Chapter Four – The Devil’s Dinner
578 Words
The next morning, Alessia awoke to a note placed neatly on the nightstand.
“Wear something black. Dinner. 8 PM.”
—L.D.L.
She stared at the monogrammed initials. Lorenzo De Luca. Of course, he didn’t ask. He commanded.
It wasn’t a request.
It was a test.
She looked around the room. At some point, the closet had been stocked with dresses—designer ones. Black silk, satin, lace. All her size. All tagged. All untouched.
Someone had done their homework.
She chose the simplest one: black satin with thin straps and an open back. Elegant. Timeless. Not for him—for herself.
If she was going to walk into hell, she might as well wear armor that shimmered.
By 7:45, she stood in front of a grand mirror, tying her hair up. No jewelry. No makeup. Just her reflection—and the sharp determination behind her eyes.
She looked like someone she didn’t recognize.
Someone who could survive him.
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The dining room was carved from marble and candlelight.
A long mahogany table stretched toward nowhere, set for two. Crystal glasses. Silver cutlery. Golden-rimmed plates. A bouquet of white lilies spilled from a black vase in the center—delicate and haunting.
Lorenzo sat at the far end.
In a tailored black suit, his features sharper than ever. Shadows clung to his cheekbones. His eyes met hers the moment she walked in.
“Sit,” he said.
She did.
Wordless.
A server appeared, pouring red wine into her glass. Another placed down her meal—steak, medium rare, with rosemary potatoes.
Lorenzo didn’t speak for several minutes.
He simply watched her eat.
She didn’t.
“You’re wasting my chef’s efforts,” he finally said.
“I didn’t ask for them.”
“You didn’t ask for any of this.”
Exactly.
She pushed her plate slightly forward. “Why am I here?”
“You already know why.”
“I want to hear it from you.”
He leaned back, wine glass in hand. “Because you are a Romano. And someone has to pay for what your father did.”
Alessia flinched. “My father has nothing to do with me.”
Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed. “That’s where you’re wrong. His blood is your curse.”
“And yours?”
He smirked. “Mine is everyone’s curse.”
She hated how calm he sounded. How casually he toyed with her words.
“You said you bought me to protect me.”
“I did.”
“Then let me go.”
He stared at her for a long moment.
“You’re safer here than anywhere else.”
“That doesn’t answer anything.”
“You’re asking the wrong questions.”
Silence fell again, heavy and bitter. The candle flickered between them like a lie struggling to stay alive.
Then, Lorenzo stood.
He walked toward her side of the table, slow and deliberate, and bent down slightly so his face was inches from hers.
His voice was low, dangerous. “You want the truth, Alessia?”
She nodded, refusing to shrink away.
“I bought you so they wouldn’t break you,” he said. “But I never promised I wouldn’t.”
Her heart dropped.
He straightened, adjusting his cuffs, then walked away.
The door closed behind him.
And Alessia sat alone at a table full of expensive lies.
But something inside her had shifted.
Fear was still there—but it had company now.
Fire.
- Writer
