Bianca’s Pov

The car smelled like leather and gun oil.

I noticed it because my brain needed something small to hold onto. Something ordinary. If I thought about anything else about the blood soaking into my dress, about the way Don Moretti’s body hit the floor I felt like I might stop breathing.

Dante sat beside me, relaxed, one arm stretched along the back of the seat. He didn’t crowd me, didn’t touch me, and somehow that made it worse. The space between us felt intentional. Measured.

The car moved fast. Too fast for traffic. No one tried to stop us.

I kept my hands in my lap. They were still shaking. I pressed my fingers together until my nails dug into my skin, grounding myself in the sting. The ring on my finger caught the light again. I twisted it without thinking.

“Don’t,” Dante said.

My hand froze.

“That ring belonged to a dead man,” he continued. “You’ll take it off when I tell you to.”

I swallowed. My throat felt dry, like I’d been screaming for hours even though I hadn’t made a sound since the cathedral.

“I didn’t know,” I said again, because I didn’t know what else to say. “About any debt.”

Dante glanced at me, brief and assessing. “Ignorance doesn’t change ownership.”

The word hit harder than the explosion had.

Ownership.

I turned my face toward the window. The city blurred past, familiar streets turning into something distant and unrecognizable. My chest felt tight, like the air was thinner inside the car.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked.

“Home,” he replied.

I let out a short, humorless breath. “That’s not my home.”

He tilted his head slightly. “It is now.”

I stopped asking questions after that.

The drive felt endless. I watched the city disappear, replaced by winding roads and open space. My phone was gone. My purse too. I didn’t remember anyone taking them, but they were missing all the same.

When the car finally slowed, my stomach dropped.

The estate sat on the edge of a cliff, tall and isolated, lights glowing softly against the dark. It didn’t look like a prison. It looked worse. Permanent.

The gates opened without pause.

The car stopped in front of the entrance, and one of Dante’s men opened my door. I hesitated, my legs stiff, my body slow to obey. Dante stepped out smoothly and turned back toward me.

“Bianca,” he said.

It was the first time he’d said my name.

I looked up at him.

“Walk,” he added. “No one’s dragging you.”

I stepped out.

The cold hit me immediately. The night air brushed against the bare skin of my arms, and I shivered. Someone draped a coat over my shoulders before I could react. I didn’t see who. I didn’t thank them.

Inside, the estate was quiet. Too quiet. No shouting. No panic. Just controlled movement. People who knew exactly where they were meant to be and what they were meant to do.

I was led upstairs, past doors I wasn’t allowed to open, into a bedroom that was larger than my father’s entire apartment.

I stopped short.

The room wasn’t generic. It wasn’t cold. It was… prepared.

Books lined the shelves. The same kind I liked. Heavy curtains. A bed dressed in neutral colors. A small table by the window with a glass of water already waiting.

I turned slowly, my chest tightening.

“You’ve been here before,” I said quietly.

Dante stood in the doorway, watching me like he’d been waiting for the realization to hit.

“No,” he said. “But I knew you would be.”

I hugged the coat tighter around myself.

“How?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Not locking it. Just closing it.

“You’re not a hostage,” he said calmly.

“You’re not a guest either.”

I laughed, sharp and broken. “That’s comforting.”

“You are collateral,” he corrected. “A blood debt doesn’t vanish because the debtor dies. Don Moretti owed me. He failed to pay. Under our law, the debt is transferred to his widow.”

“I was married for less than an hour.”

“That’s irrelevant.”

My nails dug into my palms. “So what happens now?”

Dante studied me for a moment, like he was deciding how much truth to give.

“You stay,” he said. “You live. You follow my rules.”

“And if I don’t?”

His voice stayed even. “Then the people who want you will come looking. And they won’t be as patient as I am.”

I felt my knees weaken. I moved to the edge of the bed and sat down before they gave out completely.

“My father,” I said. “He’ll..”

“He already tried to negotiate,” Dante cut in.

I looked up sharply. “What?”

