Serena woke with a scream trapped in her throat.
For a long moment, she didn't know where she was.
The ceiling was too high.
A chandelier glimmered faintly above.
This wasn't her room.
This wasn't her cramped apartment.
Then memory crashed back.
Her father.
The casino.
Dante Moretti.
Serena slowly pushed herself upright.
Her entire body ached.
She hadn't slept well.
Nightmares had tormented her.
In her dreams, she'd run endlessly—
through dark corridors, down infinite staircases.
But no matter where she fled, Dante was there.
His cold eyes watching her.
"You're mine, Serena."
Serena shivered.
She climbed out of bed and moved to the window.
When she pulled back the curtain, morning sunlight poured in.
But the light brought no warmth.
Beyond the glass stretched a vast garden.
Perfectly manicured lawns, fountains, and high walls.
Beyond those walls—forest.
Serena tried to open the window.
It was locked.
She touched the bars.
Cold and solid.
This is a prison.
No matter how beautiful, no matter how luxurious,
this place was a prison.
Knock, knock.
The sound made Serena whirl around.
The door opened, and a middle-aged woman entered.
She wore a maid's uniform—
a crisp black dress with a white apron.
Her face was expressionless, her eyes cold.
"You're awake."
No emotion in her voice whatsoever.
Serena stared at her.
"Who are you...?"
"I'm Martha, head housekeeper of this estate.
The Boss ordered me to see to you."
Martha's gaze traveled up and down Serena's body.
That look held contempt.
Like she was examining garbage.
"Shower.
Clothes are in the wardrobe.
Breakfast will be ready in thirty minutes."
"I—"
"Thirty minutes."
Martha cut her off and left.
Click.
The lock.
Serena stood frozen.
Anger burned through her.
Even the staff dismissed her.
But she understood.
Here, she was nothing.
She was Dante Moretti's property,
and everyone else would treat her accordingly.
Serena walked to the bathroom.
It was spacious and opulent.
Marble floors, gold fixtures, an enormous tub.
But Serena couldn't enjoy any of it.
She showered.
Hot water hammered her skin.
She tried to wash away last night's memories.
Dante's touch, his voice, his threats.
But no matter how hard she scrubbed,
the sensation remained.
After drying off, Serena opened the wardrobe.
It was full of clothes.
Dresses, blouses, skirts.
All expensive brands.
But looking at them made Serena nauseous.
These weren't for her.
They were for Dante to dress her up.
Serena chose the plainest outfit—
a black blouse and gray skirt.
She looked in the mirror.
The woman reflected back was pale,
with dark circles beneath her eyes.
She looked like a stranger.
Is this me?
Is this Serena Miller?
The scholarship student from a prestigious university.
The girl with a bright future.
Now she was someone's property.
Knock, knock.
Martha returned.
"Time.
Follow me."
Serena followed Martha out of the room.
A long corridor stretched ahead.
Doors lined both sides,
and paintings hung on the walls.
All dark, depressing images.
War scenes.
Death.
Suffering.
This house is like Dante Moretti's soul.
Serena thought.
They descended the stairs to the first floor.
A massive hall appeared.
Last night it had been too dark to see clearly,
but now the scale was overwhelming.
The ceiling soared three stories high,
and the walls were black marble throughout.
Martha led Serena to the dining room.
The doors opened.
And Serena's breath stopped.
The table was impossibly long.
It could seat at least twenty people.
But at the very end of that long table sat one person.
Dante Moretti.
He was reading a newspaper.
Dressed in a perfectly tailored suit.
Morning sunlight illuminated his face.
In daylight, he looked younger—
mid-thirties, perhaps?
But his eyes remained cold.
Martha cleared her throat.
"Boss, I've brought the guest."
Dante didn't look up from his paper.
"Seat her."
Martha guided Serena to the opposite end of the table.
The farthest seat from Dante.
Serena sat.
Between her and Dante stretched a vast empty space.
How symbolic.
The distance between them.
Maids brought food.
Scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, fruit.
Coffee as well.
Everything perfectly prepared.
But Serena had no appetite.
Her throat felt sealed shut.
Dante continued reading his paper.
He didn't glance at her once.
Silence fell.
Heavy, uncomfortable silence.
Serena picked up her fork.
She speared a piece of egg
and put it in her mouth.
It had no taste.
Or rather, she couldn't taste anything.
"Sleep well?"
Dante's voice cut through the quiet.
But he still looked at his newspaper.
Serena stared at him.
"...No."
"No?"
Dante folded his paper.
Then slowly lifted his head to look at her.
His eyes remained sharp and cold.
But something else lurked there too.
Observation.
He was analyzing her.
"You'll get used to it."
"...I don't want to get used to it."
Serena's voice trembled,
but she met his gaze directly.
