Chapter 5:The Initiation Feast
1333 Words
ELISABETTA
Abel’s voice still rang in my ears: Let’s see if your numbers can keep you alive.
Morning came sharp and cold. The mansion no longer looked like gold; it looked like a cage polished to shine. I followed Abel through a corridor lined with mirrors, each one showing a version of me that looked more terrified than the last.
“First rule,” he said without turning, “never speak unless you’re spoken to. Second rule, never lie. Third rule, if you make me look bad, you better start praying.”
He opened a heavy door. Inside, the room smelled of ink, smoke, and sweat. Tables were covered with cash, notebooks, calculators, and black ledgers stamped with a hammer-shaped crest. Men and women worked in silence, heads bent, pens scratching like insects. It wasn’t an office—it was an engine of crime.
Abel tossed a ledger in front of me. “Find the missing ten grand.”
My hands trembled as I flipped through the pages. The columns blurred, but the logic in me survived. I found the error fast—someone had doubled a figure, hiding a cut. I circled it, pushed the book back.
He raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”
“Positive.”
He checked, then laughed—a sound that wasn’t friendly. “Smart girl.” He leaned close, smoke curling from his lips. “You keep that brain clear, and maybe you’ll last longer than the rest.”
Across the room a man coughed, nervous. Abel snapped his fingers. Two guards dragged the man forward.
“You changed a figure last night,” Abel said softly. “Who told you to?”
The man’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. Abel smiled, then hit him—once, fast, precise. Blood spattered the floor. No one flinched. I felt my stomach twist, but I kept my eyes forward.
“Lesson one,” Abel said, wiping his knuckles. “Numbers never lie. People do.”
I understood then: this wasn’t training. It was baptism.
Hours blurred. I copied ledgers, corrected figures, learned codes. Every mistake was a threat waiting to happen. By afternoon my head throbbed, my fingers cramped, and still Abel watched, pacing like a wolf. Finally he said, “Enough. The boss wants you dressed for dinner.”
“The boss?” My voice cracked.
He smiled thinly. “You’ll see.”
---
Evening came painted in gold and danger. A maid handed me a black dress that fit too well. My reflection looked like someone else—a stranger molded to please men who owned her name. When I reached the dining hall, my pulse raced.
The long table gleamed under chandeliers. Glasses, candles, plates—everything perfect. Abel stood near the end, speaking to men in tailored suits. And then Marco entered.
The room shifted as if air itself stepped aside for him. Marco Russo—the Hammer—moved with the calm of someone who feared nothing. His eyes swept the table and landed on me. I felt them like a touch.
“Everyone sit,” he said.
We obeyed.
Food came but no one ate until he lifted his glass. “To loyalty,” he said. The word carried weight heavier than steel. We echoed it like a prayer.
Abel started reporting numbers, shipments, profits. Marco listened, silent, occasionally glancing my way. When Abel mentioned my correction from the morning, Marco’s brow lifted.
“She found the missing ten?” he asked.
“Yes, Boss.”
Marco turned to me. “You enjoy counting, Elisabetta?”
“I… do what I’m told, sir.”
He smiled faintly. “Good answer.”
A murmur ran through the table. One man laughed too loud. Marco’s gaze cut to him. The laughter died instantly.
They spoke of business, names I didn’t know, deals I didn’t understand. I kept still, memorizing everything. But then Marco looked at me again.
“Tell me,” he said, “if the numbers stop adding up, who do you blame—the man who writes them or the man who checks them?”
The question wasn’t about math. It was about loyalty. My heartbeat drummed.
“The one who writes them,” I said slowly. “Because he knows what he’s hiding.”
Marco’s smile deepened, unreadable. “And what if the one who writes them is me?”
The room froze. Abel’s eyes warned me not to speak. My throat dried.
“Then…” I said carefully, “I’d assume you already know the truth.”
Silence stretched thin as wire. Then Marco chuckled, low and dangerous. “Interesting girl.”
Conversation resumed, but my hands stayed clenched under the table. I could feel every gaze, every whisper. Abel leaned toward me.
“You just survived your first test,” he murmured. “Don’t celebrate yet.”
---
Dessert never came. Instead, Marco rose and motioned toward the far door. “Abel. The girl.”
My stomach flipped. We followed him into a smaller chamber—a library lined with old books and the scent of smoke. Marco poured whiskey, offered none.
“Sit,” he said.
I sat.
“You understand why you’re here?” he asked.
“No, sir.”
He studied me over the rim of his glass. “Everyone in this house earns their place. Today you proved you can think. But intelligence without obedience is a threat.”
“I’m not a threat,” I said quickly.
He set the glass down. “Not yet.”
The silence that followed felt like interrogation. Finally, he stood, walking to a window overlooking the courtyard.
“Your father once tried to cheat me,” he said without turning. “You know that?”
The words struck like a slap. “My father—”
“Relax. He paid for it already. You, however…” He turned, eyes cold. “…are an interesting debt.”
My pulse raced. “So you bought me—to settle it?”
He didn’t answer directly. “Let’s just say I don’t waste money. Abel will train you. You’ll manage what I tell you to manage. And you’ll stay alive by remembering who owns that life.”
He started to leave, then paused by the door. “Tomorrow night there will be another dinner. More important. Don’t embarrass me.”
When he left, the room felt ten degrees colder.
Abel exhaled. “You did well. For a beginner.”
“Was that a compliment?”
“Call it survival advice.” He looked at me for a long moment. “Marco doesn’t trust easily. If he tests you again, answer with your head, not your heart.”
I nodded, though I wasn’t sure which part of me still worked.
---
That night, in my room, I couldn’t sleep. The feast replayed in fragments—the stare, the question, the ghost of a smile. I told myself I hated him, that fear was all I felt. But beneath the fear was something else: curiosity. A pull I couldn’t explain.
Outside, voices echoed in the courtyard. Someone shouted, then silence. I went to the window. Guards dragged a body across the gravel—one of the men from dinner. The same who laughed too loud.
My breath caught.
Abel’s words echoed: Numbers never lie. People do.
I closed the curtain and pressed my back to the wall. My world had narrowed to gold halls, ledgers, and the eyes of a man who saw people as assets.
Still, one thought refused to leave: maybe if I understood his world, I could find a way to survive it—or destroy it.
The night swallowed the sound of engines, the scent of smoke, the hush of wealth that hid rot. Tomorrow would bring another feast, another test. And I would be ready—not as the girl who was bought, but as the woman who had begun to learn the price of desire.
- Writer