“He begged,” Dante continued,

unbothered. “He offered money he doesn’t have and loyalty he can’t afford. I declined.”

Something cold settled in my chest. “You killed my husband. You take me. And you just… turn him away?”

“He sold you,” Dante said flatly. “Twice.”

The words landed like a slap.

I shook my head. “No. He did what he had to.”

Dante’s expression didn’t change. “So did I.”

Silence stretched between us.

Finally, he turned toward the door. “You’ll eat. You’ll sleep. Tomorrow, we’ll talk about rules.”

“And if I try to leave?” I asked.

He paused, his hand on the handle.

“Then I’ll stop you,” he said. “And you won’t like how.”

The door closed behind him.

I sat there for a long time, staring at the floor, listening to the quiet hum of a house that already knew me too well.

That was when it sank in.

This wasn’t temporary.

I wasn’t being held until something better came along.

I had been transferred.

Bianca’s Pov

I didn’t sleep.

I lay on the bed with my shoes still on, the coat Dante’s man had given me folded over my chest like a shield. The sheets smelled clean, faintly of soap, not hotel-clean but lived-in clean. That made it worse. It meant this room wasn’t staged last minute. It existed before me. It had been waiting.

Every sound in the house felt deliberate. Footsteps passed outside my door at regular intervals. Not pacing. Guarding. Somewhere below, a door opened and closed. A murmur of voices. The quiet never fully settled.

I stared at the ceiling until my eyes burned.

At some point, exhaustion dragged me under anyway.

When I woke up, it was morning.

Soft light filtered through the curtains, pale and wrong, like it didn’t belong to the world I’d woken up in. For half a second, I forgot where I was. Then I remembered everything at once. The wedding. The gunshot. The way Dante’s thumb wiped blood from my face like it meant nothing.

I sat up too fast and had to grab the edge of the bed to steady myself.

Someone had been in the room.

My shoes were gone. The coat too. The dress I’d slept in was folded neatly on a chair by the window. Cleaned. Pressed. The blood was gone.

My stomach twisted.

I slid off the bed and checked the door. It wasn’t locked. That almost irritated me more than if it had been.

I stepped into the hallway.

The estate was bigger in daylight. Long corridors. High ceilings. Windows that looked out over cliffs and open water. No neighbors. No nearby roads. Just distance.

A woman stood at the end of the hall, holding a tray.

She looked at me like she’d been expecting me to come out at that exact moment.

“Good morning,” she said politely. Not warm. Not cold.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Lucia,” she replied. “I’ll be attending to you.”

The word attending sat wrong in my chest.

“I didn’t ask for that.”

“I know,” she said calmly. “Breakfast?”

I almost laughed. My stomach chose that moment to twist painfully.

She led me downstairs without waiting for my answer.

The dining room was large but sparse. Long table. Minimal decoration. No unnecessary luxury. Everything here felt chosen for function, not comfort.

Food waited on the table. Simple. Eggs. Bread. Fruit. Coffee.

I stared at it like it might be poisoned.

“It isn’t,” Lucia said, setting the tray down.

“He doesn’t do that.”

“He?” I asked, though I already knew.

She didn’t answer.

I sat anyway. Hunger won. I hated myself a little for it. The eggs were warm. The bread is fresh. Normal. That was the worst part. It made it harder to stay angry.

“Did he order this?” I asked quietly.

Lucia nodded. “He likes routine.”

“I don’t.”

A flicker of something passed over her face. Not sympathy. Not quite fearful either.

“You’ll adjust,” she said.

I looked up sharply. “You don’t know that.”

She met my eyes evenly. “Everyone does.”

That stayed with me long after she left.

After breakfast, I explored.

No one stopped me. That was intentional. Freedom was controlled. Certain doors were unlocked. Others weren’t. I learned quickly which ones mattered.

There was a library. Not for show. Books with cracked spines. Marginal notes. Some of them are mine. I froze when I realized that.

I picked one up. A paperback I’d owned in university. My name was written inside the cover in my handwriting.

My chest tightened.

