Blood Knows Her Name

Chapter Ten

The first stirrings of dawn came soft and pale across the compound, brushing the stone walls with the faintest wash of gold. Luca lay on the edge of the bed, muscles sore and mind racing. He had survived days of isolation, humiliation, and Domenico’s subtle—but merciless—tests, yet the cage of the guest wing felt increasingly intolerable.

He had always prided himself on being resourceful, able to navigate danger, unearth secrets, and solve problems through persistence. Yet here he was, trapped, ignored by the woman he had no name for, unable to ask a single question, unable to do anything except stew in his frustration.

And so, with the recklessness of a man who had spent too long pacing, Luca hatched a plan. A real plan. Not just scheming in his notebook or fantasizing about questions and answers. A physical, immediate escape—a daring maneuver worthy of his American ingenuity.

He had studied the compound from the corner of his eye, noting the arrangement of doors, the placement of guards, the occasional slack in attention. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. And so, as the sky began to brighten with the first hints of sunrise, he crept out of bed, careful to avoid creaking floorboards—or so he thought.

The first obstacle was a window at the end of the hallway, one he had seen from afar while pacing. It overlooked a tangle of vines climbing the stone walls, which, in theory, could allow a descent to the lower garden terrace. The logic was flawless in his mind: a stealthy, daring escape, and he would be gone before anyone realized.

He opened the window, the latch squeaking in protest. Heart pounding, he climbed onto the ledge, then reached for the nearest vines.

And promptly realized he had no idea how to climb a vertical wall with dangling greenery without looking like a panicked cat.

He grunted, grabbed, slipped, and clung desperately to a vine, knees bouncing in mid-air as gravity reminded him of its unforgiving nature.

“Ah,” a low voice drawled from behind him. “You are… ambitious, aren’t you?”

Luca froze. His stomach plummeted. He hadn’t heard the footsteps. He had thought he was alone. Slowly, he turned his head, and his eyes met Domenico’s. The massive Italian stood at the base of the wall, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I… uh…” Luca stammered, red creeping up his neck. “I was… I mean—”

“Let me guess,” Domenico said dryly, lifting a hand to point. “You’re testing the vines to see if they hold a grown man? Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Risk of death minimal, dignity… gone. Expected outcome: miserable, hilarious failure.”

“I just… I can’t… I need answers,” Luca protested weakly.

Domenico’s smirk widened. “Ah, yes. Answers. The most American of obsessions. But climbing walls in the dark—early morning, no less—will get you nothing but bruised elbows and an ego that desperately needs realignment.”

The vine beneath Luca shivered under his weight. A small branch snapped. His breath caught in his throat as he flailed, half hanging, half dangling, entirely ridiculous. Domenico shook his head, muttering under his breath in Italian. “Che disastro. What a disaster.”

Alessandra, meanwhile, had been observing. From the stone balcony of her office, she leaned on the rail, blue-grey eyes narrowed, lips curved in the faintest hint of amusement. She had not intervened. This was the perfect demonstration—her “guest” finally showing the audacity, the recklessness, the desperation she suspected lay beneath his polite exterior.

And Domenico, ever the enforcer, was enjoying the spectacle more than he should have.

“You know,” Domenico called up, voice carrying easily across the courtyard. “If you wanted a workout, there are much safer methods. And maybe less humiliation.”

Luca glared up at him, panic mixing with embarrassment. “I’m… not trying to be ridiculous!”

“You already are,” Domenico deadpanned, stepping closer. Then, without ceremony, he reached up and grabbed Luca by the collar of his shirt, tugging him down from the vine with terrifying ease. Luca’s feet slammed against the stone walkway, knees buckling slightly as he gasped for air.

Alessandra’s lips twitched into the faintest smile as she observed from above. There was a rhythm to this—Domenico enforcing, Luca flailing, her silently orchestrating the lesson.

“Why…” Luca wheezed, brushing dust and leaves from his clothes, “why didn’t you stop me before I started?”

“Because,” Domenico said casually, helping him stand properly, “we wanted to see how creative desperation could be. And, frankly, it’s entertaining.”

Luca groaned, slumping against the wall. “I… I just wanted to get out. I need to—”

“Need to what?” Domenico asked, eyebrow raised. “Ask questions? Discover mysteries? Expose the Donella? I’d advise caution.”

Luca froze, realizing he hadn’t yet thought this far. “Expose… what?” he muttered, confused.

Domenico only chuckled, dark and dry. “That’s for later. For now… you learn patience. And respect.”

Alessandra stepped from the shadow of the balcony, her presence suddenly filling the terrace. Luca’s breath hitched. She moved gracefully, deliberately, as if gliding across the stones. She did not raise her voice. She did not shout. She simply observed, eyes locking onto his with a quiet authority that left him trembling.

“You try to escape,” she said softly, accent colored with the faintest Sicilian rhythm. “You think you can leave this place, see, discover, understand… without permission?”

“I… I didn’t know—” he began, but the words faltered under the weight of her gaze.

“You do not know,” she continued, voice soft but steel beneath the velvet. “And yet you act. This is your choice. Always. But every choice has consequence.”

Domenico remained silent at her side, a silent, immovable reminder of the strength that backed her words. Luca realized, with a sinking feeling, that he had not only failed to escape physically, but he had also stepped entirely into her game. Every reckless attempt had been observed, measured, cataloged, judged.

“And you,” Alessandra said, turning her piercing gaze fully on him, “will learn. Or you will not leave. Understand?”

Luca swallowed, nodding weakly. “Yes,” he said, voice small. “I… understand.”

Her lips curved slightly, just enough for him to notice, but her expression remained imperious. “Good. Perhaps one day, you will understand more than you think. But not today.”

Domenico, finally speaking again, leaned down slightly to Luca’s level. “Now, take a shower. Clean yourself of leaves, dust, and the illusion of freedom. You will eat breakfast soon… if you survive my teasing.”

Luca groaned audibly, leaning against the stone wall, muscles aching, pride wounded. “I might as well live in this position,” he muttered.

“You might,” Domenico said dryly, walking away. “And trust me, it’s more comfortable than you think. Eventually.”

Alessandra’s smile deepened fractionally as she turned back to the balcony, letting Luca stew in humiliation, fear, and awe. The lesson had been delivered: his world was not his own. He was a guest, a participant in a game he did not yet understand, and the rules were dictated entirely by her.

And for the first time, Luca felt it—truly felt it. Not just fear, not just frustration, but an undeniable pull. Something dangerous, intoxicating, impossible to define. He did not know her name, he did not know her intentions, and yet he was aware of a fact he could not ignore: he wanted to understand her.