A Deal With The Devil

CHAPTER FOUR: THE GOLDEN CAGE

ELENA’S POV

The room assigned to me was beautiful– too beautiful for a prisoner.

I looked around the room. It was draped in deep velvets and dark, polished woods, but it felt like a mausoleum.

I was left entirely alone with my thoughts, nothing to do, and for the first time since the day began, whatever that had been holding me together snapped in half.

Memories of late night study sessions with Sarah filled my mind. Memories of us applying for enrollment into the professional register, the tiring process and the money we spent.

I closed my eyes and the tears rolled down my cheeks. Sarah’s face appeared behind my eyelids.

By mid-morning, the walls felt like they were closing in on me. My stomach twisted with hunger, and I felt like I was on the verge of dehydration.

Driven by a desperate need for fresh air, food, and the sheer restlessness vibrating in my limbs, I unlocked my door and crept down the vacant hallway.

The master wing—or what I thought was the master wing based on the intimidating, expensive vibe it gave off—was deserted. The house staff had clearly already swept through, leaving the pristine marble corridors echoing with only the quiet, rhythmic sound of my own footsteps. I followed a patch of sunlight until it led me through a set of towering French doors and out into a private, high-walled courtyard.

The yard was stunning, filled with manicured greenery and stone pathways, but I couldn't appreciate it. My stomach growled loudly, and I quickly turned around to make sure no one had heard it, even though the wing appeared completely empty.

I paced the perimeter like a caged animal, my hands tucked into the pockets of my jeans, trying to burn off the anxious adrenaline flooding my system.

What am I supposed to do here? Am I just meant to rot in this beautiful prison? And where the heck is the kitchen!

Frustrated, I spun around on my heel to head back inside—and slammed directly into a solid, unyielding wall of charcoal wool.

A sharp gasp caught in my throat as my hands instinctively flew up to steady myself against his chest. The heavy, suffocating scent of expensive cologne and ozone instantly flooded my senses.

Luca didn't flinch. He didn't move an inch. He stood there like a monolith, an immaculate coffee cup balanced perfectly in one hand, his black phone in the other.

I scrambled backward, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs as I looked up at him. His dark, obsidian eyes looked down at me, completely devoid of surprise, reflecting nothing but that trademark, clinical boredom.

“You’re wandering in an unfamiliar place, Elena,” he said. His voice was a low, smooth baritone that sent a chill straight down my spine.

“I—I didn't know where to go,” I stammered, hating how breathless I sounded, before anger quickly flared to mask my fear. I lifted my chin, forcing defiance into my eyes. “No one gave me any rules or directions. And I’m so hungry and bored. No one told me what my duties are or where to get food.”

“You have no duties. Not yet,” he murmured, stepping closer, his imposing height completely blocking out the morning sun. “Zia Pina informed me she assigned you to scrub the west corridor this morning. I revoked it.”

I frowned, entirely bewildered. “Why? I’m not afraid of hard work.”

“An eight-million-dollar line item does not waste its time doing menial labor that I can hire a hundred people to do for pocket change,” Luca said, his tone entirely transactional. He slipped his phone into his pocket, his gaze locking onto mine with piercing intensity. “Tell me, Elena. What is your specialty? What are you actually good at?”

The question felt like a sudden interrogation. I’m usually so excited to talk about my field and how I hope to save lives every day, but standing in front of Luca De Santis made me feel entirely uncertain.

I gripped the fabric of my pockets tightly, refusing to let him see the hesitation in my posture.

“I’m a nurse,” I said, my voice hardening with pride. “I graduated from nursing school a month ago. I spent four years training to save lives.”

For a fraction of a second, something shifted behind his dark eyes—a calculation so sharp it felt dangerous. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly as he processed my words. He didn't congratulate me. He didn't offer a single word of empathy for the career he had just stolen from me.

“A nurse,” Luca repeated slowly, a dark, unreadable expression settling over his cruel, handsome features. “Useful.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I demanded, taking a bold step forward.

Luca didn't answer. He simply turned his head toward the mansion, his cold demeanor settling back into place like an iron shutter.

“For now, you will stay in your wing,” he commanded, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument. “You will live here, eat here, and stay out of my sight. Consider it a grace period free of charge. I will find a suitable place to position you where your skills actually match your cost.”

He turned back to look at me one last time, his obsidian eyes narrowing slightly.

“Until then, do not make me regret keeping you in the main house.”

Without waiting for a response, he walked away, his long, powerful strides carrying him back toward the master wing.

I stood frozen in the center of the courtyard, the morning air suddenly feeling ten degrees colder. My skin crawled with a brand-new wave of dread. I was safe from scrubbing floors, but the trap had just grown infinitely more dangerous.

A suitable place.

What kind of work did a mafia devil have for a nurse?