I put it back slowly.

I found a sitting room with a piano I didn’t know how to play. A balcony that looked out over the sea. Bedrooms that were clearly occupied but empty now. Lives paused.

This wasn’t just a house.

It was an operation.

I was in the hallway again when I heard footsteps behind me.

I didn’t turn right away. I didn’t need to. The air felt different when he was near. He filled space without touching it.

“You slept,” Dante said.

It wasn’t a question.

“Eventually.”

“You ate.”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

I turned then. He stood a few feet away, jacket off, sleeves rolled up. He looked like he’d already had a full day while I’d been trying not to fall apart.

“Why are my things here?” I asked.

His gaze didn’t waver. “Because you need them.”

“From where?”

“Your father’s apartment. Your dorm room storage. A place you stayed briefly in Florence.”

My heart skipped. “I never told anyone about Florence.”

“I know.”

I swallowed. “How long?”

He considered me. “Long enough”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting today.”

Anger flared, sharp and sudden. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to plan my life like it’s a schedule.”

“I already did,” he replied evenly.

I stepped closer without thinking. “I’m not your sister.”

The silence that followed was immediate and heavy.

Dante’s jaw tightened. His eyes darkened, not with rage but something more controlled. Dangerous.

“Don’t speak about her,” he said.

“Then stop surrounding me with her things,” I shot back.

He took a step toward me. Just one. It was enough.

“You resemble her,” he said quietly. “You are not her.”

“That doesn’t make this better.”

“No,” he agreed. “It makes it honest.”

We stood there, the space between us tight and charged.

“Why me?” I asked.

He looked at me for a long moment.

“Because you survived long enough to be useful.”

“That’s not the truth.”

A pause.

“Because you were already being sold,” he corrected. “I just took ownership.”

The word made my skin crawl.

“I won’t stay forever,” I said.

“You won’t leave today.”

“Tomorrow, then.”

He shook his head once. “You’re thinking too small.”

I crossed my arms. “I’m thinking about breathing.”

“That’s why you’re alive.”

I stared at him. “Is that supposed to comfort me?”

“No.”

He turned away then, like the conversation was over.

“Rules,” he said over his shoulder. “You’ll learn them as you break them.”

“And if I break the wrong one?”

He stopped at the doorway and glanced back.

“Then we’ll both regret it.”

He left.

I stood there long after he was gone, my heart pounding, my mind racing.

This place wasn’t meant to cage me.

It was meant to shape me.

And that terrified me more than chains ever could.

Bianca’s Pov

I learned the rules by breaking them.

No one sat me down with a list. No warnings taped to the walls. The estate didn’t work like that. It lets you move just far enough to hurt yourself before reminding you where the edges were.

The first rule was silence.

Not literal silence. No one told me not to speak. But I learned quickly that questions were tolerated, not welcomed. I could ask where things were. I could ask for water. I could ask for time. But I couldn’t ask why.

Every time I did, the air shifted.

Conversations ended. Doors closed. Dante’s presence became heavier, closer, like a pressure system moving in.

So I stopped asking why.

The second rule was visibility.

I wasn’t watched constantly, but I was never unseen. Someone always knew where I was. I tested it on the third day by slipping into a side corridor I hadn’t explored yet. It took less than a minute before one of Dante’s men appeared, not blocking my path, just standing there.

“Wrong direction,” he said calmly.

“How do you know where I’m going?” I asked.

He smiled faintly. “We always do.”

The third rule was routine.

Breakfast at the same time. Dinner when Dante was present. Lights dimmed automatically after midnight. The house ran on a rhythm that didn’t bend for me. I could either step into it or trip over it.

I chose to go on a trip.

I skipped breakfast the next morning.

No announcement. No dramatic refusal. I just stayed in my room and waited.

By noon, my stomach was tight and aching, but no one came. No knock. No lecture. I almost smiled, thinking I’d found a gap.

Then Dante came to my room himself.

He didn’t knock. He didn’t barge in either. He opened the door and leaned against the frame like he’d been invited.

