Chapter 40
SAbrINA
The first thing I noticed was the soreness—not just the deep ache between my thighs but the sharp sting of bark fragments pressing against my skin.
Then the scent hit me, spiced cologne, warm and rich.
Sebastian.
I bolted upright, my muscles protesting with every move. I flew my hands to my hair, where bits of dirt and tiny twigs were tangled from…last night.
Heat flushed through me while the memories surged back: the courtyard, the fight, his hands on me. Always him.
I wasn’t in my room.
Sebastian’s bedroom loomed around me, vast and imposing. Crimson linens draped the massive four-poster bed, the dark wood as severe as the man who owned it. Sunlight filtered through heavy velvet curtains, casting the space in muted shades of blood and shadow.
The room was luxurious; ornate carvings along the wardrobe doors, frescoed ceilings with soft hues of gold and blue, and a marble floor so cold it made me shiver.
I darted my gaze to the bureau. My perfume bottles. My makeup. My belongings. They’d been moved here without my consent.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, the icy marble shocking against my bare feet. The ache in my body, the dirt tangled in my hair, and now this.
It all painted a frightening picture.
I wasn’t a guest. I wasn’t even a prisoner.
I was his property.
Determined to reclaim some semblance of control, I crossed the room to a set of immense double doors. They creaked open to reveal a wardrobe that could have been mistaken for a designer boutique in Milan.
The space stretched far beyond what I imagined, with shelves, racks, and drawers lined in pristine order. Rows of silk blouses, tailored dresses, and stiletto heels gleamed under soft lighting.
I ran my fingers along the delicate fabrics.
These weren’t my clothes.
Every item here reeked of Sebastian’s influence, from the perfectly pressed suits to the cocktail dresses that whispered elegance and submission.
And then I saw it.
On a padded velvet bench in the center of the wardrobe was an outfit laid out for me: an exquisite Italian designer dress in deep sapphire blue, its lines as sleek and unforgiving as Sebastian himself.
Beside it sat a pair of heels with delicate straps meant to make a woman look graceful but powerless.
A slow, burning anger rose in my chest.
I picked up the dress, the silk smooth under my fingertips. It was flawless, expensive, and suffocating.
In a single violent motion, I yanked.
The delicate seams tore easily, splitting the fabric with a satisfying rip. I didn’t stop there, shredding the garment until it was nothing but scraps. Then I tossed the tattered remains onto the marble floor.
Sebastian’s control wouldn’t extend to the clothes on my back.
I turned to the rest of the wardrobe, determined to find something—anything—that wasn’t his.
Then, hidden at the back of the wardrobe, I found it: a pair of faded, torn jeans and a wrinkled white New York Yankees T-shirt. Sebastian must have overlooked them in his meticulous effort to transform me.
I clutched the clothes to my chest.
The jeans were snug, the tears in the fabric exposing my knees, and the T-shirt hung loose but familiar. It was a far cry from the couture that surrounded me, but it was me—real.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror. My hair was still a mess and my face was pale, but my reflection stared back with quiet determination.
Let him see me like this.
Let him seethe.
I didn’t care.
* * *
The corridor outside was equally oppressive, its arched windows offering a view of the Eternal City.
The sprawling rooftops of Rome stretched out beneath the pale morning light, terracotta tiles glowing softly under the rising sun.
I had no friends here, no allies.
The quiet murmurs of the staff fell silent as I passed. They avoided my gaze, their whispers dying the moment they caught sight of me.
The dining room loomed ahead. High arched ceilings hovered above, and medieval tapestries depicting hunting scenes adorned the walls.
A long oak table stretched in front of a crackling fireplace, covered with silver trays of fresh pastries, bowls of jewel-toned fruits, and steaming espresso pots.
There were sfogliatelle, their paper-thin layers dusted with powdered sugar, and cornetti filled with glossy apricot jam. Sliced prosciutto curled around delicate figs, and glass carafes of orange juice gleamed like sunlight.
A tableau meant to trap me in his gilded cage.
And there he was.
Sebastian sat at the head of the table, devastatingly composed. His hair still damp, as though he’d just stepped out of the shower, and the open collar of his crisp white shirt revealed the strong line of his throat.
He looked utterly unaffected.
His sharp gaze cut to me, narrowing as he took in my outfit. A trace of irritation crossed his face, gone as quickly as it came.
“You’re not dressed.”
“This is what I’m wearing,” I said coldly, crossing the room to the opposite end of the table.
My sneakers squeaked against the marble.
He set his espresso cup down with deliberate precision. “I had something laid out for you.”
