My Mafia Bully Became My Stepbrother

Chapter 3: No Way Out

POV: Elena

He stepped out, the door swinging shut behind him. I sat there in the dark dining room, my heart hammering against my ribs. I looked down at the silver fork on the table. It was heavy and sharp.

I reached out and touched the tip of it, the metal biting into my thumb. I wasn't in a home. I was in a cage. And the monster was already inside with me.

The bedroom was beautiful. That was the problem. It was white—blindingly, aggressively white. The walls, the massive bed, the plush carpet that seemed to swallow my sneakers. It didn't look like a place where people lived. It looked like a display case.

I dropped my bag on the floor. It made a pathetic thump that was instantly absorbed by the silence of the room.

"Okay," I whispered to myself, my voice trembling. "Just survive the night."

I walked to the door. It was heavy mahogany with a brass handle that felt cold under my palm. I turned the lock.

It sounded solid as I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. I turned the handle to check.

The door swung open effortlessly. My stomach dropped. I tried again.

The lock was broken or maybe it had been disabled on purpose. "No," I breathed, panic rising in my throat like bile.

I stepped into the hallway, looking left and right. The corridor was empty, lined with shadows that stretched too far. I pulled the door shut again, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I couldn't sleep in a room I couldn't lock. Not in this house. Not with him down the hall.

I looked around the room for something heavy. There was a vanity table against the far wall with a tufted velvet chair tucked under it.

I grabbed the chair. It was heavier than it looked. I dragged it across the thick carpet, my heels digging in for leverage.

I wedged the back of the chair firmly under the door handle as I jiggled the handle. The chair held. It wasn't a bank vault, but it would make noise if someone tried to get in.

I didn't unpack. I didn't change into pajamas. I didn't feel safe enough to be vulnerable, even for a second.

I kicked off my shoes and climbed onto the massive bed fully clothed. The sheets were silk, cool and slippery against my skin. They smelled like lavender and money.

I pulled my knees to my chest, staring at the chair wedged against the door.

It’s just for tonight, I told myself. Tomorrow, I’ll find a hardware store. I’ll buy a doorstop. I’ll figure this out.

Exhaustion pulled at my eyelids. The emotional whiplash of the day—the eviction, the car ride, the dinner with Dominic, had drained me.

I closed my eyes, just for a second then a sound woke me.

It wasn't a loud noise. It was the soft, distinct sound of wood sliding against carpet.

My eyes snapped open. The room was dark, lit only by the moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains.

The chair I had wedged against the door was moving. Someone was pushing the door open, forcing the chair back inch by inch.

I scrambled backward, pressing my spine against the headboard. "Who's there?"

The door opened fully. The chair tipped over with a muffled thud.

A silhouette filled the doorway.

I didn't need to see his face to know who it was. The breadth of the shoulders. The stillness.

"Dominic," I whispered.

He stepped inside. He had discarded his suit jacket, and his white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the hollow of his throat. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing thick forearms corded with muscle.

"You really thought a chair would stop me?" he asked. His voice was low, devoid of humor.

"Get out," I said, though it came out sounding like a plea rather than a command. "This is my room."

He closed the door behind him. The click of the latch echoed in the silence. "Correction," he said, walking toward the bed. "This is my house, you are just occupying space in it."

My heart beat so fast it hurt. I looked around for a weapon—a lamp, a book, anything. But the bedside table was empty.

Dominic stopped at the foot of the bed. He wrapped his hands around the wooden bedpost, his knuckles white.

"Did you think I wouldn't come?" he asked softly.

"I thought... I thought you might have grown up," I stammered.

He laughed. It was a dry, sharp sound. "I did grow up, Elena. That’s what you should be afraid of."

He moved around to the side of the bed. I pulled my legs in tighter, making myself as small as possible.

He sat down on the edge of the mattress. The bed dipped under his weight, pulling me slightly toward him.

I flinched away, hitting the headboard. "Don't touch me."

Dominic froze. He looked at my hands, which were shaking violently in my lap.

"You're trembling," he observed but sounded fascinated, like a scientist looking at a bug under a glass.

"Please," I whispered. "Just leave me alone. I won't get in your way. I'll stay here. I'll be invisible."

"Invisible?" He reached out.

I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for a hit or a shove. But he didn't hit me. His fingers brushed a strand of hair away from my face. His touch was warm, rough, and terrifyingly gentle. "You were never invisible to me, Mouse," he murmured. "Even when you hid in the library. Even when you wore those baggy clothes. I always saw you."

I opened my eyes. He was staring at me with an intensity that made my skin burn.

"Why do you hate me?" I asked. The question I had wanted to ask for years.

His hand dropped from my hair. His expression hardened, the cold mask sliding back into place. "Because you are weak," he said simply. "And weakness is a disease. If you don't cut it out, it spreads."

He stood up abruptly, towering over me. "My father thinks having you here makes him look like a benevolent man. Your mother thinks she’s won the lottery."

He leaned down, bracing his hands on the mattress on either side of my legs. I was trapped in the cage of his arms.

"But you and I know the truth, don't we?" he whispered. "You aren't a daughter here. You’re payment. You’re the pet we took in to make the house look nice."

Tears pricked my eyes, hot and stinging. "I hate you."

"Good," he said, his eyes flashing. "Hate keeps you alert, fear keeps you alive. You’re going to need both."

He pushed off the bed and walked to the door. He picked up the velvet chair I had used as a barricade and set it upright with one hand, as if it weighed nothing.

"By the way," he said, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. "Don't bother with the furniture tomorrow. I have the master key to every lock in this estate."

My blood ran cold. "You can't come in here whenever you want," I said, my voice rising in panic. "I have rights. I have privacy."

Dominic looked back at me over his shoulder. The shadows hid his eyes, but I could feel his smirk.

"Read the fine print, Elena," he said. "You don't have anything unless I give it to you." He opened the door."Sleep tight," he mocked.

The door clicked shut. I stared at the wood, waiting for him to come back. Waiting for the handle to turn. Silence settled over the house again, heavy and oppressive.

I crawled to the center of the bed and pulled the duvet over my head, creating a pathetic tent of darkness.

I was trapped. My mother was downstairs, sleeping soundly next to a millionaire, dreaming of her new life. She had no idea she had just sold her daughter to the devil.

And the worst part? Even if I screamed, no one in this house would care.