Her lower lip trembles slightly before she bites down on it. The simple action sends an unexpected surge of heat through me that I immediately suppress.
The light changes. I accelerate smoothly, watching as we leave the crowded downtown streets behind, moving toward the more exclusive neighborhoods that ring the city. Houses grow larger, spaces between them wider, as old money gives way to new.
“Where would your sister go?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the road now.
Alina’s head turns slightly, the first reaction I’ve gotten since putting her in the car. “I don’t know.” Her voice is so soft I almost miss it over the engine’s purr. “I didn’t even know she was planning to leave.”
“If you’re covering for her, there’s no need,” I reply, not bothering to hide my skepticism. “You were the one your mom gave up as collateral, not Sabrina. I have no interest in her.”
Alina shakes her head slowly. “No, I really don’t know. We’re not close,” she explains, and there’s a raw edge to her voice that catches my attention. “And she… she destroyed all my things before she left.”
That explains the wrecked bedroom. I’d wondered if it was a break-in, but the targeted destruction and painted message on the walls told a different story. “Perché mai farebbe una cosa simile?” I mutter under my breath. Louder, I repeat the questionin English for her benefit. “Why the hell would she do something like that?”
“I don’t know,” Alina whispers. “I… I don’t know anything. Why would my mom…” That’s it. She just stops talking, never completing the sentence.
I shoot her another glance. The woman beside me is nothing like the shrieking, flailing creature who tried to fight me off in that apartment. This one is quiet, defeated, her fire banked beneath layers of exhaustion and shock.
It’s disappointing. I expected more fight.
I turn onto the winding road that leads to Seven Hills. We drive in silence through the exclusive neighborhood where I live. Unlike Matteo and Enzo, I don’t live in an apartment. I value my privacy too much for that. Here, surrounded by old trees and protected by the best security money can buy, I answer to no one but myself.
The wrought-iron gate appears in my headlights, ornate and imposing against the snowy backdrop. I slow as we approach, pressing my thumb to the sensor beside the steering wheel. The gate recognizes me instantly, swinging open with a soft mechanical hum.
As we pass through, I feel Alina’s eyes on me for the first time since we left the city. I turn slightly, catching her gaze before she can look away. There’s fear there, yes, but something else too—calculation. She’s trying to figure me out, measure the danger, find an angle.
Good. The defeated act she displayed through the drive was starting to bore me.
The driveway curves through snow-laden pines before opening to reveal my home—ten thousand square feet of stone and glass. From the way her breath catches, I know the impact is exactly what I want it to be when people see my home.
Power, wealth, and absolute control.
“You live here?” she asks, wonder lilting her words.
“I do. And now you do too.” I kill the engine in front of the main entrance.
When I open her door, she doesn’t immediately move, her eyes darting between me and the sprawling house behind me.
“Either get out willingly or I’ll carry you,” I say coldly. “Your choice.”
She slides out awkwardly, trying to keep hold of the cat while maintaining as much distance from me as possible. I place my hand at the small of her back to guide her toward the entrance, feeling her stiffen at my touch. The brave creature in her arms hisses, sensing her distress.
Alina’s steps falter for just a moment before she continues walking, her back rigid under my palm. Above us, security cameras track our movements, recording every angle of our approach.
As I usher her over the threshold, her face lifts to take in the soaring entryway with its modern chandelier. The realization seems to settle over her like the snow outside—silent, cold, and inescapable.
This massive stone structure isn’t just my home. It’s her cage. And I’m the only one with the key.
The heavy front door closes behind us with a solid thud, sealing us inside the warmth of my home. Alina still clutches her cat like it’s a shield, her knuckles white against his black fur.
Her eyes dart around the expansive entryway, taking in the high ceilings and the sleek furniture with the wide-eyed wariness of prey that’s suddenly found itself in a predator’s den. She’s not wrong.
“This way,” I tell her, not bothering with a tour.
I lead her across the marble floor, past the living area with its wall of windows overlooking the snow-covered hillside. The cat’ssupplies—a small bundle of blankets, food, and what looks like a stuffed mouse—feel ridiculously light in my hands.
These pitiful items and the teddy bear tucked under her arm are all she has now. I’d feel sorry for her if I were the kind of man who allowed himself that weakness.
Her footsteps behind me are hesitant, almost silent. When I glance back, she’s following at a careful distance, her blue eyes scanning over everything as if memorizing escape routes. Smart, but pointless. Knowing where to get out won’t help her. This house was designed with security in mind—no one enters or leaves without my knowledge.
