The inside of the black SUV smelled of leather and danger. Liana's wrists were tied with soft restraints—soft, yet firm enough to remind her she wasn't going anywhere. Her trembling fingers clenched into fists as the vehicle sped through the night, the lights of the city fading one by one into the dark void behind them.
She didn't know how long they had been driving. Ten minutes? Thirty? An hour? Time felt slippery in fear's grip. Her mind raced faster than the car. What would they do to her? Where were they taking her? Why hadn't they just killed her?
She dared to glance across from her. Leonardo De Luca sat in silence, his posture perfectly relaxed. He looked out the window, gloved hands resting on his lap like he was riding to a business meeting rather than transporting a witness to a murder.
But his eyes… his eyes hadn't left her since they shoved her into the vehicle. She felt their weight even when she wasn't looking. Cold. Calculating. And something else. Something far more dangerous.
"Wh-Where are you taking me?" she finally asked, her voice a hoarse whisper.
He turned his head slowly. Raised an eyebrow. Then looked away.
No answer.
The silence suffocated her more than any words could.
Eventually, the car turned off the main road. The tires crunched on gravel as they passed a long line of trees, each one taller and older than the last. The woods felt endless—isolated. Liana's heart dropped. There'd be no one to hear her scream out here.
They finally stopped in front of a massive iron gate. Beyond it loomed a sprawling mansion, its architecture dark and regal, with stone gargoyles perched like sentinels on the high walls. Security cameras followed the SUV's every movement.
The gate creaked open, slowly, as if warning her that whatever lay beyond was permanent.
"Out," one of the guards ordered gruffly.
She stumbled as she was pulled from the car, the cold night air biting at her skin. Her legs trembled with each step as she was led toward the mansion. She couldn't stop staring at it—it looked like something pulled straight out of a gothic novel. A place where ghosts might roam the halls, whispering secrets and sins.
Inside, it was worse.
The floors gleamed with polished marble so smooth it reflected her terrified expression. The walls were lined with oil paintings and ornate mirrors. But what stood out most were the locked display cases: guns, daggers, old war medals—keepsakes from a lifetime of violence.
It was a museum of power. And she didn't belong.
Leonardo finally spoke as he stepped past her, unbothered by her panic.
"You saw something you shouldn't have. That makes you a threat."
Liana's voice cracked. "I swear I won't tell anyone. I didn't even see your face clearly in the alley—"
He stopped and turned to face her. "You just did."
That stopped her breath. His eyes locked with hers, sharp as ice and dark as midnight. Her back hit the cold wall behind her, and her fingers gripped the edge of her sweater.
"What are you going to do to me?" she asked.
Leonardo took a slow step forward. Then another. He didn't touch her, but his presence was suffocating. Every inch he closed between them felt like he was pressing a cage around her.
"I haven't decided yet," he said finally, voice calm. "But for now, you'll stay here. Under my roof. Under my rules. Until I decide what to do with you."
Her voice rose. "I'm not your prisoner!"
"Aren't you?"
His response wasn't loud or cruel. It was a simple truth.
She didn't know how to respond.
Leonardo turned to the two men standing nearby. "Put her in the east wing. Guest suite. Make sure the doors lock… from the outside."
"No, wait—" she started to protest, but the guards were already grabbing her by the arms. "Please, I didn't do anything wrong! I didn't ask to be there!"
Leonardo said nothing. He didn't even look at her.
The hallways blurred around her as she was dragged through corridors filled with things she couldn't name. Statues. Vases. Ancient artifacts. Everything screamed wealth and silence.
When they finally reached the room, the guards shoved the door open and pushed her inside. The door slammed shut. The lock clicked.
Liana stood frozen.
The room was… stunning. A grand chandelier hung like a frozen storm cloud from the ceiling. Velvet curtains framed windows so tall she couldn't even see the top. The bed was the size of a boat, all black silk and gold trim. A fireplace sat in one corner, though the flames were cold. Everything was flawless.
Except her.
She ran to the window first. Locked. Sealed tight. The glass was too thick to break. She checked the drawers. Empty. The closet—full of beautiful, designer gowns. Nothing practical. Nothing helpful. She even searched the bathroom. No phone. No signal. No hope.
Eventually, she sat on the edge of the bed, her hands shaking.
Why hadn't he just killed her?
What did he want?
The door clicked again.
Her head jerked up.
Leonardo entered, carrying a silver tray with a bowl of soup, warm bread, and a glass of red wine. He placed it on the nightstand without a word.
"You're feeding me now?" she asked bitterly.
He looked at her, expression unreadable. "Would you prefer chains and a basement?"
"I'd prefer to go home."
He didn't react.
"You saw a man die," he said. "You were a witness. Do you know what usually happens to witnesses in my world?"
She swallowed. "I won't tell anyone. I swear."
"You're asking me to risk my entire operation based on the word of a stranger."
He reached into his pocket and pulled something out. Her necklace. The tiny silver chain with a rose charm.
He extended it to her.
She didn't move.
"Take it," he said.
Slowly, she approached and took it from his hand. Their fingers brushed. A spark passed through her—not warm, but sharp. Dangerous.
Leonardo didn't move.
"I'm not a monster, Liana," he said quietly.
"No?" she whispered. "Then what are you?"
His gaze darkened. "Someone you'd better not lie to."
He turned and left.
The door clicked shut. Locked.
Liana clutched her necklace and sat in the silence of the grand, terrible room.
She was alone.
Trapped.
And she wasn't sure who was more terrifying—the devil who had taken her, or the part of her that had stopped being afraid the moment he looked at her.