THE PRICE OF SIN

THE RULES

Chapter 3

Elena's hands shook as she threw random clothes into her old duffel bag. Jeans, sweaters, underwear—everything felt surreal, like she was packing for a vacation to hell. Through her bedroom window, she could see the black Maserati waiting in her driveway like a predator.

Eight minutes. Lorenzo had given her ten, and she'd already wasted two sitting in the basement, trying to process the impossible reality that her quiet, gentle father had been a criminal.

She grabbed her laptop, phone charger, and the small jewelry box that had belonged to her mother. As she reached for her psychology textbooks, she heard Lorenzo's voice from downstairs.

"Leave the books, principessa. Where you're going, you won't need them."

How could he hear her from down there? Elena shoved the books into her bag anyway, along with her birth certificate and passport. If she was going to be a prisoner, at least she'd have proof of who she was before this nightmare began.

"Time's up."

Elena zipped the bag and took one last look at her childhood bedroom. The walls were still painted the soft lavender her father had chosen for her sixteenth birthday. Her desk was cluttered with psychology papers she'd never finish, her bed unmade from the restless night before the funeral. Everything looked exactly the same, but nothing would ever be the same again.

She found Lorenzo in the living room, examining a framed photo of her high school graduation. In it, she was beaming in her cap and gown while her father stood beside her, pride radiating from his smile.

"Such a devoted father," Lorenzo murmured, setting the photo face down on the coffee table. "It's almost tragic how much he loved you."

"Don't." Elena's voice was sharp. "Don't talk about him like you knew him."

"But I did know him. Probably better than you did." Lorenzo turned to face her, his dark eyes scanning her appearance. She'd changed into jeans and a sweater, hoping to look less vulnerable than she had in her funeral dress. "David worked for my family for eight years. Eight years of dirty money, bloody secrets, and sleepless nights. Did you ever wonder why he looked so tired all the time? Why he jumped every time the phone rang?"

Elena had wondered. Her father had grown increasingly paranoid over the past few years, installing new locks, checking and double-checking the windows before bed, insisting she text him whenever she arrived safely anywhere.

"He was protecting you," Lorenzo continued. "Making sure you stayed innocent while he waded deeper into our world. Noble, really. Futile, but noble."

"Stop talking about him."

"As you wish." Lorenzo gestured toward the door. "After you."

Elena walked past him, hyper-aware of his presence behind her. She could feel his eyes on her, cataloging her movements, her reactions. Outside, the rain had stopped, but the sky remained threatening. Two men in expensive suits flanked the Maserati—Lorenzo's muscle, presumably.

"Vincent," Lorenzo nodded to the larger of the two men. "Take Miss Rossi's bag."

Vincent was built like a linebacker, with scarred knuckles and cold blue eyes. He took Elena's duffel bag without a word, tossing it into the trunk like it weighed nothing.

"Get in," Lorenzo ordered, opening the passenger door.

Elena hesitated. Once she got in that car, there would be no going back. She thought about running, but where could she go? He knew where Mia lived, where she went to school, everything about her life.

"Having second thoughts?" Lorenzo's voice held a hint of amusement. "I told you the alternative."

Elena slid into the passenger seat. The interior smelled like leather and that dangerous cologne of his. Lorenzo settled beside her, and the space immediately felt smaller, more intimate. He was too close, too overwhelming, too everything.

"Where are we going?" Elena asked as Vincent pulled out of her driveway.

"Your new home."

They drove through Las Vegas as the sun set, painting the sky in shades of orange and red that reminded Elena uncomfortably of blood. She watched her old life disappear in the side mirror—her neighborhood, her father's house, everything familiar sliding away into darkness.

"Tell me about school," Lorenzo said suddenly.

Elena glanced at him. "What?"

"Your psychology degree. What's your specialty?"

"Why do you care?"

"Humor me."

Elena stared out the window at the glittering lights of the Strip. "Clinical psychology. I want to help people with trauma."

Lorenzo laughed, the sound bitter. "How ironic."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You'll understand soon enough." He pulled out his phone and typed something quickly. "Tell me about your friends."

"No."

"Excuse me?"

