Blood In Her Lace

Perfect prison

She was used to waking up in luxury. Designer sheets, Egyptian cotton, rooms that cost more per night than most people made in a month. Being one of Italy's most famous models had its perks.

She'd starred in that hit movie two years ago — the one that made her face appear on every magazine cover across Europe. She had money, fame, everything a girl could want.

Too bad she couldn't spend a single euro without daddy's permission. Her father controlled everything — her friends, her social life, her bank accounts. Even her career moves had to go through him first. Don Enzo Rossi didn't just protect his daughter; he owned her.

The first thing she noticed when she woke up was how eerily quiet everything was

Her eyes fluttered open to find herself on the softest pillow she'd ever felt, but it definitely wasn't hers. Pale sunlight was streaming through windows she didn't recognize, and the whole place smelled like expensive candles — cedarwood and rosewater.

The ceiling above her was ridiculously high and painted gold, with dark velvet curtains and ivory lace trim everywhere. It looked like something out of a fairy tale.

Or a very expensive prison.

Her head was pounding like she'd been hit by a truck, and when she tried to sit up fast, sharp pain shot through her ankle.

"Ow, s**t," she hissed, grabbing her foot.

"Oh! You're awake!"

Valentina's head snapped toward the voice. A girl was kneeling at the foot of the bed, holding Valentina's ankle gently in her hands. She looked maybe twenty, wearing a cream sweater and canvas pants, dabbing something cold and soothing on the bruised skin with a cloth.

The moment their eyes met, Valentina's survival instincts kicked in hard.

She lunged forward like a wild animal, her fingers wrapping around the girl's throat and slamming her back against the ornate bed frame.

"Where the hell am I?!" she snarled, tightening her grip. "Who are you working for?!"

The girl's eyes went wide with pure terror, her hands clawing desperately at Valentina's fingers. "Please! Stop! I was just helping you, I swear!"

Her voice was shaking, but her eyes weren't lying. This wasn't one of the kidnappers. This was just some scared kid who probably had no idea what kind of hell she'd stumbled into.

Valentina's grip loosened slightly. "Who are you?"

"Christie," the girl gasped, tears starting to roll down her cheeks. "They told me to take care of you. You've been unconscious for hours. I didn't do anything wrong, I promise! "

Valentina let go completely, stepping back and immediately catching sight of herself in a massive antique mirror across the room. She almost didn't recognize the woman staring back at her.

Her dark hair was a complete disaster, tangled and messy, hanging around her face like she'd been through a hurricane. Her eyes were bloodshot and exhausted, with dark circles underneath that made her look like a ghost. Her lips were chapped and colorless.

And she was still wearing that damned wedding dress.

The white silk was wrinkled and stained with dried blood — Alfred's blood. The wedding ring he'd managed to slip on her finger before he died was still there, also smeared with crimson. The sight of it made her stomach lurch.

She looked like she'd crawled out of a horror movie.

"Great," she muttered bitterly. "Just great."

She limped over to the window, hoping to get some idea of where these bastards had brought her. What she saw made her blood run cold.

The windows weren't just covered — they had thick iron bars, the kind you'd see in an actual prison. And down below, men in expensive black suits were patrolling the grounds like guard dogs, guns clearly visible under their jackets.

These definitely weren't her father's men. These guys moved differently, looked different. More professional. More dangerous.

"Where is this place?" she asked, not really expecting an honest answer

"I'm sorry, miss," Christie said quietly, still rubbing her throat where Valentina had grabbed her. "I can't tell you anything. I was just supposed to help you get cleaned up and make sure you were okay."

"Cleaned up for what?" Valentina's voice had an edge to it that would've made lesser men flinch.

Christie looked genuinely terrified. "I... I honestly don't know."

Valentina studied the girl's face carefully. She was pretty in that simple, girl-next-door way, with dark hair pulled back in a messy bun and nervous brown eyes that kept darting toward the door.

"How long have you been here?" Valentina asked.

"Two years," Christie said quietly. "I work for the boss. I'm just a maid."

"A maid?" Valentina raised an eyebrow. Christie didn't look like a prisoner - she looked comfortable, like this was actually her job, not some nightmare she'd been forced into.

"What do they want with me?"

Christie looked toward the door nervously, like she was expecting someone to burst in at any moment. "I... I can't really say. That's not my place."

"Come on," Valentina pressed, moving closer. "You must know something. You don't just randomly clean up k********g victims without knowing why.

"I honestly don't know," Christie said, wringing her hands anxiously. "I was just asked to take care of you until you woke up. My job here is done. There are painkillers in the drawer if you need them."

Christie immediately started gathering her cleaning supplies, clearly desperate to get out of there.

"I have to go," she whispered. "Try not to cause any trouble, okay? It'll only make things worse for you."

Heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway outside — the kind of footsteps that belonged to big men with bad intentions.

The door opened just as Christie was heading for what looked like a servant's exit. Two men walked in, and Valentina's blood turned to ice when she recognized them.

The kidnappers from the cathedral. Except now there were only two of them.

The first one was built like a human tank - all bulk and muscle, with a face that looked like it had been through way too many fights. His nose had been broken at least twice, and there was a scar running from his left ear to his jaw.

The second was leaner but somehow way more intimidating, with cold dark eyes and scars covering his knuckles like badges of honor. This was a man who enjoyed hurting people.

"Well, well," the big one said, his voice carrying a thick Italian accent. "Princess is finally awake."

