The air in the library thickened, heavy with the scent of old leather and secrets. Dante's silhouette filled the doorway, his presence a storm cloud swallowing the firelight. His eyes locked onto mine, sharp and unyielding, like a blade slicing through the haze of my fear.
"What are you doing here?" His voice was low, controlled, but it carried an edge that made my pulse stutter.I clutched the key the scarred man had given me, its cold metal biting into my palm. My other hand still held Liliana's letter, crumpled now, the words blurring under the weight of my trembling fingers.
I shoved the key into my pocket, praying he didn't notice the movement."I—I couldn't sleep," I stammered, forcing my voice to stay steady. "I came looking for a book."His gaze flicked to the letter in my hand, then to the open safe behind the painting.
The portrait of Liliana stared down at us, her painted eyes accusing, her smile a ghost that haunted us both."A book," he repeated, stepping closer. Each step echoed like a heartbeat in the silent room. "And you found that instead."
I didn't answer. I couldn't. My throat was a knot of fear and defiance, tangled together so tightly I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.
He stopped inches from me, his shadow swallowing mine. "You're not a very good liar, Amelia."
"I'm not lying." The words came out sharper than I meant, fueled by the adrenaline still pumping from the scarred man's warning.
Behind the stables. At midnight. If you want out of this, come alone.
Dante's eyes narrowed. He reached out, and I flinched, expecting him to grab me. Instead, he plucked the letter from my hand, his fingers brushing mine—cold, deliberate.
He unfolded it, scanned the words, and his expression didn't change. Not a flicker. Not a crack."Liliana," he said softly, almost to himself. "Always leaving pieces of herself where they don't belong."
"Who was she to you?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "Your wife? Your obsession? Why do I look like her?"He folded the letter and tucked it into his pocket, his movements slow, methodical. "You ask too many questions."
"And you give too few answers." I stepped forward, surprising myself. The fear was still there, but so was something else—anger, raw and unyielding. "You dragged me into this. You made me sign a contract.
You made me bleed. The least you owe me is the truth."
He stared at me, and for a moment, I thought I saw something break in him. A hairline fracture in the cold mask he wore. But then it was gone, sealed shut.
"The truth," he said, his voice like ice, "is that you're here because I chose you. Because you were convenient. A debt. A face. Nothing more."
The words cut deeper than the knife I'd held in the cellar. I wanted to scream, to shove him, to demand why he looked at me like I was more than convenient in those rare, unguarded moments.
But I didn't. I couldn't. Not when the key in my pocket felt like a ticking bomb."Get back to your room," he said, turning away. "And don't come here again."
I didn't move. "Or what? You'll lock me in? You'll hurt me? You've already done both."
He froze, his back to me. The silence stretched, taut and dangerous.Then he spoke, so quietly I almost missed it. "You don't know what I'm protecting you from."
"Protecting me?" I laughed, bitter and hollow. "You're the one I need protection from."He turned then, and his eyes were different. Not cold. Not angry. Something deeper, something that scared me more than his threats ever could.
"Go," he said. "Before I change my mind."I left, the key burning a hole in my pocket, Liliana's letter burning a hole in my heart.
The winter house was a labyrinth of shadows. Every hallway felt like a trap, every door a question I didn't want answered.
I made it back to my room without being seen, my bare feet silent on the cold stone floors. The key stayed in my pocket, a secret I didn't dare look at. Not yet.
Inez was waiting, her face pale in the dim light of my bedside lamp. "You shouldn't wander," she said, her voice tight. "Not here."
"I know," I said, but my mind was elsewhere. Behind the stables. At midnight."What did he want?" she asked, folding a blanket with hands that shook slightly."Who?"
"Mr. Virelli. In the cellar."My stomach twisted. "You know about that?"She didn't meet my eyes. "Everyone knows.""Then why didn't you warn me?" I snapped, louder than I meant to.
Her hands stilled. "Because no one warns the lamb when it's already in the wolf's den."I stared at her, the weight of her words sinking in.
"Am I the lamb, Inez?"She looked at me then, her eyes full of something like pity. "You're whatever he needs you to be."I turned away, my chest tight. "Get out."
She left without a word, the door clicking shut behind her.