Dante smiled.
But that smile held no warmth.
"You don't have a choice, Little Bird."
He drank his coffee.
Slowly, leisurely.
"Tonight, we're having guests.
Members of my organization.
An important meeting."
Serena tensed.
A bad feeling crept over her.
"You'll be there."
"...Why?"
"Why?"
Dante set down his cup.
His eyes darkened.
"Because you're my property.
I want to show what I own.
Especially expensive property like you."
Serena's face went pale.
She understood.
He was going to display her.
Like a trophy.
"No."
She said it quietly.
"No?"
Dante rose slowly.
He walked along the table toward her.
His footsteps were unhurried but menacing.
Serena wanted to stand.
Wanted to run.
But her legs wouldn't move.
Dante stopped in front of her.
He looked down at her.
"I don't care whether you like it or not.
You'll do what I tell you."
He reached out and lifted her chin.
Like last night.
His touch was hot and rough.
"Understood?"
Serena looked into his eyes.
There was no room for negotiation.
"...Understood."
She forced the word out.
Dante looked satisfied.
He released her chin.
But he didn't leave.
He picked up a strand of her hair.
Rubbed it between his fingers.
"You're very beautiful, Serena."
He whispered.
"Worth every penny of those two and a half million dollars."
Goosebumps erupted across Serena's skin.
His tone was gentle,
but it dripped with possessiveness.
Dante stepped back.
"Be ready by seven tonight.
Martha will select an appropriate dress."
He moved toward the dining room exit,
then paused.
Without turning back, he said:
"Oh, and Serena.
Watch your behavior tonight.
My guests are... dangerous men.
If you act out, I can't protect you."
Warning laced his voice.
"Actually, I won't protect you."
He left.
The door closed.
Serena remained frozen in place.
Her heart pounded wildly.
Tonight.
Guests.
Dangerous men.
She knew.
Tonight would be the real test.
How she behaved would determine her fate.
Serena clenched her fists.
Her nails dug into her palms.
I won't break.
Never.
The afternoon passed.
Serena remained locked in her room.
Martha came with a dress.
It was red—
an evening gown.
The back was cut low,
and the skirt had a slit up to the thigh.
"You want me to wear this?"
Serena asked in disbelief.
"The Boss's orders."
Martha responded without expression.
Serena looked at the dress.
This wasn't clothing.
This was a statement.
About how Dante saw her.
"I won't wear it."
"Then you'll go downstairs naked?"
Martha said mockingly.
Serena bit her lip.
She had no choice.
Seven o'clock arrived.
Serena stood before the mirror.
In the red dress,
she looked like a stranger.
Martha had pinned up her hair
and applied makeup.
Serena was beautiful.
But that beauty wasn't hers.
Dante had created it.
Knock, knock.
"It's time."
Serena took a deep breath.
Then opened the door.
Enzo stood in the corridor.
He saw Serena and hesitated.
Something flickered in his eyes.
Sympathy?
Or regret?
"Follow me."
His voice was softer than yesterday.
Serena followed him down the stairs.
Sounds drifted up from below.
Men's laughter.
The clink of glasses.
They reached a massive reception room.
The doors opened.
Serena stepped inside.
And felt every gaze lock onto her.
At least ten men filled the room.
All wore suits, all smoked cigars.
They looked at Serena.
And smiled.
But those smiles weren't kind.
They were the smiles of hungry wolves.
And in the center of the room,
in the largest chair, sat Dante.
He looked at Serena.
His eyes traveled over her body.
Slowly, possessively.
Then he smiled.
"Gentlemen, allow me to introduce you.
This is Serena Miller.
My new... acquisition."
The men laughed.
That laughter stabbed at Serena's ears.
And in that moment, Serena knew.
Hell was only just beginning.
One of the men—
a large, brutish-looking figure
with scars across his knuckles—
leaned forward.
His eyes crawled over Serena's exposed skin.
"An acquisition, you say?
She looks more like dessert to me, Moretti."
The room erupted in laughter again.
Serena's stomach turned.
She wanted to run.
To scream.
But she forced herself to stand still.
She wouldn't give them the satisfaction
of seeing her fear.
Dante's expression didn't change.
He took a slow sip of his whiskey,
then set the glass down
with deliberate care.
"Careful, Viktor.
You know I don't share my toys."
Viktor grinned, showing yellowed teeth.
"Just admiring the merchandise, Boss.
Two and a half million, was it?
Seems steep for—"
"Viktor."
Dante's voice dropped to a deadly quiet.
The room went silent.
Viktor's grin faltered.
"She's worth every penny.
And she's mine.
Touch her with your eyes again,
and I'll take them."
The threat hung in the air like smoke.
Viktor leaned back,
raising his hands in mock surrender.
