The Glass prison
490 Words
CHAPTER 2
The sheets were softer than anything Bianca had ever touched.
Which was exactly how she knew something was wrong.
Her eyes snapped open. The room was flooded with light ; soft and golden , filtered through massive windows that overlooked endless green hills. Tuscany? Maybe. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t in Florence anymore.
Panic spiked as she sat up too fast.
No chains. No bruises. No blood.
But her clothes were different -loose silk, not her catering uniform. Her shoes were gone. So was her phone.
The door opened.
And there he was.
The man from the palazzo. The killer.
He didn’t carry a gun now. He didn’t need one.
Everything about him radiated quiet, terrifying control -the kind of man who could ruin lives with a phone call and never blink. He wore a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled, forearms inked with something dark and ancient. His black hair was still wet from a shower. His eyes, colder than marble.
“I trust you slept well,” he said in perfect English, voice smooth and sharp like polished steel.
Bianca stood, fists clenched. “Where am I?”
“My home.”
“You kidn*pped me.”
“I kept you alive. There’s a difference.”
She took a step toward him. “I didn’t see anything.”
A flicker of something passed through his face — amusement? Disbelief?
“You saw enough.” He crossed the room like he owned gravity. “Tell me your name.”
“Why? So you can write it on my grave?”
He smiled. Not kind. Not cruel. Just… entertained. “If I wanted you dead, Bianca Santoro, you would be.”
Her breath caught.
So he knew her name.
Of course he did.
Her heart pounded, but she didn’t back down. “Then what do you want?”
“Answers,” he said simply. “Who else did you tell? Did you record anything? Were you sent there on purpose?”
“What? No, I was catering a wedding! I don’t even know who you are!”
He studied her. No movement. No emotion.
Then he stepped closer, invading her space. She didn’t flinch.
He lowered his voice. “You were in the wrong place, at the wrong time. But that makes you mine, now. Do you understand?”
Her chin lifted. “I’m not your anything.”
Silence.
Then he turned away. “You will stay here until I decide what to do with you. Try to escape, and I’ll have to assume you’re a threat. I don’t take threats lightly.”
He reached the door, paused, then glanced back.
“Breakfast is downstairs. You’ll find the view better with food in your stomach.”
Then he was gone.
And Bianca stood in a glass prison she didn’t know how to escape - guarded by a devil who hadn’t yet decided whether to spare her… or destroy her.
- Writer
