Her father's sins

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EVA’S POV

I leaned against the door-frame, the torn edges of my dress grazing my thighs, my bruises were still aching beneath my skin despite the middle-aged woman’s careful attention. Stefano’s towel was wrapped around his waist as he entered his closet, the sound of fabric sliding and his heavy footsteps filled the quiet room. I just stood by the door watching him, my eyes traced the rigid line of his shoulders and the way he moved with effortless control. When he emerged in a dark, fitted night outfit, I noticed the ease with which he carried himself, and it was so infuriating. I don’t even know this man, and he’s controlling me.

I finally broke the silence, my voice quiet but sharp. “Where am I going to sleep?” I asked, scanning the black-and-white interior, the stark lines, the absence of color, and the cold sterility of the room.

His gaze flicked to me, catching the faint flare of anger I tried to mask. I was irritated. He stepped closer, and before I knew it, he was guiding me into the bedroom.

The room was vast and monochrome, every surface clean and minimal. I entered the bathroom, dropped my torn dress into a corner, the fabric limp and cold in my hand, and moved to the tub. The warm water eased some of the tightness in my muscles as I scrubbed away the grime, and the bruises ached underneath the surface.

My thoughts drifted back to earlier, to my failed attempt at escape. I had climbed onto the toilet seat, balancing, and hoisted myself toward the window. The cold metal frame bit into my palms, but adrenaline pushed me onward. I landed carefully on the balcony of the adjoining room, hoping, just hoping, that no one would find me, but Stefano had a way of proving me wrong. It felt like he was just watching and anticipating.

I shook the memory from my head. I had raised the toilet brush to hit him, but his hand suddenly gripped mine with terrifying strength. I had looked up, meeting his cold, unreadable eyes, but I noticed a slight bulge beneath the towel at his waist. My stomach twisted. How shameless can this man be? I thought, shaking my head in disbelief, anger, and disbelief tangling together.

I finally changed into the clothes they had brought, and I stepped out with my hair still wrapped in a towel. Stefano lay on the bed, one arm draped above his head, his chest bare. I thought I saw what looked like scars on it, and his muscles taut even as he slept. His face was calm and unreadable, the cold of the room didn’t even ruffle his composure. Without thinking, I moved toward the door silently, planning my next move, only to hear his voice in a low, teasing drawl.

“You must be stupid to think it’s open,” he said, without opening his eyes. “Don’t waste your time. We have a lot to do tomorrow.”

I stopped, lips pressing together, and tried the door just in case he was bluffing, but he wasn’t.

I turned my gaze back to the room. I noticed there were no windows, and the conditioner in the room was awfully chilly. Weird, I thought. My stomach tightened, the tension of the day was still raw, and I drifted toward the couch across from the bed. My fingers brushed a file on the table, and a deep furrow came on my forehead. There were different photos of me, my entire life, and my father, too. The person who planned this did this carefully like they knew far too much. Panic licked at the edge of my chest. This wasn’t simple.

I forced myself to breathe slowly, thinking of my father as I forced calm into my racing mind. One wrong move, and everything would spiral. I had to think and plan carefully to survive.

Weakly, I lowered myself onto the couch. The leather was cold and hard at first, but I adjusted, letting my back sink into it and stretching my legs cautiously. I tried to lie back, but the ache in my muscles and bruised skin reminded me of today’s struggles. I exhaled slowly, bracing myself mentally as I plotted how to deal with this shameless and arrogant man without endangering my father.

THE NEXT DAY

I didn’t even know when I drifted off. Sleep must have stolen me in between the throbbing pain in my body and the cold of the room. When I finally woke, a faint headache pressed behind my temples, but I felt stronger than I had last night. My limbs were heavy, but not as battered as yesterday.

Stretching, I noticed my dress had ridden up from the way I’d slept, messy and careless. Heat crept up my cheeks as I yanked it down and stood. The room was quiet. Stefano was nowhere in sight.

My eyes darted to the door. Just as I moved toward it, the door clicked, swinging open.

A woman stepped in, it was her from last night. Her presence filled the doorway like a tide rolling in. Her voice was warm, like she knew me.

“Hi, Eva,” she said softly. “I’m Lola. Mr. Stefano asked me to tell you to freshen up and meet him in his study.”

Her tone was frank, motherly even. Nothing in her expression suggested she knew I was being held here against my will. She gave off a calm and professional warmth that felt almost out of place in this house.

I narrowed my eyes and hissed under my breath as I stepped back from the door. Without any other word, I turned and slipped into the bathroom. The water stung on my bruises, but at least it wasn’t as painful as last night. I stepped out, dressed, and reached for the door again

Lola was still there, waiting, as if she hadn’t moved an inch.

“I’ll take you,” she said simply, gesturing down the hall.

I followed. My bare feet padded quietly against the floor as we moved through the long corridors. She stopped in front of a wide wooden door. Without entering, she nodded once and retreated a step.

I pushed the door open.

Stefano sat behind a broad desk, the study swallowed in black and white like the rest of his world. His shoulders were hunched slightly, attention fixed on the iPad glowing in front of him. The light threw sharp angles across his face, highlighting the slight furrow between his brows.

He heard steps and his eyes lifted lazily, and a smirk tugged at his mouth as he saw me.

“Sleeping Beauty is finally awake,” he drawled, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

I rolled my eyes, bit down a retort, and dragged the chair opposite him out with a sharp scrape of wood. Sitting, I folded my arms across my chest, refusing to rise to his bait.

He set the iPad down slowly and leaned back in his chair like he was waiting for me to come. His gaze flicked over me, assessing and cold.

“You’ll be going to Donatelo’s restaurant, 2345 AV,” he said flatly, as if he were discussing the weather. “The owner will be there this afternoon, and you’ll give him a piece of work.”

His face was stone, and his words straight like I was meant to already know what they meant.

My brows drew together tightly as confusion flooded me. I stared at him, my lips parted slightly, trying to piece it together. A piece of work? What the hell did that even mean?

I leaned forward, giving him a deep look of confusion. “Meaning?” My voice cracked sharply in the silence.

His eyes locked on mine, dark and cold.

“You’re going to kill him.”