“Am I here because of my family?” I pressed, my voice barely above a whisper.
Again, his response was simple, unwavering. “Yes.”
Finally, I looked up at him, meeting his eyes with all the defiance I could muster. “The Golden Skulls will come for me.”
My threat was not empty; it was a promise born of desperation.
Massimo leaned forward, his face so close to mine that I could feel the intensity of his gaze. Lowering his voice to a whisper, he delivered his words with a chilling certainty. “They don’t know you’re here.”
Chapter Nineteen
Miranda
Days blurred into weeks as I quickly found myself trapped within the Vitale compound—a sprawling estate surrounded by high walls and security cameras, making any thought of escape seem impossible. Massimo wasted no time in divesting me of my cellphone before snapping my only link to the outside world in half. For the first few days, I wandered the halls, searching every room for a phone, any phone that I could use to call out, only to discover that the house didn’t even have a landline. The isolation pressed in on me, the compound’s defenses a constant reminder of how truly cut off I was from anyone who might help.
My world shrank to the boundaries of the estate, each locked door and guarded entry a silent taunt. The staff moved like shadows, offering little more than polite nods and wary glances, their loyalty clearly pledged to the family who held me captive. At night, I’d lie awake, replaying every conversation, every look, searching for cracks in the walls Massimo had built around me. Hope flickered, then faded, as I realized just how thoroughly I’d been cut off from the life I once knew.
I missed my family, Oliver, and the freedom I once took for granted. I wondered if they were looking for me, or if they even knew.
There were moments when I’d catch glimpses of the world beyond the gates—a delivery van pulling in, the distant sound of laughter from the gardens, reminders of normalcy just out of reach. But each glimpse only deepened the ache of confinement,sharpening my resolve even as escape remained elusive. Every day became a test of patience and endurance, my thoughts swirling with plans and possibilities that never seemed to materialize.
Sitting on the windowsill in his bedroom, I looked at the grounds, mesmerized by the white blanket that had fallen the previous night. Everything looked pristine, clean, untarnished. It amazed me that life seemed to continue on without me.
Sometimes, the silence was the hardest part to bear. The echo of my own footsteps down the marble corridors reminded me I was both watched and alone; the ever-present security cameras ensured I was never truly unobserved, yet not a soul reached out to me with genuine kindness. Meals arrived at my door without conversation, and questions I dared to ask were met with vague answers or gentle shrugs, deepening the sense of invisibility that threatened to consume me.
There was a strange comfort in the routine, even if it was imposed on me rather than chosen. I found myself cataloging the smallest details—the pattern of footsteps in the hallway, the way the evening light crept through the curtains, and the distant hum of security radios. Each observation became both a distraction and a lifeline, something to anchor me in the present when everything else felt uncertain and beyond my control.
My heart pounded as his footsteps echoed down the hallway, each one a reminder of my place in his world. During the day, he remained distant, passing through the estate as if I were little more than a shadow haunting the edges of his reality. But at night, with the sun set and the house settled into silence, his presence grew undeniable, filling the room with a chill that pressed against my skin. Even then, he spoke only when necessary, his words clipped and devoid of warmth.
The door creaked open, its sound slicing through the heavy quiet and sending a jolt of awareness through me—Massimo was here again.
He stood in the doorway, his gaze unwavering.
“Get dressed. We’re going out,” he said, his tone commanding as he tossed a garment bag onto the bed. The heavy fabric landed with a dull thud, making my pulse race as I wondered what awaited me beyond the walls.
Sitting in the back of a black SUV, I looked out the window as the city of Chicago sped by. Massimo still hadn’t told me where we were going, or why I was accompanying him for that matter. All I knew was that the outfit he ordered me to wear was uncomfortable and not something I would have chosen for myself.
The city lights blurred past, their brilliance a stark contrast to the uncertainty that gnawed at me. I glanced at Massimo’s profile next to me, searching for any hint of emotion or explanation, but his expression remained unreadable, set in stone. The silence in the car was thick, punctuated only by the hum of the engine and the occasional crackle of his phone, which he checked with fleeting impatience. I hugged my arms around myself, trying to steady the flutter in my chest, as I asked, “Where are we going?”
“To have dinner with your annoying friend.”
“Oliver,” I gasped, sitting up straighter as my heart pounded in my chest.
“Yes,” he grumbled, putting his phone inside his coat jacket. “Mr. Thorpe has become a problem, and how you present yourself tonight will determine his fate.”
“What does that mean?”
Massimo glanced at me with a cold indifference, his jaw set. “It means I suggest you choose your words carefully.”
His words hung in the air, heavy with implication, making my nerves spike. I swallowed hard, realizing that this dinner was more than just a social visit—it was a test, and Oliver’s fate rested in my hands.
The vehicle came to a stop, and Massimo quickly exited the SUV. As I went to reach for the handle, the door opened and there he stood, with his hand out, expecting me to take it.
I did.
His grip was firm, almost possessive, as he guided me out of the car and onto the sidewalk. The night air was brisk, carrying the distant sounds of the city, and for a moment, I wondered if anyone passing by could sense the tension between us. I forced myself to stand tall, determined not to show the anxiety twisting inside me as we approached the entrance to the restaurant, its golden lights glowing warmly against the cold.
The restaurant buzzed with noise and clinking glasses as Massimo steered me through the crowd, his hand warm but tense at the small of my back. My eyes landed on Oliver, hunched over at the table, leg bouncing restlessly under his chair. The moment he spotted me, he shot up, nearly knocking the chair over, and closed the distance in a few fast strides. He practically yanked me away from Massimo, crushing me in a desperate, bone-deep hug.