“You missed breakfast,” he said.

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“Lie.”

I sat on the edge of the bed, arms crossed.

“I don’t owe you an appetite.”

“No,” he agreed. “You owe me compliance.”

I laughed softly. “That sounds healthy.”

“You’re testing limits,” he said. “That’s expected.”

“Are you going to punish me?” I asked.

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Is that what you want?”

“No.”

“Then eat.”

He turned and walked away.

I waited. Five seconds. Ten.

Then I followed.

The dining room was empty except for one place set at the table. My place. The food was still warm.

I stared at it, furious that he’d won without raising his voice.

I ate anyway.

The fourth rule was proximity.

Dante didn’t hover, but he didn’t disappear either. He placed himself where he could be seen. At the far end of rooms. In doorways. At the head of the table. Never touching. Always present.

It messed with my head more than chains ever could.

That night, he joined me for dinner.

No ceremony. No warning. He just sat across from me and started eating like this was normal.

I pushed food around my plate, appetite gone.

“You’re watching me,” I said.

“You’re watching me too.”

“That’s not the same.”

“It is,” he replied. “You’re just less practiced.”

I set my fork down. “Why don’t you lock me up? Wouldn’t that be easier?”

He chewed slowly, swallowed. “For who?”

“For you.”

“No,” he said calmly. “For you.”

I frowned. “Explain.”

“If I lock you up, you become predictable,” he said. “Predictable people get rescued. Or killed.”

“And this is better?”

“This keeps you alive.”

I stared at him. “You keep saying that like it’s a gift.”

“It is.”

I stood abruptly, chair scraping against the floor. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“No,” he agreed. “You didn’t.”

I waited for more. It didn’t come.

I left the table without permission.

No one stopped me.

That was the fifth rule.

Leaving was allowed. Running wasn’t.

I learned that the hard way two days later.

There was a service path near the back of the estate, narrow and partially hidden by overgrowth. I noticed it during one of my walks and memorized it immediately. I didn’t plan to use it right away. I just needed to know it existed.

On the fifth night, I waited until after midnight.

The house was quieter then. Not asleep. Just still.

I moved barefoot, slow and careful, heart pounding so hard I was sure it would give me away. The back door wasn’t locked. That should have warned me.

The air outside was cold and sharp. I breathed it in like freedom.

I ran.

I didn’t get far.

Hands grabbed me from behind, strong and unyielding, pinning my arms before I could scream. I kicked, twisted, clawed, panicked.

“Enough,” Dante’s voice cut through the dark.

The hands loosened immediately.

I turned, chest heaving, rage and fear colliding in my throat. “You said I wasn’t locked in.”

“You’re not,” he said evenly.

“Then why…”

“You didn’t ask.”

I laughed hysterically. “I was supposed to ask permission to leave?”

“To run,” he corrected. “Yes.”

“You don’t own me.”

His gaze sharpened. “You’re wearing my protection. That’s ownership enough.”

I stepped closer, shaking. “Then kill me. Because I won’t live like this.”

The men around us stiffened.

Dante raised a hand. They backed away.

He looked at me for a long moment. Then he reached out not to grab me, but to take my wrist gently, turning my hand palm up.

My skin was scraped raw from the stones.

“You didn’t plan,” he said quietly. “That’s why you failed.”

I yanked my hand back. “Is that advice?”

“Yes.”

I stared at him, stunned. “You want me to try again?”

“I want you to survive,” he replied. “If that means learning how to move in this world, then yes.”

“That’s sick.”

He didn’t deny it.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You’re not fragile, Bianca. You’re just untrained.”

The word sank deep.

Untrained.

He turned away, signaling the end of it.

“Tomorrow, you’ll stay inside. Not as punishment. As for recovery.”

“And if I don’t?”

He glanced back over his shoulder. “Then I’ll stop pretending you don’t need supervision.”

That night, I lay awake again.

But this time, I wasn’t just afraid.

I was angry.

And anger was dangerous.

Because it meant I was starting to care how this ended.