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.

Bianca’s Pov

I knew my father was coming before anyone told me.

The house changed its rhythm.

It was subtle. Quieter, but sharper somehow. Conversations stopped when I entered the rooms. The guards doubled near the front gates. Even Lucia moved differently, her usual efficiency tightened into something cautious.

I didn’t ask why.

By then, I knew better.

It was late afternoon when Dante came for me. Not physically. He sent a message through the house, the way he did everything indirect, controlled.

“He’s here,” Lucia said, standing in my doorway.

My heart jumped so hard it hurt.

“Who?” I asked, even though my mouth had already gone dry.

She hesitated just long enough to answer honestly. “Your father.”

I stood too fast. The chair tipped backward, hitting the floor with a sharp crack. Lucia flinched. I didn’t apologize.

“He came to get me,” I said.

Lucia’s face didn’t change. “He came to speak.”

“With who?”

She met my eyes. “Not you.”

That should have been the first warning.

They didn’t let me go to the main sitting room. Instead, I was taken to a smaller one overlooking the sea, glass walls stretching from floor to ceiling. It felt like a compromise. Close enough to witness. Far enough to control.

I paced.

Every thought in my head tangled into another. Relief fought with suspicion. My father had always been weak, but he was still my father. He wouldn’t leave me here. He couldn’t.

The door opened quietly.

Dante stepped in alone.

“He asked to see you,” Dante said.

My chest loosened. “See? Or take it?”

Dante didn’t answer right away. He crossed the room and stopped near the window, hands in his pockets, gaze fixed on the horizon.

“You can listen,” he said finally. “But you don’t speak unless I tell you to.”

I bristled. “I’m not a child.”

“No,” he agreed. “Children are protected.”

The words stung.

Before I could respond, voices carried from the adjacent room. The wall between us wasn’t solid stone. It was glass layered with soundproofing except someone had left a narrow channel open.

On purpose.

My father’s voice came first.

Low. Nervous. Familiar.

“I appreciate you agreeing to meet,” Lorenzo Valenti said. “This whole situation has been… unfortunate.”

I closed my eyes.

“That’s one word for it,” Dante replied calmly.

“I think we can come to an understanding,” my father continued. “My daughter is young. Uninvolved. She doesn’t belong in this world.”

I stepped closer to the glass.

“She was involved the moment you signed her name away,” Dante said.

A pause.

“She’s my daughter,” my father said. “I want her back.”

I sucked in a breath, relief flooding me so fast my knees went weak.

Dante’s response was quiet. “And what are you offering in return?”

The silence that followed stretched too long.

I opened my eyes.

“I can make it worth your while,” my father said carefully. “There are assets. Inheritance arrangements. Bianca’s trust. Future loyalty.”

The relief drained out of me.

“You don’t have trust,” Dante said.

“Not yet,” my father replied. “But Bianca will. She’s the sole beneficiary on her mother’s side. Once certain conditions are met, everything transfers to her.”

My stomach twisted.

I hadn’t known that.

“I can sign over her rights,” my father continued. “Give you legal authority. Full discretion. In exchange, my remaining debts disappear.”

I pressed my hand to the glass to steady myself.

He wasn’t here to save me.

He was here to sell me again.

Dante didn’t speak immediately. I imagined him watching my father the way he watched me silent, assessing, already five steps ahead.

“You’re offering me something I already own,” Dante said at last.

My father laughed nervously. “Ownership is a strong word.”

“In my world,” Dante replied, “it’s an accurate one.”

“I’m trying to protect her,” my father said quickly. “She doesn’t understand the danger she’s in.”

“She understands perfectly,” Dante said.

“You just never taught her how to avoid it.”

I felt something crack inside my chest.

“She’s innocent,” my father insisted.

“Innocence doesn’t survive transactions,” Dante said flatly.

There was a scraping sound. A chair moving.

“So this is about pride?” my father snapped. “You took her to prove a point?”

“No,” Dante said. “I took her because you would have killed her slowly.”

The words hit like a punch.

“What?” my father demanded.

“Debt,” Dante continued evenly. “Failure. Panic. You would have sold her piece by piece until there was nothing left worth keeping.”

“That’s not…”

“Get out,” Dante said.

Silence.

“I’m not finished,” my father said weakly.

“You are,” Dante replied. “If you try to negotiate with her again, you won’t leave my property alive.”

My heart was hammered.

Footsteps approached the door. I backed away instinctively, wiping my face before anyone could see the tears.

The door opened.

My father walked in first.

He looked smaller than I remembered. Older. His suit hung wrong on his frame. His eyes darted around the room until they landed on me.

“Bianca,” he said, relief and guilt colliding in his voice. “You’re okay.”

I didn’t move.

“I tried,” he said quickly. “I really did.”

I stared at him. “You tried to trade me.”

He flinched. “You don’t understand.”

“I understand everything,” I said quietly.

Dante entered behind him.

“Time’s up,” Dante said.

My father turned to him. “She’s my blood.”

“And you’re her liability,” Dante replied.

My father looked back at me, desperation creeping into his expression. “Tell him you want to come home.”

I swallowed.

Home.

The word felt foreign.

I looked at Dante. He didn’t look at me. He waited.

The choice was mine.

“I want to live,” I said.

My father’s face crumpled.

Dante nodded once. “Then we’re done.”

Two men appeared at the doorway. My father didn’t resist when they took his arms. He just kept looking at me like he was waiting for forgiveness.

I didn’t give it.

When they were gone, the room felt hollow.

“You let him leave,” I said.

“Yes.”

“You could’ve killed him.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Dante turned to me then. “Because he already did enough damage.”

I wrapped my arms around myself. “You enjoy this.”

“No,” he said. “I'll endure it.”

“That’s worse.”

He didn’t argue.

I sank into the chair by the window, legs weak, mind numb.

“He never came for me,” I whispered.

Dante didn’t correct me.

That night, I stood on the balcony long after the sun went down, watching the sea crash against the cliffs below.

I wasn’t waiting to be rescued anymore.

I was learning something else.

No one was coming.

And if I wanted out of this, I would have to take it myself.