Vanya’s hand clutched mine so tightly I could feel the pulse in his wrist.
I swallowed, forcing calm I did not feel.
My pulse was still hammering, my nerves still screaming, but I forced my voice to a whisper.
“Stay close, baby. Don’t let go. Not for a second.”
In that instant, I realized: we were no longer just visitors in Dmitri Volkov’s world. We were his prisoners.
I stood frozen, staring up at the house that could either swallow us whole or crown us in luxury—palace or prison, I couldn’t tell which.
“I won’t let him hurt you,” Vanya said fiercely, chin trembling.
My brave, impossible boy. My heart cracked in two at the sight of him. I ruffled his curls, forcing a smile that felt fragile, like glass balanced on a cliff.
“No one’s hurting anyone, baby,” I whispered.
Lie. Everything about this place screamed danger, from the black marble stairs that spiraled like a predator’s spine to the dark steel gates that had swallowed the morning light.
If Dmitri ever realized who we really were... if Vanya grew too attached... escaping again would be impossible.
Ruslan Baranov was a ghost even among ghosts. I didn’t have his number, and reaching him was impossible. There wasn’t a single ally left in this city—no one who could help. I was completely, utterly helpless.
I was trapped in Lake Como again.
But this time wasn’t the broken twenty-five-year-old who had begged for love. This time I was armed with teeth and claws, with every lesson survival had carved into me.
A shadow detached itself from the entrance.
Giovanni.
He moved like a black panther in a perfectly tailored suit that made his shoulders look impossibly wide.
The crooked smile—the one that had once brought me coffee when I was pregnant and miserable—curved just slightly, almost gentle, almost human.
“Welcome home, miss Pen,” he said, voice smooth as ice. Then he crouched to Vanya’s level. “We didn’t properly meet yesterday. I’m Giovanni.”
Vanya, never shy, stuck out his hand like a tiny diplomat. “Vanya.”
Giovanni shook it solemnly, then straightened, exhaling in a way that made the air feel thicker. “This way, please.”
I didn’t move.
Giovanni waited, patience running thin but masked under the perfect calm of a professional predator. When I still didn’t budge, he sighed, pulled out his phone, and spoke in rapid Italian. His words were sharp, precise, lethal.
“Boss... yes, they’re just standing here like statues... understood.”
He pocketed the phone and gave me a look almost... gentle.
“I’m the butler of this house,” he said, his voice calm, almost ceremonial. “When you finally realize you have no choice but to enter, please do so. No one will stop you—this is your new home. And should you need anything, pick up any house phone and dial 111. I will come running.”
With that, he turned, his movements precise, and vanished through the massive glass doors, leaving only the faint echo of his footsteps behind.
Vanya tugged my hand, impatient but still steady. “Mom, we can’t stay out here all day. My legs hurt.”
I bent and scooped him onto my hip, despite the way he was growing too fast for this.
He wrapped his arms around my neck, pressing his face against my shoulder.
