Chapter 8 Hidden Strength

• The morning light slices through the heavy curtains like a blade, cutting across the marble floor of my prison. Three days since the gala. Three days of Luca's cold silence and Marcella's satisfied smirks at the charity gala.
• I trace the route I've memorized forty-seven steps from my bedroom door to the main staircase, sixty-three to the kitchen, eighty-nine to the front entrance where two guards smoke cigarettes and pretend they're not watching me.
• The guards rotate every six hours. Marco and Giuseppe take the morning shift, both lazy enough to let their attention wander when the housekeeper brings them coffee. The afternoon crew is sharper, Tony and Sal, who track my movements like hunting dogs. But it's the night shift I need to understand.