“I’m not your doll, Sebastian,” I snapped, snatching a croissant from the nearest tray. “And I’m not here to play dress-up for you.”
His fingers tightened around the edge of his cup, the faintest crack of tension breaking through his composed facade. “Those clothes are inappropriate for work.”
“I quit."
His silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.
When I glanced up, his expression was unreadable, but the set of his jaw betrayed him.
“You’re not quitting.” It wasn’t a threat. It was a fact.
“I’m going back to New York,” I bit out, spreading jam onto the croissant. “You can keep your fancy clothes, your job, your gilded cage—and your lies.”
The scrape of his chair against the marble floor echoed.
Sebastian rose, his movements slow and deliberate.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“Watch me.”
“Do you honestly think you have a choice?”
The soft question sent a chill down my spine, but I refused to show it. “I’m not staying here to play whatever twisted game you’ve designed. I’m done.”
Sebastian moved before I could react, rounding the table in a few strides.
He was close now, his presence overpowering.
His hand slammed down on the table, inches from my croissant, rattling the silverware.
“Do you think this is a game?”
“I don’t care what it is,” I shot back. “I’m not playing.”
He leaned in, the heat of him brushing against my skin. “What you want doesn’t matter, Sabrina. It never has. Sit,” he commanded.
I stayed frozen, gripping the edge of the table.
“I’m not hungry.”
“That wasn’t a request."
He gestured toward the empty chair.
“Sit down.”
“I don’t take orders from you.”
Sebastian tilted his head slightly, studying me. “You seem to think you’re in control here. Let me disabuse you of that notion. Sit.”
“No.”
His towering frame cast a shadow over me.
“You don’t get to say no,” he said softly. “You think you’re strong enough to challenge me? To defy me? Go ahead, Sabrina. Keep testing me.”
I curled my fists at my sides. “I’m not yours, Sebastian. You don’t own me.”
“You’ve always been mine, Sabrina,” he murmured. “You just didn’t know it.”
“I’ll never be yours.”
Sebastian’s lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. “That’s what makes you such an irresistible challenge.”
He reached out, his fingers brushing the edge of my wrist.
“Do you know where you are, Sabrina?” he asked. “This isn’t New York. It’s Rome. My city. No one will help you here. You’re alone.”
“I don’t need help,” I snapped, yanking my wrist. “I’ll figure this out on my own.”
Sebastian’s low laughter unsettled me.
“You’ll figure it out?” he repeated. “Go ahead, Sabrina. Try. Run. See how far you get.”
“Why me?” I asked.
He returned to his seat and took a slow sip of espresso. “Your family and mine have a…complicated relationship.”
“Complicated how?”
His fingers traced the rim of the espresso cup. “It’s none of your concern.”
“How can you say that when you’ve put me right in the middle of whatever fucked-up game you’re playing with my father?”
“Sit and eat your breakfast, Sabrina.”
“Tell me about my father.”
The silence that followed was razor sharp.
He put down his cup. “That’s a dangerous question.”
“Answer it anyway.”
“No.”
I curled my fingers into fists. I was a rabbit caught in a wolf's den, and I knew it. But I wasn’t going to show weakness.
“I want out,” I said again, softer this time, but no less determined.
His eyes locked with mine. “Not possible.”
The game continued, but I was running out of moves.
“Then tell me about my mother,” I said. “About why she left Italy. About why you brought me here. About the reputation of the Badalamentis.”
A muscle ticked near his temple—the only sign my words had any impact.
“I’m not some pawn you can just move around a chessboard.”
“You have no idea what you’re involved in,” Sebastian said.
“Then enlighten me.”
His laugh sounded cold. “It’s not that simple.”
I took a step forward. “Make it simple.”
For a moment—just a moment—I saw something crack in his perfect facade. Something raw.
“Your safety depends on you not knowing,” he said.
“My safety?” I let out a sharp laugh. “I feel anything but safe right now. Why are you doing this?”
Sebastian’s eyes locked onto mine. “You’ll know when the time is right.”
“I want the truth now,” I snapped.
His expression didn’t waver. “You’re not ready for the truth.”
“You don’t get to decide that!”
“I decide everything. This is my world, Sabrina, and you’re in it whether you like it or not.”
I hated him.
Hated his control, his arrogance, his ability to make me feel so powerless.
But I wouldn’t let him win. Not completely.
“I’m not afraid of you."
Sebastian smiled then, faint and devoid of warmth. “You should be.”
My legs trembled as I backed toward the door, my mind racing.
The sound of his voice followed me when I turned and fled.
“You signed an employment contract with the House of Diamanti. Break it, and I’ll ruin you.”