Stay away from her.”

Elena nodded, too terrified to say a word.

She didn’t need to be told twice.

~ ~ ~

After dinner, a guard appeared at her door.

“Elena, the boss wants to see you.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

She didn’t want to go.

But refusing wasn’t an option.

The guard led her to a grand study, its walls lined with bookshelves and the scent of expensive whiskey and power filling the air.

Lorenzo Russo sat behind an oak desk, his fingers steepled together. A slow, unreadable smile spread across his face as his eyes drank her in.

“Elena.”

She forced herself to stand tall.

Lorenzo gestured to the chair across from him. “Sit.”

She hesitated, then obeyed.

Silence hung between them.

Then, he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “How are you adjusting?”

Elena’s nails dug into her palms. “I want to go home.”

His lips twitched. “This is your home now.”

Her jaw clenched.

Lorenzo reached for her wrist. She flinched before he even touched her.

His eyes darkened with amusement.

“I see you still need time to understand how things work here.” His thumb slowly ran over the bruise left by his men.

Elena’s skin crawled.

“This will fade,” he murmured. “But you will remain.”

Her stomach twisted.

Lorenzo released her, leaning back in his chair. “Go. Get some rest.”

Elena didn’t hesitate.

She turned, walking away as fast as she could without running.

But just before she reached the door—

“Elena,” he called.

She froze.

“Tomorrow, we’ll spend more time together.”

A warning.

A promise.

Elena’s fingers shook as she pushed the door open and stepped into the hallway.

She barely made it back to her room before collapsing against the door, chest heaving.

No way out.

No escape.

And she was running out of time.

No matter what, she would never let that sorry excuse or amplified replica of her father have his way with her.

~ ~ ~

It was late at night. Few minutes past midnight.

Elena lay curled in bed, exhausted but unable to sleep.

And then she heard it,

A soft creak.

Her heart stopped.

She sucked in a breath, her body going rigid. The air shifted.

She sat up

And that was when she saw him.

Dante.

Standing in the shadows, dressed in black, his sharp eyes burning into hers.

Elena’s breath caught.

He was here.

He stepped forward, silent, his jaw tight. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze wasn’t.

He was angry.

And then, finally—

His voice was low, dangerous.

“Did he touch you?”