But Serena saw the hatred
that flashed across his face.
I just made an enemy, she realized.
And I haven't even spoken.
Dante gestured lazily to a spot near his chair.
"Come here, Little Bird."
Serena's legs felt like lead.
Every step toward him
felt like walking to an execution.
The men's eyes followed her movement.
She could feel their gazes
on her bare shoulders,
her exposed back,
the slit in her dress.
When she reached Dante,
he caught her wrist.
His grip was firm but not painful.
He pulled her down
to perch on the arm of his chair—
positioning her like a prize on display.
His hand settled possessively
on her lower back.
The heat of his palm
burned through the thin fabric.
"Now,"
Dante said to the room,
his thumb tracing absent circles
on her spine.
"Where were we?
Ah yes.
The shipment from Marseille."
The meeting continued.
The men discussed drugs, weapons,
territory disputes.
They spoke casually
about violence and death
as if discussing the weather.
And through it all,
Dante's hand remained on Serena.
A constant reminder.
You're mine.
You're mine.
You're mine.
Serena tried to focus
on staying still.
On breathing.
On not showing
how much she wanted
to claw his hand away.
Then Viktor spoke again.
"What about the girl, Moretti?
She got a tongue,
or is she just for decoration?"
Several men chuckled.
Dante's hand tightened
on Serena's back.
Just slightly.
A warning.
"She's whatever I want her to be,"
Dante said smoothly.
"Right now, I want her quiet."
"Shame,"
Viktor pressed.
"A pretty thing like that
should have some use
besides looking good on your arm.
Unless she's broken already—"
Serena's control snapped.
"I'm not broken."
The words escaped
before she could stop them.
Her voice was clear, sharp.
Defiant.
The room went dead silent.
Dante's hand stilled
on her back.
She felt the tension
coil through his body.
Serena's heart hammered.
What had she done?
Then Dante laughed.
It was a dark, dangerous sound.
"You see, Viktor?
She has spirit."
His fingers dug into Serena's waist—
not quite painful,
but close.
"I do enjoy breaking in
the spirited ones."
The men laughed again,
but Serena barely heard them.
All she could focus on
was Dante's grip.
His warning.
You just made a mistake,
that grip said.
And you'll pay for it later.
The meeting dragged on
for another hour.
By the time the men
finally began to leave,
Serena felt hollow.
Exhausted.
Used.
Viktor was the last to go.
He paused at the door,
his eyes finding Serena
one more time.
"Lovely party, Moretti.
Same time next week?"
"Of course."
When the door finally closed behind him,
the silence was deafening.
Serena tried to stand.
To put distance
between herself and Dante.
But his hand locked
around her wrist
like a manacle.
"Where do you think you're going?"
His voice was soft.
Deadly.
Serena's breath caught.
"I—to my room.
You said—"
"I said you'd be here tonight.
The night isn't over."
He pulled her around
to face him.
His eyes were black with fury.
"What did I tell you?
What were my exact words?"
Serena's mouth went dry.
"You said...
to watch my behavior."
"And?"
"...That you wouldn't protect me
if I acted out."
"Exactly."
Dante rose to his full height,
towering over her.
"So tell me, Little Bird.
What part of speaking out of turn
seemed like good behavior?"
"I just—
he called me broken, and I—"
"You what?"
Dante's hand shot out,
gripping her jaw.
"You couldn't keep
that pretty mouth shut
for one night?
You had to prove something?"
Tears pricked Serena's eyes,
but she refused
to let them fall.
"I'm not your pet,"
she whispered.
Dante's laugh was bitter.
"That's exactly what you are.
And the sooner you accept it,
the easier this will be."
He released her
so abruptly she stumbled.
"Get out of my sight.
Enzo will take you
back to your cage."
Serena didn't need
to be told twice.
She turned and fled.
But as she reached the door,
Dante's voice stopped her.
"Serena."
She froze
but didn't turn.
"Viktor is a dangerous man.
By speaking tonight,
you made yourself interesting to him.
If something happens to you now..."
He paused.
"Well.
I warned you
I wouldn't protect you."
Cold dread washed over Serena.
"But—"
"Goodnight, Little Bird.
Sweet dreams."
The dismissal was final.
Enzo was waiting in the hall.
He walked her back to her room
in silence.
When they reached her door,
he hesitated.
"For what it's worth,"
he said quietly,
"you were brave tonight."
Serena looked at him.
"Brave or stupid?"
"Both, probably."
The corner of his mouth twitched.
"But at least you're not boring."
He left her alone.
Serena locked the door—
though she knew it meant nothing—
and collapsed against it.
Her whole body shook.
Tonight she'd learned something crucial:
there were worse monsters
than Dante Moretti.
And she'd just drawn
their attention.