"Hang on," she says, putting her hands out. "If this is about signing some paper, whatever crazy legal thing you want, fine. I'll do it. I'll sign anything. I'll say whatever you want in public. Just let me go. I won't say a word to anyone, ever. You have my word. I don't want to be involved in this."
I let her words hang there, heavy with her desperate hope. She really thinks this is a negotiation. She thinks there's a deal, a contract, a performance she can give to get what she wants. She doesn't get it. Not yet. She still sees the world as if it's her phone screen, where every problem has a quick fix, a filter to hide the ugliness.
"You don't need to sign anything. Because you're not leaving. Not now. Maybe not ever, until I say so."
The words shock her. Her mouth opens, a small, silent gasp, but nothing comes out. Her eyes, wide and disbelieving, jump from my face to Enzo's, then to the silent men by the door. Her perfect little world is breaking apart.
Then, a whisper, a last try at normal: "Excuse me? What did you say?"
"You stay here," I explain. "Until I decide otherwise. You'll have a room. Food. Clothes. Anything you need in here, you'll get. Your phone, for now, is dead. It's no good to you anymore. It's only a problem now."
Her hands curl into fists, nails digging into her skin. "You're out of your mind," she breathes. "You think you can just lock me up in some fancy mansion and call that normal? People don't just vanish."
"You might be surprised how many people in my world just vanish. This is about what happens next. And who's in charge here."
She takes a shaky breath, then another. "I'm not staying here. You don't decide that for me. You have no right. My parents will have you in jail so fast your head will spin, you hear me?"
"But I have decided. And your parents, from what I know, aren't exactly who you say they are, are they? They won't be traveling to Italy looking for you."
Her attention turns to Enzo, as if he's going to help her, give her a secret sign. "Is this a cult? Are you brainwashed? Blink twice if you need help. Seriously, is this a really weird, immersive art project? Is someone filming this?"
Enzo doesn't blink. His face is stoic with years of training.
"You're both crazy," she mutters. "This isn't real. This is some kind of big joke. I know someone's filming this. Right? Where's the hidden camera?" her tone is begging now, desperate for the fake world she knows.
I don't say anything. I let her shuffle through all her little ideas. Let her grab at every familiar thing. And then, I let her see them break, one by one. I watch the light die out with each broken dream.
"You have thirty seconds," I continue. "Tell me why you made the video and who you sent the clip to. Every name. Every online handle. Every app. Every private group chat. I need to know everything."
She stiffens, her eyes snapping back to mine. A flicker of real terror mixed with her fading defiance. "I didn't send it to anyone! I uploaded it the same as always. I don't control what happens after that. It just goes out into the wild! That's how it works! Actually, no one knows exactly how it works because that's a huge secret, but in general that's what happens."
I nod slowly. "Then you stay here until we follow every lead. Every comment. Every view. Every download. We'll follow every crumb, no matter how long it takes. And you stay here, whether you like it or not, until we know there's no danger left."
She laughs again. But this time it breaks, turning into a choked cry. "You're going to keep me here for what? Weeks? Months? Until you get bored? Until the internet forgets about me? That could take years! I have over eight million followers! The video has already been downloaded thousands of times. There's no way to get it back. I'll be a wrinkled, old lady with saggy boobs by the time you track every person down. How long will this take?"
"Until it's safe."
"Safe for who?" she demands. "Safe for you? Or safe for your criminal friends?"
I pause, thinking about her question. "Safe for you, if you're lucky."
That shuts her up. For a moment. The meaning hangs in the air, heavy and clear.
Then she says, quieter, her tone barely a whisper, showing something deep inside. "I didn't ask for this. I didn't do anything."
"No one ever does."
Fate doesn't ask permission.
I step back. "Enzo will take you to your room. You'll have time to get used to it. I suggest you do it fast. Fighting back… it's not smart and a waste of energy."
Her mouth moves, trying to speak, but whatever words she had ready, they die in her throat. Strangled by fear.
The QueenNikki act is finally gone.
"Why are you doing this?" she asks. "Why not just… why not just kill me now and get it over with?"
I look at her then. Really look. And for a second, something stirs inside me. Not pity. Never pity. Something sharper. Something like interest.
