Caged with the Wolf
1083 Words
The first thing Bianca felt was warmth.
Soft sheets brushed against her skin, smooth like silk, smelling faintly of cedar and something darker — expensive cologne. She groaned, shifting slightly, until a sharp, throbbing pain pulsed behind her temples.
Her eyes fluttered open.
She didn’t recognize the ceiling.
White ivory panels. A crystal chandelier overhead. Heavy velvet curtains draped across tall windows, blocking most of the sunlight. The faint roar of the ocean reached her ears, muffled by glass.
Panic shot through her veins.
Bianca sat up too quickly, her breath hitching. Her wrists were bound — but not tightly. A soft silk tie looped around them, delicate and mocking.
It wasn’t restraint meant to hurt.
It was restraint meant to remind her.
She scrambled out of bed, bare feet meeting cold marble. Her heart pounded against her ribs as her gaze darted across the room — a spacious, lavish bedroom with a king-sized bed, a dark oak wardrobe, and antique paintings worth more than her entire apartment complex.
This wasn’t jail.
This was… his world.
And she was trapped in it.
Bianca bolted to the door, twisting the handle violently. Locked.
“Shit.”
She grabbed the nearest object — a porcelain vase — and considered smashing it against the door, but stopped herself. She didn’t know where she was, and she had no idea how many men were outside.
For all she knew, she was surrounded.
She backed up, chest heaving, when the sound of measured footsteps echoed from the hallway.
The door clicked.
And he walked in.
Lorenzo De Luca filled the doorway like a shadow made of flesh.
His dark shirt clung perfectly to his broad shoulders, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing strong veins beneath the tanned skin. His steel-gray eyes locked on her instantly, sharp and unreadable, and for a moment, Bianca forgot to breathe.
He didn’t look angry.
He looked… calm.
Which somehow terrified her more.
“Awake,” he said, his voice low and smooth, carrying the quiet authority of someone used to being obeyed.
Bianca took a step back instinctively, her pulse hammering in her ears.
“W-where am I?”
Lorenzo ignored the question. He shut the door behind him and crossed the room slowly, each step deliberate, predatory.
“Who sent you?” he asked instead.
“N-no one.”
His gaze narrowed, like a wolf studying prey.
“Don’t lie to me.”
Bianca swallowed hard, fighting the urge to shrink back.
“I swear, I didn’t know who you were. I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”
He stopped just inches from her, his presence suffocating.
“Then what were you trying to do?”
Her breath hitched.
“I…” She hesitated, then blurted it out. “I just wanted to rob you, okay? I thought you were some drunk rich guy — not you. I didn’t know.”
For a moment, silence filled the room.
And then, unexpectedly, Lorenzo chuckled.
It wasn’t warm.
It wasn’t kind.
It was dangerous.
“You planned to rob a stranger,” he said softly, tilting his head, “and you picked me.”
Bianca forced herself to meet his gaze, though every instinct screamed at her to look away.
“It was a mistake.”
“Mistakes,” he murmured, stepping even closer until she had to crane her neck to look up at him, “are expensive in my world.”
A knock sounded at the door. One of Lorenzo’s men leaned in slightly — tall, broad, wearing a fitted black suit.
“Boss,” he said.
"The Mancinis are on the move. Word is, they’re expecting retaliation".
Lorenzo didn’t take his eyes off Bianca.
“Handle it,” he ordered flatly.
The man hesitated.
“And… her?” He nodded toward Bianca.
For the briefest moment, Bianca saw it — the cold flicker in Lorenzo’s gaze, the calculation.
“She stays.”
The door shut again.
Bianca’s chest tightened.
“Please,” she said quietly, almost whispering. “I didn’t know who you were. Just let me go, and I’ll disappear. You’ll never see me again.”
Lorenzo’s lips curved into something between a smile and a threat.
“I believe you,” he said slowly. “But believing you and trusting you are not the same thing.”
He stepped back finally, giving her space, but somehow making her feel even smaller.
“From now on,” he said, his voice a low command, “you don’t leave this villa, not until I decide what to do with you.”
Bianca blinked.
“What? No! I have a brother — he’s sick, he needs me—”
“Marco Romano,” Lorenzo interrupted calmly. “Seventeen. Asthmatic. Spends most nights playing video games instead of sleeping. He owes the local pharmacy two hundred euros.”
Bianca froze.
“H-how do you—”
“I know everything about you, Bianca.” He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a quiet, lethal whisper. “And if I wanted to, I could make you and your brother disappear before sunrise.”
Her blood ran cold.
“Then why haven’t you?” she whispered.
For a second, something shifted in his eyes — something unspoken, unreadable. But it vanished as quickly as it came.
“Because I’m not done with you yet.”
.
.
Bianca sat on the edge of the massive bed, staring blankly at the glass of water Lorenzo had ordered for her. Two men stood guard outside her door.
This wasn’t just captivity.
This was a message.
She’d stumbled into the wolf’s den, and the wolves didn’t let the prey walk away unscathed.
But…
Why hadn’t he hurt her yet?
Why was she still alive?
Hours later, just before dawn, the door opened again.
Lorenzo leaned against the frame, one hand in his pocket, his expression unreadable.
“Get some rest,” he said simply.
“Why?” she asked bitterly. “So you can decide if I live or die?”
A faint smirk ghosted across his lips.
“No,” he murmured. “Because tomorrow, you’re going to earn the right to breathe.”
And then he left, locking the door behind him.
Bianca stared after him, her heart pounding, a cold realization settling over her.
She wasn’t free.
She wasn’t safe.
And for reasons she couldn’t explain, the thought of facing him again terrified her almost as much as it thrilled her.
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