Chapter4
931 Words
“Signore Nero calls for you,” the woman who had helped me settle down spoke. I was startled at the sudden intrusion as I was lost in my thoughts, making me miss the sound of the door opening.
I turned to face her, wanting to question why he wanted to see me, but she turned, leading the way. I kept my shut and followed her.
The study was colder than the rest of the house.
I stepped inside carefully, the thick rug muffling my footsteps. The room smelled of leather, cedarwood, and something else…like cigars or tobacco. Valerio stood by the window with his back to me, dressed in black from collar to cuff, one hand resting in his pocket, the other holding a tumbler of dark amber liquid.
“Sit.”
His voice carried no rise or fall, no emotion at all. Just command.
I obeyed without hesitation, lowering myself into the black-upholstered chair across from his desk. My knees brushed together, hands resting on my lap. I didn’t meet his eyes. I didn’t dare to.
A long moment passed before he turned around.
I felt him watch me.
Then he spoke. “We’re going to establish rules. You will follow them.”
“Yes, Signore,” I murmured. My voice came out small, but to me, it was an improvement. It hadn’t been used in years.
He approached the desk and set his glass down gently, as though the sound itself might offend him. I kept my gaze on my hands, counting my breaths.
“You will not leave this estate unless I say so,” he said. “You will not speak to anyone unless given permission. My men and workers are not your friends. You will not question me, nor interrupt me. When I give an order, I expect obedience—immediate and complete.”
I nodded. “Yes, Signore.”
“You will dress when told. Eat what is given. Stay where I place you. There are rooms in this house you are forbidden to enter. Don’t test that rule.”
Another nod. “I understand.”
My voice sounded faint, even to me. Like it didn’t belong.
He paused. I felt his eyes on me again, hot and silent.
“And above all,” he said softly, almost like a whisper, “you belong to me now. You are not free. You are not equal. You are mine. Mine to f**k and discard like a piece of trash.”
The weight of that truth landed in my chest like a stone. I kept my head down, but my fingers curled tighter into my lap. No protest. No cry. Just a breath.
“I... understand,” I said again.
The leather of his chair creaked as he sat. The silence stretched.
“Good,” he said finally. “You learn quickly. That pleases me.”
He poured himself more liquor. I didn’t look up.
“You were obedient in Bastion,” he said, watching me. “That’s why you survived. Keep that instinct.”
I flinched inwardly, remembering the days spent silent and still, the nights I slept with one eye open. Bastion didn’t allow rebellion. It devoured it.
“You will find this place easier than prison,” he said. “So long as you remember your place.”
I nodded. “Yes, Signore.”
“Say it.”
I blinked. “Say…?”
“Say it aloud. Your place.”
My tongue felt thick. I swallowed and forced the words out.
“I… I belong to you.”
A small shiver rolled down my spine. Saying it made it real.
He stood again and walked around the desk. I stiffened instinctively but didn’t move.
He stopped beside me, his presence looming—cold, thick, and dangerous. His fingers brushed a strand of hair from my cheek. I didn’t flinch. Not because I wasn’t afraid, but because I’d learned not to show it.
“You’re quieter than I expected,” he murmured.
I stayed still. “I want to do what you ask.”
He seemed to study my face. “You’re not broken.”
I didn’t know how to answer that, so I didn’t. I stared at the floor until he turned away.
“There will be a dinner this week,” he said over his shoulder. “You’ll attend, dressed properly. A maid will help you.”
“Yes, Signore.”
“You will stay by my side and say nothing unless I command it.”
“Yes, Signore.”
“If anyone touches you, tell me. Only me.”
“Yes, Signore.”
The rules wrapped around me like a second skin. I repeated them in my mind like prayer beads, committing them to memory before I forgot what freedom ever felt like.
As I stood to leave, he said one more thing.
“Obedience earns safety, Liora. Remember that.”
I turned, curtsied low, and whispered, “Thank you, Signore.”
Then I left, silent and small.
Upstairs, in the solitude of the rose-colored room he’d given me, I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the golden frame of the mirror.
A stranger stared back at me. A girl who bowed. Who nodded. Who whispered I belong to you and meant it—at least on the surface.
But underneath the soft meek approach I had on and my folded hands, something stirred inside me.
It wasn’t rebellion though.
Just a memory of who I used to be… and who I might become again.
One day.
- Writer
