DARK DESIRES OF THE MAFIA

Chapter 2: Strict rules

The dining hall was as cold and quiet as the rest of the house. Lucas sat at the head of the long table, eating slowly, while Arya sat stiffly on the edge of the seat he’d pointed to. There was plenty of food—rice, stew, fried plantain—but she was too nervous to reach for anything.

“Eat,” Lucas said sharply, not even looking up. “Don’t make me tell you twice.”

She jumped a little, then picked up her spoon slowly. She ate small, quick bites, scared she was eating too slow or too fast. When she accidentally knocked her water glass slightly, her hands shaking, he looked up at once with a hard stare.

“Keep your things in place. I don’t like messes,” he snapped. “And from now on, you stay in your room or the living area unless I say otherwise. You don’t wander around the house, you don’t open locked doors, and you don’t speak unless you’re spoken to. Those are the rules.”

Arya swallowed hard. “I… I understand.”

“Good.” He pushed a plate of more plantain closer to her—roughly, like it was just extra, not a kindness. “Finish your food. I won’t have you falling sick and becoming a burden.”

After dinner, he walked her to a small but clean room upstairs. He tossed a folded set of clothes onto the bed. “Bathroom is through there. Wash up. Go to sleep. Breakfast is 7 o’clock sharp. Don’t be late.”

He turned to leave immediately, no goodbye, no soft word. But just before he closed the door, he paused for one second, his voice lower and colder than before: “If you try to run… I will find you. And you won’t like what happens next.”

The door clicked shut. Arya sank onto the edge of the bed, her heart still racing. He was harsh, he was scary, and he acted like she was nothing more than an obligation. But as she looked at the clean bed, the warm food in her stomach, and the new clothes—she knew one thing: deep down, there was something more there. She just had no idea when, or if, he would ever show it.