Chapter 2
Sophie
Iwoke to sunlight filtering through unfamiliar curtains. My first morning as Vittorio Ricci's prisoner. My head throbbed like I'd been hit by a truck. Silk sheets slid against my skin as I pushed myself upright, the room spinning momentarily before settling into focus.
This wasn't my apartment.
The events of the previous night crashed back—the rain, the car, Vittorio. The water. The bastard had drugged me.
I looked down at myself and froze. I was wearing a silk nightgown I'd never seen before. Someone had undressed me, had touched me while I was unconscious. The violation made my skin crawl, memories of other hands, other times I'd been helpless flooding back before I pushed them away.
Bile rose in my throat.
"No, no, no," I whispered, patting my chest frantically.
The flash drive. It was gone.
Panic clawed through me. That drive was my only leverage, my only protection. Without it, I was just another woman who'd crossed a dangerous man. And I knew what happened to those women.
I flung myself from the bed, searching the unfamiliar room. It was beautiful—all cream and gold, with plush carpets and antique furniture that probably cost more than I'd make in five years. A gilded prison.
The bathroom was equally luxurious—marble countertops, a shower big enough for four people, and a bathtub that could double as a small pool.
Toiletries had been arranged neatly on the counter—expensive brands I'd never be able to afford.
The thoughtfulness of it reminded me of Antonio in the early days, when he'd filled my apartment with expensive gifts, making me feel cherished.
Before I learned that everything came with a price.
My clothes from last night were gone. The closet revealed an array of designer dresses, blouses, and pants, all in my size. The lingerie drawer contained pieces with tags still attached.
He'd been planning this. Or at least, preparing for someone to be here.
I tried the door—locked, of course. The windows were reinforced glass that wouldn't break no matter how hard I hit them with the desk chair. I was trapped.
Sinking onto the edge of the bed, I forced myself to breathe. Panicking wouldn't help. I needed to think, to plan. Vittorio wanted the information on the flash drive, which meant he needed me alive and relatively unharmed.
I'd use that.
A soft knock interrupted my thoughts.
"Who is it?" I called, tensing.
"Breakfast, miss." A woman's voice, warm but professional.
The lock clicked, and the door opened to reveal a small, older woman in a crisp uniform, carrying a tray. Despite her diminutive stature, she moved with quiet authority.
"I'm Lila," she said, setting the tray on the table by the window. "I manage the household."
Her weathered hands arranged the items with practiced care. "You must eat, dear. You're far too thin."
I approached the food cautiously. After last night's drugged water, I wasn't taking any chances. But the coffee smelled too good to resist, and my growling stomach reminded me I hadn't eaten since yesterday afternoon.
Just as I reached for a croissant, the door opened again. Vittorio filled the doorway, imposing in a charcoal suit that highlighted the breadth of his shoulders. Those ice-blue eyes assessed me in one sweep.
"I see you're awake," he said, closing the door behind him. "How are you feeling?"
"Like someone drugged me and locked me in a strange room," I snapped. "Where are my clothes? And who the hell changed me?"
"Your clothes are being cleaned. And a female staff member changed you—I didn't think you'd want to sleep in wet clothes." He approached the table, gesturing to the chair opposite mine. "May I?"
The consideration in his voice caught me off guard. Antonio used to do that, too—small courtesies that made you forget you were trapped until it was too late.
"Do I have a choice?"
"There are always choices, Sophie. Some just have better outcomes than others." He sat, pouring coffee into both cups. "You should eat. The food isn't drugged."
To prove his point, he took a bite of a pastry and a sip from my coffee cup before passing it to me. The gesture was unexpectedly thoughtful, so different from Antonio's mind games.
I reluctantly sat across from him, taking the cup. The coffee was perfect—rich and strong, with just a hint of sweetness. Nothing like the bitter instant coffee Antonio used to make, back when he was still pretending our relationship was normal.
"Where's my flash drive?"
"Safe." He buttered a piece of toast with deliberate precision. "We'll discuss that later."
"We'll discuss it now."
His lips curved slightly. "Eat first. Then we'll talk."
The pastries were still warm, flaky, and buttery.
Despite everything, my body needed fuel, and the food was too good to resist. As I ate, I found myself studying him—the controlled way he moved, the calculating intelligence behind those cold eyes.
So different from Antonio's volatile unpredictability, yet somehow just as dangerous.
A memory surfaced as Vittorio's hand moved toward my face, and I flinched instinctively.
