BOUND BY BLOOD, STOLEN BY HIM

Gift from Him

Bound by Blood, Stolen by Him

Bride of Lies

Chapter 4

The door remained locked.

Alessandra woke at dawn to the same silence she had fallen asleep in — heavy, suffocating, broken only by the distant crash of waves against the cliffs far below. She touched her cheek. The skin was swollen, tender, a dark bruise blooming purple beneath her fingers. Marco’s ring sat heavy and cold upon her finger, as if it too had been stained by his violence.

She rose slowly, her limbs stiff from a night spent curled upon the library sofa. The villa was quiet. No footsteps in the hall. No voices calling her name. Marco had made certain: she was a prisoner within her own home.

When she opened the door to step out, she stopped short.

Resting upon the threshold, arranged with deliberate care, was a tray. A loaf of crusty bread, fresh fruit, a small bottle of water — and beside them, a folded cloth and a jar of clear, golden salve that smelled of wild lavender and mountain herbs.

No note. No signature. But she knew.

She carried everything inside and set it upon the table. Her fingers trembled as she lifted the salve. It was not the sort of thing kept in the villa’s kitchens. It was homemade, precious, the kind of remedy passed down through families who lived close to the earth — the kind of thing Otto would know how to find.

When she applied it to her cheek, the cool scent filled the air, and the pain began to fade almost instantly.

He had been back. While she slept. He had slipped past locks, past guards, past everything Marco believed secured — and left her medicine. And she had not heard a sound.

The morning passed in silence. No one came. No one called. Alessandra wandered the library shelves, reading titles she did not see, her fingers brushing the jar upon the table every few minutes as if to reassure herself it was real. Otto was not a ghost. He was here. Watching. Protecting.

Late in the afternoon, a knock finally fell — sharp, impatient, and unmistakably Giulia’s.

Alessandra did not move to open it.

Giulia called out through the wood, her voice sweet and laced with poison. “Alessandra? Let me in. Marco sent me. He said you might be… difficult this morning.”

Slowly, Alessandra crossed the room and unlocked the door.

Giulia stepped inside, perfectly dressed in pale blue silk, her golden hair pinned back with pearls, her face glowing with that same flawless, hateful beauty. She paused, her eyes widening in feigned sympathy as she saw the bruise upon Alessandra’s cheek.

“Oh, my poor darling,” Giulia murmured, stepping closer. “What happened? Did he…?” She pressed a hand to her chest, her expression shifting swiftly from shock to something darker, something satisfied. “Marco has such a temper. I told him to be gentle with you. But you know how he is. He takes what he wants. And he breaks what displeases him.”

Alessandra stood still, her hands folded loosely at her sides. “Why are you here, Giulia?”

Giulia sighed, brushing past her to set a small stack of gowns upon the table beside the salve. “To help you dress. To make you presentable. There is a gathering tonight — the heads of the family will be there. And Marco requires you to look like the perfect, obedient wife.” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper that carried clearly through the quiet room. “Cover the bruise well, won’t you? We wouldn’t want them to know how little regard he has for you.”

Alessandra looked at the woman who had been her friend since childhood — the girl she had shared secrets with, dreams with, everything with — and felt nothing but cold, clear detachment.

“You pushed me toward him,” Alessandra said quietly. “You told me he cared. You told me he would grow to love me.”

Giulia laughed — soft, light, and utterly without remorse. “And you believed it? Oh, Alessandra. You were always so eager to be loved. I suppose it was too easy.” She reached out, her fingers tracing the neckline of one gown, her tone casual and cruel. “Marco was always mine. He only ever looked at me. But you came along — your family’s lands, your name, your father’s influence — and suddenly, he had no choice. It was never personal. You were just… convenient.”

“Convenient,” Alessandra repeated.

“Exactly.” Giulia smoothed the fabric with a smile. “And now you know. So be good. Wear the dress. Smile. Keep your mouth shut. And perhaps I will ask him not to lock you away in the country when I grow tired of sharing his bed.”

