I feel it.
The air shifts, heavy with authority and something far too refined for this place. A sharp edge of expensive cologne cuts through the damp rot of the room, clean and intrusive, like a lie sprayed over decay.
Then I see him.
Don Antonio Salvatore.
His suit is immaculate, perfectly tailored, not a crease out of place. He looks as though he’s stepped out of a boardroom ratherthan into a cell of stolen women. His expression is bored, almost mildly inconvenienced, until his gaze finds me.
And suddenly those icy eyes don’t just look. Theylingerin a way that has the hairs on the back of my neck standing up.
“Lily Davis,” he croons smoothly, his voice wrapping around each syllable like silk. “Or should I say… Lily Murphy?” His lips curve faintly. “I never could keep up with your mother’s stories.”
My body locks up, pulse roaring in my ears, my heart hammering so hard it feels like it might crack my ribs from the inside.
“You,” I spit, venom coating that one word.
“Me,” he echoes lightly, amused. “Didn’t expect to see me here, did you? Most people don’t. Not until it’s far too late.”
My hands curl at my sides, nails biting into skin. “What is this?” I force out. “Why am I here?”
He steps closer, unhurried, hands clasped behind his back like a lecturer pacing before his students. The guards don’t move. They don’t need to.
“Because, my dear,” he says softly, “you were always meant to be.” His gaze drifts over the room, dismissive. “Poetic, really. The daughter of the woman who helped build my empire, standing in the ruins of her own mother’s legacy.”
My stomach drops, nausea surging fast and violently.
“Jen worked for you,” I say, the words scraping my throat raw.
“Oh,tesoro.” He laughs quietly, the sound low and deeply wrong. “She adored me. Worshipped me, even.” His smile sharpens. “Benedict too, in his own cowardly way. They believed they could earn my favour by offering you up when the time came.”
The world narrows, sound dulling around the edges.
“Beautiful,” he continues calmly. “Marketable. Untouched. You were their trump card.” A calculated pause. “Until Helen interfered, of course and ruined everything.”
Each word lands like a blow.
Black creeps into my vision, but I hold myself upright through sheer spite. I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing me break.
“You’re lying,” I whisper.
He crouches in front of me, bringing us eye to eye. His blue gaze is glacial, empty.
“You really think your mother wouldn’t have sold you?” he scoffs. “Cast off the dead weight slowing her down?” He exhales softly, almost indulgent. “Benedict was wavering. Guilt does that to weak men.” His smile turns knowing. “But Jennifer? She never hesitated.”
Something inside me screams.
I want to tear him apart with my bare hands. I want to scream until my throat shreds, until the walls crack and someone—anyone—comes.
Instead, I picture a bullet hole in the centre of his forehead and draw a slow, measured breath.
“You think you’ve won,” I say quietly. “But you’ve made the same mistake every man like you makes.”
His brow lifts, amusement flickering across his face. “Oh? And what would that be?”
“You underestimated me.”
For a moment, he simply studies me. Then he chuckles, rising smoothly to his feet. “Just like your mother,” he says lightly.“She said something very similar, right before she learned her place.”
