His Principessa

Chapter 4

Gianna

"If you scream again, signorina, they won’t just lock the door—they’ll board up the windows and leave you in total darkness."

The voice was young, trembling, and terrified. I spun around, my back slamming hard against the cold, heavy wood of the bedroom door.

Standing a few feet away, holding a silver tray draped with a breathtaking black silk dress, was a girl who couldn't have been more than a year or two older than me.

Her dark hair was pinned back in a neat bun, and her hands shook so badly that the crystal pitcher on the tray rattled against the silver rim.

"Who are you?" I gasped, my chest heaving as I stared at her, desperate for a lifeline. "Where am I? Are you trapped here too? Please tell me you have a key. Please help me get out of here." The girl swallowed hard, her eyes darting nervously toward the heavy oak door as if even looking at it was a crime.

"My name is Maria, signorina. I’m a maid. And nobody has a key to this room except the Don." "Then go get him! Or get someone—anyone!" I pushed off the door, taking a desperate step toward her.

"You saw what happened downstairs. You know who my father is. This is kidnapping! It's illegal! You can't just let them lock me away in a cage!"

Maria flinched, taking a frightened step back, her voice dropping to an urgent, breathless whisper. "You don't understand. There is no law here, signorina. This is the Romano estate. What the Don says is the only law that matters. If I try to help you, we will both end up at the bottom of the bay before the sun comes up."

"I don't care about his laws!" I snapped, my voice cracking with a mix of fury and hysteria. "Look at this room! Look around us!"

I gestured wildly to the suffocating luxury surrounding us—the sprawling bed draped with heavy silk sheets, the ancient, blood-stained tapestries hanging from the stone walls, and the massive stone fireplace casting long, dancing shadows across the floor. "It's a prison!" I cried, my voice rising.

"A beautiful, sick, gilded cage! He thinks he can buy me, dress me up, and lock me away like some prize trophy? Is that what happens to all the girls he takes?" "He doesn't take girls, signorina—he collects debts,"

Maria whispered, her eyes wide with genuine pity.

"And you are the biggest debt he has ever claimed. You think screaming at me will change that? You think banging your fists against that door will make him open it?"

"It has to do something!" I shot back, tears of frustration stinging the corners of my eyes.

"I am not a piece of furniture! I am a person! Didn't you hear me down in the foyer? My father sold me out like cattle over a poker game, and I am supposed to just sit here and wait for the monster to come back?"

"Yes," Maria replied quietly, her voice devoid of cruelty, filled only with the crushing weight of reality.

"Because if you fight him tonight, he won't just break your spirit—he will break your bones. The Sinner doesn't lose, signorina. He destroys everything that resists him."

"Then let him try," I hissed, crossing my arms over my chest to hide how badly my hands were shaking.

"I'd rather let him kill me than bow down to a monster who trades human lives for playing cards." Maria let out a shaky, mournful breath, looking at me as if I were already a ghost. She set the silver tray down on a mahogany table near the bed, laying out the shimmering black dress and a pair of delicate heels.

"Put the dress on," Maria urged softly, stepping closer to the door. "He likes obedience. If you are standing there waiting for him in what he chose, maybe—just maybe—he will show you a shred of mercy."

"I wouldn't accept mercy from him if my life depended on it," I spat. "Your life does depend on it, signorina," Maria whispered. Before I could answer, she slipped out through the heavy door, and the key turned in the lock with a sharp, final mechanical click. Click.

The sound echoed through the silence like a gunshot. I stood alone in the center of the vast, luxurious room, the reality of my nightmare closing in around me. I walked over to the windows, pressing my hands against the thick iron grates.

Outside, the moon hung low over the pitch-black, churning expanse of the sea, casting a pale, ghostly light across the jagged cliffs below.

A heavy wave of despair crashed over me. I sank slowly down to the cold floorboards, pulling my knees up tight against my chest.

The fight drained out of me for a moment, leaving behind a hollow, aching void. I buried my face in my hands and cried until my throat burned, my tears soaking into the hem of my shirt. I hated my father. I hated him with every fiber of my being.

I hated his weakness, his cowardice, his pathetic apologies echoing in my head. I lost everything at cards. I lost you. The words made me sick to my stomach.

How could a man who raised me sell me off to settle a debt like a broken watch or a spare car? And above all, I hated Luca. I hated his cold, dead gray eyes.

I hated his arrogant smirk, the heavy weight of his hands, and the terrifying, unwanted shiver that raced down my spine every time he looked at me.

He thought he owned me. He thought he could break my soul and turn me into his obedient little doll. I wiped the tears fiercely from my cheeks with the back of my hand, sucking in a long, jagged breath.

No, I told myself, my voice whispering aloud into the empty, barred room. I am not going to break. I stood up slowly on shaking legs, walking over to the mirror hanging above the fireplace.

My hair was a mess, my eyes red and swollen, but beneath the terror, I saw something else staring back at me. Fire. A deep, burning refusal to surrender. They thought they had trapped me.

They thought this gilded cage was the end of my story. But they were wrong. I would survive this nightmare.

I would learn their secrets, I would play their dangerous game, and when the exact right moment presented itself, I would find a way to burn this entire empire to the ground—or die trying. Suddenly, a loud, sharp chime echoed through the hallway from the antique grandfather clock near the stairs. Midnight.

The air in the room instantly turned ice-cold. Outside my door, the sound of slow, heavy, measured footsteps began to approach. Thud. Thud. Thud. Heavy leather boots marching against the stone floor with the terrifying rhythm of an executioner walking to the gallows.

My breath hitched in my throat. The footsteps stopped right outside my door. Slowly, the heavy brass doorknob began to turn.