Lucia's POV
The hours turned into days, but I stayed in my room. Not because I was still in pain, I had already healed from the bruises. But because I didn't know what else to do. This estate felt like a golden cage, and even though no one had locked me inside, I wasn't exactly free.
The maids came and went, bringing food I barely touched. One of them, a young woman around my age, maybe twenty-three or twenty-four, stayed longer than the others. Her name was Alina. At first, she didn't say much, just tidying my things, folding and refolding my clothes like she wasn't sure what to say. But after a while, she spoke.
"I know things have been hard for you," she said, smoothing out a dress. Her voice sounded calm, but with a hidden warning. "This house is safe, but only if you know where you stand."
I turned to her, my arms crossed. "And where do I stand?"
She met my eyes, her expression unreadable. "That depends. Are you smart enough to survive?"
A cold chill settled in my chest. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Alina hesitated, then sat at the edge of my bed, her hands folding together in her lap. "Dante Romano is dangerous. But you already know that."
The way she said his name sent an uneasy shiver down my spine. It wasn't just fear—it was respect, maybe even a hint of something else.
"He's ruthless," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "Not just in business, but with people. If you cross him, there are no second chances."
I swallowed hard, I already knew that. "I haven't crossed him… I think."
"Not yet." She folded her hands in her lap. "I've seen what happens to those who do."
Before I could ask her what she meant, the sound of the TV caught my attention. The news was on, and my chest tightened at the familiar name flashing across the screen.
Antonio Castellano.
I turned to face it fully, my heartbeat a heavy thud in my ears. The words at the bottom of the screen made my stomach twist.
Warehouse Fire Investigation – Antonio Castellano And Dante Romano Under Scrutiny.
My hands curled into fists. When would they stop? How many more times would they drag my father's name through the dirt, twisting the truth until even I started questioning what I knew?
"They're making him look like a monster," I muttered, my voice tight.
Alina stood beside me, arms crossed, her face carefully blank. "That reporter has been following Dante's business for years. She never gives up."
I narrowed my eyes at the woman on the screen. She wasn't just reporting, she was controlling the story and twisting the truth into whatever version suited her.
I turned to Alina. "What's her name?"
"Isabella Vasquez," she said. "She's made a career out of trying to take down men like Dante."
A thought formed in my mind. If Isabella Vasquez was set on ruining my father's name, maybe I had to fight back.
But first, I needed answers.
Dante was in his study when I found him, sitting behind his massive desk, scrolling through his phone. He barely glanced at me as I walked in.
"You finally decided to leave your room," he said, his tone dry.
I ignored his comment and crossed my arms. "I need to ask you something."
That made him look up. He leaned back slightly, watching me with the same cool detachment that always made me feel like a puzzle he had already solved. "Go on."
I hesitated, then took a deep breath. "How did you start? Your business. Everything."
Dante didn't react, but I felt the air in the room shift.
"Why do you want to know?"
I shrugged, keeping my voice even. "Curiosity."
He didn't believe me, but he answered anyway. "I took over when I was eighteen." His voice was calm but distant. "My father was killed, and there was no one else left to run things."
I studied him, searching for a crack in his composure. "That couldn't have been easy."
His jaw tightened. "It wasn't. Still isn't."
I let his words sink in before I asked, "What's the biggest challenge you've faced?"
Dante paused for a moment, then repeated my question, as if testing the words. "The biggest challenge I've faced?" His eyes darkened. "Your father."
My breath caught. The words left my mouth before I could stop them. "The fire."
Dante didn't deny it, he just kept mute.
I swallowed, my throat dry. "You really believe he did it?"
He let out a slow breath, his voice firm. "I don't believe, Lucia. For the last time, I know."
His certainty made my stomach twist. I couldn't just allow myself to believe that my father had caused a fire just by knocking down a keg.
A heavy silence filled the space between us.
"What do you plan to do with this information?" he asked.
What did I want? To clear my father's name? To understand what really happened? To find some proof that Dante was wrong? I wasn't sure. So I said nothing. Not like anything I said would matter to him.
Dante's patience ran thin. His jaw clenched as he leaned forward slightly. "Don't do anything stupid." His voice was low and serious. "Or you'll end up in a body bag."
His meaning was clear. If I crossed a line, I wouldn't just be punished, I'd be dead.
I gave a small nod, then turned and left.
When I returned to my room, something was waiting for me.
A dress.
It lay across my bed like a gift.
Deep red, the color of blood and danger. The fabric shimmered under the light, smooth and soft. A high slit cut up one side, elegant but bold, demanding attention.
Alina was still in the room, staring at it with an uneasy expression.
I frowned. "What is this?"
She turned to me, her face pale. "One of Dante's men brought it."
A strange feeling crept over me. "Why?"
Alina hesitated. "He's taking you to the ball."
I blinked. "The ball?"
She nodded, but something in her eyes made my skin prickle with unease.. "Lucia, you need to be careful."
What was up with this maid, and what was she getting at? "Why?" I asked.
She lowered her voice, glancing at the door as if afraid someone might hear. "Every woman Dante has taken to that ball…" She swallowed, twisting her fingers together. "They don't come back the same."
My pulse pounded in my ears. "What do you mean?"
Alina exhaled shakily. "Some don't come back at all."
Her words sank into me like ice water. I turned back to the dress, my heart pounding. It was beautiful, but suddenly, it felt like a noose tightening around my neck.
I might be trapped here, but there was no way I was going to that ball without a fight.