I sat on the edge of the bed, the key heavy in my pocket. The clock on the wall read 11:17 p.m. Less than an hour until midnight. Less than an hour until I had to decide.
Stay in the cage.
Or run toward whatever waited behind the stables.
The estate was quiet as I slipped out of my room, dressed in dark jeans and a hoodie I'd found in the wardrobe. The sapphire dress lay crumpled on the floor, a discarded skin I didn't want to wear anymore.
I moved silently, avoiding the creaking floorboards, the guarded hallways. The key was a lifeline in my pocket, but it felt like a noose too.
The stables were at the edge of the property, past the gardens, past the stone walls that separated the Virelli world from the rest of existence.
The night was cold, the air sharp with the scent of pine and frost. I kept to the shadows, my heart pounding so loud I was sure it would betray me.The stables loomed ahead, dark and silent. No guards. No lights.
Just the faint whinny of a horse and the rustle of leaves in the wind.I checked my watch. 11:58 p.m.
I circled to the back, my sneakers sinking into the damp earth. There was nothing there—no door, no path, no sign of the scarred man. Just a stretch of ivy-covered wall and the endless night.
Had he lied?
Was this a trap?
I pressed my hand against the wall, feeling for something—anything. My fingers caught on a loose stone, and it shifted under my touch.
A soft click echoed, and a section of the wall slid open, revealing a narrow passage barely wide enough for one person.My breath caught.This was it.The way out.Or the way deeper into hell.
I stepped inside, the key still in my pocket. The passage was dark, the air damp and heavy with the smell of earth.
I moved forward, my hands brushing the rough stone walls, my heart a drumbeat in my chest.
The passage opened into a small clearing, surrounded by trees so dense they blocked the moonlight. And there he was—the scarred man, leaning against a rusted truck, a cigarette glowing between his lips.
"You came," he said, exhaling smoke. "I wasn't sure you would."
"Who are you?" I demanded, my voice low but steady. "And why are you helping me?"
He flicked the cigarette away, the ember arcing into the darkness. "My name's Luca. And I'm not helping you. I'm helping myself."
I took a step back.
"What does that mean?""It means Dante Virelli isn't the only one with enemies. And you, little bird, are a perfect way to hurt him."
My blood ran cold. "You're using me."He smirked, the scar on his jaw twisting. "Everyone's using you. The difference is, I'm offering you a way out."
"To where? Another cage?"
"To freedom. Or as close as girls like you get to it."I clenched my fists, the key digging into my palm. "What do you want from me?"
"Information," he said.
"Dante's weak spots. His plans. His allies. You're in his house. His bed. You see things no one else does."
"I'm not in his bed," I snapped, my face burning.
Luca raised an eyebrow. "Not yet. But you will be. He doesn't keep pretty things without playing with them."
I wanted to vomit. "You're no better than him."
"Maybe not. But I'm not the one who made you cut a man."
The memory of the cellar flashed through my mind—the knife, the blood, the way my soul fractured. I shoved it down.
"What happens if I say no?"
He shrugged.
"You go back to your gilded cage. And eventually, you end up like Liliana."
My heart stopped. "You knew her?"
"I knew all of them." His voice darkened. "The girls who looked like her. The ones he brought in to replace her. None of them lasted."I swallowed, my mouth dry. "What happened to them?"
"Some ran. Some broke. Some… disappeared." He stepped closer, his eyes glinting in the dark.
"You're different, though. You're still fighting."
"I'm not fighting," I whispered. "I'm surviving."
"Same thing." He pulled a phone from his pocket and held it out. "Take this. It's untraceable. You hear something, you see something, you call me. In return, I get you out when the time comes."
I stared at the phone, my mind racing. This was a deal with another devil. Luca wasn't my savior—he was a vulture, circling the same corpse Dante was.
But he was right about one thing: I was in Dante's world now, and there was no going back to the girl I used to be.I took the phone.
"Good girl," he said, his voice dripping with something that made my skin crawl.
"Don't call me that," I said, shoving the phone into my pocket next to the key.
He chuckled. "Midnight tomorrow. Same place. Don't make me wait."And then he was gone, melting into the trees like a shadow that had never been there.
