I roll over, hugging the pillow tighter. Down the hall, Renato is probably lying awake too, waiting to see if I'll him as the monster he keeps insisting he is.
But I don't see a monster.
Not anymore.
I see a man who killed because he couldn't stop himself. Because Al-Zahrani thought he could buy me and that required an answer written in blood.
It's insane. It's violent. It's probably the least healthy thing I could possibly feel good about.
But I do feel good about it.
What does that make me?
I'm tired of pretending I'm the same person I was before all this. Before the kidnapping, before the training, before I killed Kozlov and felt nothing but triumph.
The good girl. The obedient daughter. The perfect aristocrat who never questioned, never challenged, never looked too closely at the ugly parts of her world.
That woman is gone.
Men like Al-Zahrani exist. They buy women. They keep them in compounds. They treat human beings like collectibles.
And men like Renato kill them for it.
I should be horrified.
But I'm not.
Somewhere around 4 AM, I finally drift off to sleep with one thought circling through my mind. Tomorrow, I need to figure out what I actually want.
Not what I should want.
Not what would be healthy or normal or right.
What I actually want from him. From this. From whatever we're becoming.
I wake to sunlight and the distant sounds of the villa coming to life.
I shower quickly and head downstairs, drawn by the smell of coffee and something I can't quite name.
Hope, maybe. The need to see him in daylight.
But when I reach the kitchen, it's empty except for one of the housekeepers.
"Good morning," she says with a warm smile. "There's fresh coffee, and I can prepare breakfast if you'd like."
"Where's..." I stop myself. "Is Renato still here?"
"He had business this morning. Left very early. He said to help yourself to anything you need."
"Did he say when he'd be back?"
"This evening, I think. Maybe late. He had meetings in Milan."
"Thank you," I say, pouring myself coffee I no longer want. "I'll be in the library."
I’m disappointed. The realization sits heavy in my chest. I wanted to see him this morning, to talk to him, to somehow communicate that his violence didn't scare me away. That I'm still here. That I saw exactly what he is and I didn't run.
Instead, I'm sitting alone in a library in an empty villa, waiting for evening like some pathetic captive who's forgotten she's supposed to want to escape.