Elena turned to face him fully. "I said no. You want to own me for a year, fine. But I won't help you hurt innocent people."

Something dangerous flashed in Lorenzo's eyes. "You seem to be under the impression that you have choices here."

"Everyone has choices."

"Spoken like someone who's never had to make real ones." Lorenzo leaned closer, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "Let me explain how this works, principessa. You are now property of the Santangelo family. You will do what I say, when I say it, how I say it. You will speak when spoken to, go where you're told, and remember that your comfort—your safety—depends entirely on my mood."

Elena felt tears prick her eyes but refused to let them fall. "You can't just own people."

"Can't I?" Lorenzo gestured to Vincent in the driver's seat. "Vincent has worked for my family since he was sixteen. Seventeen years of loyalty, and do you know why?"

Elena remained silent.

"Because we saved his life. His stepfather was beating him to death when my father intervened. Now Vincent would take a bullet for any Santangelo." Lorenzo's gaze never left Elena's face. "Everyone has a price, principessa. The only question is whether they'll admit it."

The car turned into an underground parking garage beneath a gleaming high-rise. Elena had never seen the building before, but she recognized the neighborhood—this was downtown Las Vegas, where million-dollar condos housed the city's elite.

"Welcome to Inferno Tower," Lorenzo said as Vincent parked. "Your new home."

Elena followed Lorenzo to a private elevator that required a key card to operate. As they rose silently through the floors, Elena caught glimpses of luxury beyond anything she'd ever experienced—marble lobbies, crystal chandeliers, artwork that probably cost more than her father's house.

The elevator stopped at the thirty-second floor.

"The club occupies floors thirty through thirty-five," Lorenzo explained as they walked down a hallway lined with black marble and gold accents. "Exclusive membership only. Very private, very discrete."

"What kind of club?"

"The kind where powerful men come to forget their troubles." Lorenzo stopped in front of a door marked 'Private' and swiped his key card. "And you're going to help them do that."

The door opened to reveal an apartment that was beautiful and sterile. Modern furniture in black and silver, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, and not a single personal touch anywhere.

"This is your room," Lorenzo said, dropping her key card on the glass coffee table. "Twenty-four seven surveillance, so don't bother trying anything clever. The kitchen is stocked, but you'll take your meals in the club dining room. Your uniform will be delivered tomorrow."

"Uniform?"

Lorenzo's smile was all predator. "You're going to be serving drinks to some very important clients. They appreciate... aesthetically pleasing staff."

Elena's stomach churned. "And if I refuse?"

"Then you'll learn why they call me the most feared man in Nevada." Lorenzo moved toward the door, then paused. "Oh, and Elena? Don't try to contact anyone from your old life. No calls, no texts, no emails. As far as the world is concerned, Elena Rossi is taking a leave of absence from school to deal with family matters."

"You can't just make me disappear."

"I can do whatever I want. That's what power means." Lorenzo opened the door. "Sweet dreams, principessa. Tomorrow, your real education begins."

The door closed with a soft click, followed by the distinctive sound of electronic locks engaging.

Elena ran to the door and pulled on the handle. Nothing. She was locked in.

Panic rising in her throat, she ran to the windows. Thirty-two floors up, no balcony, no fire escape. Even if she could break the glass, it would be suicide.

She sank onto the expensive couch and finally let the tears come. Everything she'd known about her life was a lie. Her father, her safety, her future—all of it gone in the span of a single day.

Her phone, sitting on the coffee table, suddenly lit up with a text from an unknown number.

"Sleep well, principessa. Tomorrow you learn the rules of my world. And trust me—you're going to want to learn them quickly."

Elena stared at the message, her fear crystallizing into something harder. Determination.

Lorenzo Santangelo thought he owned her. He thought she was just another broken girl who would fold under pressure.

He was about to learn that Elena Rossi was stronger than she looked.

But as she set her phone aside and walked toward the bedroom, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched. She turned toward the windows, scanning the city lights below, and froze.

In the building across the street, a figure stood silhouetted in a window, too far away to make out clearly but close enough to see they were holding something that glinted in the light.

Binoculars.

Or a gun.