The Billionaire's Forbidden Love

Chapter Three

The air hung thick with anticipation. Alessia's heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs as his eyes landed on her.

Sebastian tilted his head to the side studying her. The fear in her eyes, the glistening tears, seemed to ignite something within him, something primal, raw, and far from pity. It wasn't the first time he had walked in one his father during his escapades with his s*x slaves. Yet, something about her was different. Her beauty was undeniable, but there was something else— something he couldn’t figure out.

He met her eyes for a beat too long before turning to his father. The warmth in his gaze vanished, replaced by a steely glint that mirrored the storm within. His voice, a low rumble that sent chills down Alessia's spine, broke the silence. "Surprised to see me, Father?"

Lorenzo's mask faltered, replaced by a guarded look. "Sebastian," he acknowledged again, his voice tight. "Didn't expect you so soon."

Sebastian took a step forward, each footstep echoing in the tense silence. "You always did like a good surprise, Father." A chilling smirk played on his lips.

His movements were predatory, each step measured as he crossed the room. Alessia couldn't tear her eyes away, mesmerized by the way his tailored suit stretched across broad shoulders, the way his dark eyes seemed to hold a universe of unspoken threats. He was nothing like his father, yet she felt a primal fear, a sense that this monster wore a different mask.

He stopped in front of a picture frame, his fingers tracing the edges. His voice, when he spoke, was soft, almost gentle, yet laced with an undercurrent of something far darker. "Mother was truly beautiful, wasn't she?"

Lorenzo shifted, tightening his robe. "She was," he said plainly without an ounce of emotion. His gaze snapped towards her like he just realized she was still standing there, “Get out!" he barked.

She scrambled to her feet, gathering her dress in a panicked rush. As she bolted towards the door, she felt Sebastian's eyes burning into her back, a chilling promise lingering in their depths. The door slammed shut behind her.

Sebastian turned to his father, a slow smile that promised nothing good stretching across his face. "Your little plaything," he drawled, each word laced with amusement, "certainly attracts the eye."

Lorenzo's face hardened. "What game are you playing, Sebastian?"

"Ah, Father," Sebastian chuckled, the sound devoid of warmth, "not every visit has to be a negotiation, a power play. Sometimes, a son simply returns to see his father."

"And I'd be a fool to believe that," Lorenzo scoffed. "So cut the theatrics, tell me why you're really here, figlio.”

Sebastian shrugged, the movement smooth and predatory. "Perhaps I simply missed you, father."

Lorenzo threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing hollowly in the spacious room. “You must take me for a gullible fool, Sebastian."

"Perhaps," Sebastian conceded, his smile turning sharper. "But let's consider this - after our last delightful conversation, I did some thinking. And wouldn't you know it, Father, you were right."

A flicker of genuine surprise crossed Lorenzo's face, quickly masked by suspicion. "Right about what?"

"It's time," Sebastian declared, his voice low and dangerous.

Lorenzo leaned forward, his gaze narrowed. "And you accept my terms?"

Sebastian nodded, his eyes glinting with something dark and unsettling. "Indeed. As we speak, she wears the engagement ring. In six months, Elizabeth Moretti will be my wife."

Sebastian watched as the smile on his father’s face stretch, a rare incidence for the almighty Lorenzo Russo. He looked back at the picture then at his father.

"The girl," he asked, his voice smooth as velvet, "how long does she have left?"

Lorenzo's chuckle, devoid of humor, echoed in the silence that followed. "New one, this one. But judging by the look, won't last long."

Sebastian forced a smile, the mask feeling heavier with each passing moment. "My belongings will be moved before day's end," he announced, his voice betraying none of the turmoil within. He turned to leave, the weight of his father's gaze heavy on his back.

"Have a drink with me, son," Lorenzo called, a rare plea in his voice. "I've missed you."

He hesitated. He couldn't ignore the tremor in his father's voice, a vulnerability he hadn't witnessed before. With a curt nod, he turned back, collecting the glass his father had poured.

As the bitter aftertaste lingered on his tongue, he couldn't help but think of the girl with eyes filled with fear, wondering why thoughts of a nobody tugged at him.

Outside, the setting sun cast long shadows, mirroring the growing urgency in his heart. Hunger gnawed at Alessia's stomach, a constant companion these past few days. Rushing out of the stifling room, she immediately spotted a hulking figure waiting.

"Come with me," he grunted, his voice rough as gravel.

"Please," she choked out, voice hoarse, "I'm hungry. Can I please have something to eat? Just a little?"

He narrowed his eyes, a sneer twisting his lips. "Didn't ask you to speak. Now come on, I got better things to do than babysit Lorenzo's w***e,” He trailed off, spitting a curse.

Alessia flinched, clutching her stomach. Hunger wasn't her only worry. Fear, cold and sharp, coiled in her chest. Who was this man? Where was she being taken?

She followed him silently, past corridors that echoed with her shuffling steps. The room he led her to was spartan, devoid of anything but a single bed.

"Word of advice, girl," he growled, his voice cold. "Use your time well. The clock's ticking. When it stops, you'll be gone, just like the rest."

The door slammed shut, the finality of the sound sending a fresh wave of dread crashing over Alessia. Gone? Who were the rest? Where was she going? Panic clawed at her throat, but she swallowed it down, forcing herself to focus on the immediate - survival.

Days bled into nights, each marked by the same routine: silence, isolation, and gnawing hunger but luckily Lorenzo hadn’t sent for her.

One night, a muffled commotion filtered through the door. Voices, raised and urgent. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Could this be her chance? Or something far worse?

As silence descended once more, a new emotion took root - desperation. She had to get out. But how? The answer whispered in the darkness, fueled by the primal instinct to live and without thinking it through, she slipped out.

She fled the shouting, her heart pounding against her ribs. Every creak of the floorboards sent shivers down her spine. The voices grew louder, fueled by anger, and she desperately searched for an escape.

Suddenly, the pounding of feet echoed in the hallway. Trapped, she bolted into the nearest room, slamming the door shut behind her. Her back hit the wall as she spun around, gasping.

A cold, hard gun was pointed directly at her face. The man's voice, devoid of warmth, sliced through the air. "You have three seconds to tell me what you are doing in here before I drive a bullet through your brain.”