"Roman," the scarred one said sharply. "Show some respect."

Wait. Valentina's brain caught up. The big guy was Roman. Which meant the scary one with the dead eyes was Marco.

"Respect?" Roman laughed like that was the funniest thing he'd heard all day. "Marco, she's a prisoner, not royalty."

Valentina stood up slowly, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in her ankle. She wasn't going to cower in front of these animals. She was Don Enzo Rossi's daughter, and that meant something.

"Where am I?" she demanded, putting every ounce of authority she'd learned from watching her father into her voice.

Roman stepped forward, his expression completely unreadable. "Somewhere safe."

"Safe?" Valentina let out a bitter laugh that could've cut glass. "You drugged me, kidn*pped me from my own wedding, and brought me to some kind of fortress with armed guards. That's your definition of safe?"

"Your wedding was to a dead man," Roman said coldly. "We saved your life."

"You murdered him!" The words came out as a scream.

"He deserved it." Marco said it like he was discussing the weather.

The casual way he talked about taking a human life made her see red. "Who the hell do you think you are? You can't just decide who lives and dies like you're playing God!"

"Actually," Roman said, stepping closer with that predatory grace that made her skin crawl, "we can. That's exactly what we do for a living."

"You're animals," Valentina spat, her voice dripping with disgust. "Both of you. Savage, barbaric animals who think you can just take whatever you want whenever you want it."

Marco shifted uncomfortably - apparently he had some kind of conscience buried under all that muscle. But Roman's face darkened with pure rage.

"Watch your mouth, princess."

"Or what? You'll kill me too?" Valentina moved closer to him, fury completely overriding her common sense. "Go ahead. Add me to your list of victims. I'm sure my father will just love that."

"Your father," Roman sneered, his voice full of venom, "is the reason you're here in the first place. That bastard sold you like a piece of meat."

"My father loves me!" She hated how defensive she sounded, but the way they talked about her father with such complete disregard made her want to scratch their eyes out.

"Your father sold you to the highest bidder, just like he's sold everything else in his miserable, pathetic life," he continued, clearly enjoying the way his words were hitting their target.

The accusation hit her like a physical blow, but she refused to back down. "You don't know what you're talking about. You don't know anything about me or my family!"

"Don't I?" Roman's smile was cruel as a blade. "Tell me, princess, did daddy ever ask what you wanted? Did he give a s**t that Alfred Donati made your skin crawl? Or did he just see dollar signs and a business opportunity?"

"Shut up," Valentina whispered, but Roman was just getting warmed up.

"You have no right to define my life or judge my family when you're nothing but a common criminal!"

"You want to know why you're really here?" Roman leaned in close enough that she could smell his cologne mixed with something darker. "Because you're worth more as leverage against your precious daddy than you ever were as his little princess."

"I said shut the f**k up!"

She swung at him without thinking, her hand connecting with his cheek in a satisfying slap that echoed through the room like a gunshot.

For a moment, everything went dead silent. Marco's eyebrows shot up in complete shock.

Then Roman's hand moved faster than she could track, the butt of his gun connecting with the side of her head in a vicious blow that sent her crashing to the marble floor.

"Roman!" Marco voice was sharp with panic. "What the f**k did you just do?!"

"Taught the little princess some manners," Roman said, calmly holstering his weapon like hitting women was just part of his daily routine.

Marco grabbed him by the front of his shirt, slamming him against the wall hard enough to rattle the expensive artwork. "Are you out of your goddamn mind? The boss will f*****g kill you if you lay a finger on her!"

"She hit me first!"

"I don't care if she shot you in the face!" Marco's expression was pure terror now. "You know the rules. Nobody touches her. Nobody hurts her. That order comes straight from the top!"

Valentina groaned, pushing herself up from the cold floor. Blood was trickling from a cut above her eyebrow, and her head was spinning even worse than before. Everything hurt.

"Get out," Marco said, his voice deadly quiet. "Get the hell out of here before I tell the boss what you just did."

Roman looked like he wanted to argue, but something in Marco's expression - maybe the fact that he looked ready to commit murder - made him think better of it. He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him so hard that dust fell from the ceiling.

Marco knelt down beside Valentina, his expression genuinely concerned for the first time since she'd met him. "Hey, you okay?"

She looked up at him through the blood running down her face. "Do I look okay to you?"

"Fair point." He helped her sit up, being surprisingly gentle for someone who'd kidn*pped her just hours ago. "Roman's a hothead and an i***t. This shouldn't have happened."

"Why?" she asked, wiping blood from her eye with the back of her hand. "Why can't anyone hurt me? What makes me so goddamn special that hitting me could get someone killed?"

Marco looked deeply uncomfortable, like she was asking him to reveal state secrets. "That's... that's not for me to explain."

"Then who?"

"The boss will want to see you soon," he said, carefully avoiding her gaze. "He'll answer your questions."

"And if I don't want to see him?"

His expression was almost apologetic. "Princess, you don't really have a choice in that."

As he helped her to her feet, Valentina realized something that made her stomach drop to her toes.

"I'll send Christie back with some food," he said, straightening his jacket. "Make sure you eat something and try to rest."

"How can I rest when I don't even know where I am or what you people want with me?" She scoffed, pain making her voice sharp.

Marco just looked at her, something almost like pity in his eyes. "Boss will see you soon enough." Then his phone rang. He picked up immediately. "Yes sir. She will be eating soon. " He didn't even look back as he left the room.

Whatever this was about, whoever this mysterious 'boss?