Giulia turned to leave. She had almost reached the door when she paused, glancing back at the jar of salve upon the table. Her eyes narrowed.

“Where did you get that?” Giulia asked, her tone sharpening. “No one in this house uses that.”

Alessandra slid between her and the table, blocking her view. “I found it.”

Giulia’s gaze swept over her, sharp and suspicious. “You found it. Locked inside this room, with no one allowed to enter?” She took a step forward. “Give it to me. I will examine it. If someone has been slipping things to you…”

“It is mine,” Alessandra said, her voice steady and unyielding. “And you will not touch it.”

For a moment Giulia looked ready to argue. Then her eyes flickered toward the dark, shadowed corner of the room — the very corner where Otto had stood the night before. She frowned, as if she had seen movement, or felt something watching her. The colour drained slightly from her face.

She took a hasty step back toward the door.

“Keep it,” Giulia said, her voice tighter than before. “But do not think this makes you powerful. Whatever you imagine is watching over you… it is nothing. Shadows do not keep you safe. And Marco will find out everything.”

Giulia slipped out and slammed the door.

Alessandra leaned back against the wood, breathing slowly, waiting until the sound of Giulia’s footsteps had faded completely. Only then did she turn back to the corner — the darkest corner, where the shadows gathered thickest.

“He is gone,” she said quietly.

From the darkness, Otto stepped forward.

He did not look at her. He looked at the door where Giulia had stood, his expression terrifyingly still, his hands clenched so tightly at his sides the veins stood out upon his forearms.

“She speaks too much,” Otto said, his voice low and dangerous. “And she thinks too highly of herself.”

Alessandra watched him. “You were here the whole time.”

“I do not leave you alone with wolves.” He turned his gaze to her face, his eyes softening only slightly as they touched the bruise. “Did she hurt you?”

“She tried to.” Alessandra touched the jar. “You left this.”

Otto nodded once. “My mother made it. Before she died. It heals quickly. And it hides the pain.” He took a step closer, his voice dropping so that only she could hear. “Giulia is right about one thing. Marco will demand answers. He will want to know who gave you food, who gave you medicine, who unlocked the door. When he finds out — and he will try — do not lie well. Lie badly. Make him think you did it yourself. That you found a way. That you are cleverer than he believed.”

“Why?” Alessandra asked.

“Because if he suspects me,” Otto said, his amber eyes burning into hers, “he will double his guard. And I prefer the doors left open.”

He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, folded piece of parchment. He held it out to her.

“Tonight,” Otto said. “At the gathering. Marco will make a show of you. He will speak of loyalty, of duty, of the bond between your families. He will stand beside her while you watch.”

Alessandra’s chest tightened. “I know.”

Otto unfolded the note just enough for her to read the bold, slanted script:

He will tell lies. I will tell you the truth. Watch the chandelier above the table. When it sways — look at the far wall. I will be standing there. And I will be watching only you.

He folded it closed again and pressed it into her hand.

“Wear the dress,” Otto said. “Smile. Pretend you are broken. And when he touches you — remember this: his hands may hold you now. But your eyes belong to me.”

Alessandra gripped the note tight. “And if I look?”

Otto leaned in, his voice brushing against her ear like a promise.

“Then you will see exactly what I intend to do to every person who has ever hurt you,” he whispered. “And you will know: the war began the moment he struck you. And I will not end it until every last one of them bows.”

He stepped back, already fading into shadow.

“Rest,” he said, his voice low and final. “And when you stand before them tonight — remember: you are not alone. He may own the room. But he does not own the dark.”

Then he was gone.

Alessandra stood alone once more — the note in her hand, the salve upon her cheek, and the terrifying, thrilling certainty that tonight, beneath the chandeliers and the lies, she would meet him again.

Not in the shadows.

While the whole world watched.