I made it back to my room without being caught, but sleep was impossible. The phone and the key sat on my nightstand, two small objects that felt like anchors dragging me into deeper waters. Liliana's letter was still in my mind, her words looping like a warning I couldn't ignore.
He's slipping, and I can't stop it.
Who had she been afraid of? Dante? His father? Someone else?And why did I look like her?
The next morning, Inez brought another dress—emerald green, elegant, suffocating.
"You're expected at breakfast," she said, her tone clipped.
I didn't argue. I dressed, pinned my hair up, and walked to the dining room like a doll being moved by invisible strings.
Dante was already there, sitting at the head of the table, his eyes on a newspaper. He didn't look up as I sat down, but I felt his attention on me, heavy as ever.
"Sleep well?" he asked, his voice deceptively casual.
"No," I said, picking up a fork I had no intention of using.
He folded the paper, his gaze meeting mine.
"Nightmares?"
"Something like that."He leaned back, studying me.
"You look… different."
"Maybe because I am," I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
His brow arched. "Care to explain?"
I wanted to. God, I wanted to scream about the key, the phone, the painting, Liliana's letters.
I wanted to ask why he kept girls who looked like his dead wife, why he made me cut a man, why he looked at me like I was both a treasure and a curse.
But I didn't. Because Luca's words were still in my head, and so was the threat of the red envelopes.
Instead, I said, "I'm tired of being a ghost in your house."He set his coffee down, the clink of porcelain loud in the silence. "You're not a ghost, Amelia. You're a guest."
"A guest with a guard," I shot back. "A guest who can't leave."
His jaw tightened. "You're safer here than you were out there."
"Safe?" I laughed, the sound brittle. "From what? The man in the cellar? The envelopes? Or you?"
His eyes darkened, but he didn't answer. Instead, he stood and walked to my side of the table, his movements slow, deliberate.
He stopped behind me, his hand resting lightly on the back of my chair."You don't understand the game you're in," he said, his voice low. "But you will."
I turned to face him, my heart pounding. "Then tell me the rules."He leaned down, his face inches from mine.
"Rule one: don't trust anyone.Not even me."
"And rule two?"
He straightened, his expression unreadable.
"There is no rule two. You either survive, or you don't."
The day passed in a blur of tension and silence. I was allowed to wander the estate, but Matteo, my guard, was never far behind.
His eyes followed me like a hawk, his gun a constant reminder of the cage I was in. I kept the phone hidden in my room, tucked inside a book of poetry I'd found in the library.
The key stayed in my pocket, a secret I couldn't let go of.That night, I met Luca again.Same time. Same place.He was waiting, his cigarette glowing in the dark.
"Anything?" he asked, not bothering with pleasantries. I hesitated. "He's… paranoid. He mentioned a breach. Said someone's getting too close."
Luca's eyes narrowed. "Who?""He didn't say. But he's moving me around like a chess piece."
He nodded, as if that confirmed something. "Keep listening. Anything about shipments? Names? Meetings?"
I shook my head. "He doesn't talk to me about business."
"Then get him to." His voice was sharp. "Make him trust you.""How am I supposed to do that?" I snapped.
"He barely looks at me unless he's threatening me."Luca smirked. "You're a smart girl. Figure it out."I wanted to throw the phone at him. Instead, I turned to leave.
"One more thing," he said, stopping me. "The red envelopes. They're not from me."
My heart skipped. "Then who?""Someone closer than you think."
Back in my room, I couldn't shake Luca's words. Someone closer than you think. Was it Inez? Matteo? Dante's father? Or someone I hadn't even met yet?
I didn't sleep. I couldn't. The phone buzzed once, a single message from an unknown number.
Midnight tomorrow. Don't be late.
I deleted it, my hands shaking.The next morning, Dante summoned me to his study.
He was behind his desk, a glass of whiskey in his hand despite the early hour.
"We're going back to the city," he said without preamble.
"Why?"
"Because I have business. And you're coming with me."I frowned. "What kind of business?"
He set the glass down, his eyes locking onto mine. "The kind that reminds people who I am. And who you are."
I swallowed, the key in my pocket heavier than ever. "And who am I, Dante?"He stood, walked around the desk, and stopped in front of me.
"You're mine," he said, his voice soft but unyielding. "And it's time the world knows it."