Chapter 4

• Later In The Evening
• A soft knocking pulled Elena from the darkness.
• Her eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dim light filtering through the heavy curtains. The bed beneath her was too soft, the sheets too smooth. ‘I must have slept for a long time,’ she thought.
• Yawning, she stretched her hands, slowly taking in her surroundings.
• Then she realized-
• She wasn’t home.
• She sucked in a shaky breath. The memories crashed into her like a tidal wave.
• The betrayal. The capture. The cold, menacing gaze of Lorenzo Russo.
• Her stomach twisted. She wanted to believe it was a nightmare, but the bruises on her wrists and the slight pain in her head, told her otherwise.
• The knock came again, gentle yet firm. Before she could react, the door creaked open.
• A woman stepped inside, dressed in a black maid’s uniform. She was young,almost like her age or probably more, tall, with caramel skin and piercing green eyes that softened the moment they met Elena’s.
• “Elena, right?” Her voice was calm, careful.
• Elena didn’t answer. She just stared.
• The woman sighed and placed a silver tray on the bedside table. “You should eat.”
• Elena’s stomach growled, but she ignored it. Her hands curled into the sheets, her pulse hammering.
• “Where am I?” she asked, her voice hoarse.
• The woman hesitated. “The Russo estate.”
• Her worst fear was confirmed.
• Elena’s throat tightened. “Who are you?”
• “Alessia.” The woman pulled up a chair beside the bed, moving slowly as if she knew Elena was close to breaking. “I work here.”
• A maid.
• Elena’s chest clenched. There were maids at home too, but none had ever looked at her like this—like she was human.
• Alessia exhaled softly. “Lorenzo asked me to help you settle in.”
• Elena flinched at his name.
• She thought of the way he had looked at her last night. The false kindness in his smile. The possessiveness in his gaze.
• “I don’t want to be here,” she whispered.
• Alessia didn’t respond right away. Her lips pressed into a thin line, but there was something in her eyes—a flicker of understanding.
• After a long pause, she stood. “Eat. I’ll show you around when you’re done.”
• ~ ~ ~
• Elena walked beside Alessia, her fingers tightly clasped together.
• The hallways were too grand, too luxurious. Tall archways. Expensive chandeliers. Walls lined with paintings of past generations of the Russo family.
• It looked like a palace.
• But it was a prison.
• Guards stood at every exit, their gazes cold and unreadable. Some wore black suits, others had guns strapped to their belts.
• Elena’s throat went dry. She wasn’t a guest. She was a possession.
• Alessia pointed out different rooms—the dining hall, the library, the lounge—but Elena barely heard her.
• And then—
• They passed a grand staircase.
• And at the bottom stood her.
• Valeria Russo.
• Dante’s mother.
• The woman’s icy blue eyes locked onto Elena’s, her lips curling into a sharp, disapproving smirk.
• Elena’s breath hitched.
• Alessia tensed beside her.
• “Elena.” Valeria’s voice was smooth, but dripping with venom.
• Elena’s fingers curled into fists.
• She knew hate when she saw it.
• Valeria took a slow step forward, her heels clicking against the marble floor. “I hope you understand your place here.”
• Elena forced herself to hold her gaze.
• “This house,” Valeria continued, “is not yours. It never will be. You are nothing more than a temporary distraction.”
• The words stung more than they should have.
• Alessia stepped forward, her voice calm and gentle “She’s had a long night, Mrs. Russo.”
• A silent plea.
• Valeria let out a soft laugh, brushing invisible dust off her sleeve. “Oh, I’m sure she has.”
• Then, without another word, she turned and walked away, her posture as sharp as a blade.
• Elena exhaled shakily.
• Alessia touched her shoulder lightly. “Stay away from her.”
• Elena nodded, too terrified to say a word.
• She didn’t need to be told twice.
• ~ ~ ~
• After dinner, a guard appeared at her door.
• “Elena, the boss wants to see you.”
• Her heart slammed against her ribs.
• She didn’t want to go.
• But refusing wasn’t an option.
• The guard led her to a grand study, its walls lined with bookshelves and the scent of expensive whiskey and power filling the air.
• Lorenzo Russo sat behind an oak desk, his fingers steepled together. A slow, unreadable smile spread across his face as his eyes drank her in.
• “Elena.”
• She forced herself to stand tall.
• Lorenzo gestured to the chair across from him. “Sit.”
• She hesitated, then obeyed.
• Silence hung between them.
• Then, he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “How are you adjusting?”
• Elena’s nails dug into her palms. “I want to go home.”
• His lips twitched. “This is your home now.”
• Her jaw clenched.
• Lorenzo reached for her wrist. She flinched before he even touched her.
• His eyes darkened with amusement.
• “I see you still need time to understand how things work here.” His thumb slowly ran over the bruise left by his men.
• Elena’s skin crawled.
• “This will fade,” he murmured. “But you will remain.”
• Her stomach twisted.
• Lorenzo released her, leaning back in his chair. “Go. Get some rest.”
• Elena didn’t hesitate.
• She turned, walking away as fast as she could without running.
• But just before she reached the door—
• “Elena,” he called.
• She froze.
• “Tomorrow, we’ll spend more time together.”
• A warning.
• A promise.
• Elena’s fingers shook as she pushed the door open and stepped into the hallway.
• She barely made it back to her room before collapsing against the door, chest heaving.
• No way out.
• No escape.
• And she was running out of time.
• No matter what, she would never let that sorry excuse or amplified replica of her father have his way with her.
• ~ ~ ~
• It was late at night. Few minutes past midnight.
• Elena lay curled in bed, exhausted but unable to sleep.
• And then she heard it—
• A soft creak.
• Her heart stopped.
• She sucked in a breath, her body going rigid. The air shifted.
• She sat up—
• And that was when she saw him.
• Dante.
• Standing in the shadows, dressed in black, his sharp eyes burning into hers.
• Elena’s breath caught.
• He was here.
• He stepped forward, silent, his jaw tight. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze wasn’t.
• He was angry.
• And then, finally—
• His voice was low, dangerous.
• “Did he touch you?”