"What's this?" I asked, holding up the ledger I'd found hidden in Antonio’s office while looking for a pen.
His smile vanished. "Nothing you need to concern yourself with, cara."
"Nothing? This shows millions moving through shell companies." I flipped pages, my accounting background helping me decode the patterns. "This one's dated the same week the ambassador's daughter went missing."
His hand shot out, grabbing my wrist so hard I gasped. "You shouldn't snoop into things you don't understand."
"I understand money laundering," I said, trying to pull away. "I understand kidnapping."
The back of his hand connected with my cheek, sending me sprawling. The ledger fell to the floor.
"You understand nothing," he snarled, retrieving the book. "And you'll forget what you saw if you know what's good for you."
He froze, his expression shifting to something almost concerned.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said quietly, lowering his hand. "I was just going to brush that crumb away."
I touched my cheek self-consciously, feeling foolish. "Sorry. Old habits."
Understanding flickered in his eyes, and I knew he'd catalogued that reaction for future reference.
"You were going to tell me about the flash drive," he prompted.
"Encrypted files," I said simply. "The flash drive contains information I took from Antonio's safe."
"What kind of information?"
I met his gaze steadily. "The kind that could destroy him."
Vittorio leaned back in his chair, studying me. "You were close to him."
"I thought I was." The words tasted bitter. "Antonio was charming at first. Attentive. He made me feel special." I took another sip of coffee, using the pause to steady myself. "Two days after he brought me coffee in bed and told me he loved me, I discovered what that love was worth."
"Which was?"
"A split lip and a warning to forget what I'd seen.
" I set down my cup, my hand steady despite the memories.
"He had a ledger hidden in his office. Financial records showing money laundering, connections to the ambassador's daughter's kidnapping.
When I confronted him about it, he showed me what happened to women who asked too many questions. "
Vittorio's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "And you decided to gather insurance."
"I decided to survive." I met his eyes without flinching. "The flash drive contains enough evidence to put him away for life. Names, dates, bank accounts, photographs. Everything."
"Why not go to the police?"
I laughed without humor. "Half of them are on his payroll. The other half wouldn't believe me against the great Antonio Ricci, philanthropist and businessman." I shook my head. "The evidence goes public, or it doesn't matter at all."
We sat in tense silence, the air between us charged with unspoken possibilities. I found myself studying the way the morning light caught in his dark hair, the controlled strength in his hands, the curve of his mouth when he almost smiled.
"You're not what I expected," Vittorio said finally.
"What did you expect?"
"Antonio described you differently."
"What did he say?"
"That you were easy to control." His eyes studied my face. "He was wrong."
I lifted my chin. "Maybe I'm done being controlled."
"You're intelligent," he said, studying me with those penetrating blue eyes. "Strategic. The kind of woman who could be a true partner rather than a possession."
Something in his tone made me shift uncomfortably. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means Antonio was a fool to underestimate you." He leaned forward slightly. "It means the right man would see your value."
Heat crawled up my neck at the implication. This conversation was veering into dangerous territory, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to retreat or lean into it.
"I need to think," I said finally, unsettled by the turn in the conversation.
He nodded, rising from his chair. "Take your time. But not too much—Antonio grows more desperate by the hour."
After he left, I explored my gilded cage more thoroughly. The bathroom cabinet contained high-end makeup, including a lipstick in a shade I'd never wear—too dark, too dramatic. A long auburn hair clung to one of the towels.
I wasn't the first woman Vittorio had kept here.
The thought should have terrified me, but instead, I felt a strange hollowness.
Of course, I wasn't special. Of course, this room had held other women before me.
The kindness—the good food, the comfortable surroundings—was just manipulation, a different flavor than Antonio's, but manipulation, nonetheless.
I spent the day searching for weaknesses, studying the room's layout, the schedule of the staff who brought lunch, and who collected the breakfast tray. I memorized the sounds of footsteps in the hallway, counted seconds between patrols.
But I also found myself thinking about Vittorio. The way he'd proven the food wasn't drugged by eating it first. How he'd frozen when I flinched, immediately backing away. The careful consideration in his voice when he'd asked permission to sit.
Small kindnesses that cracked something inside me that I thought Antonio had broken forever.
When Vittorio returned that evening, I was sitting by the window, watching the sunset paint the manicured grounds in gold and crimson.
"Enjoying the view?" he asked, setting a bottle of wine and two glasses on the table.
"Planning my escape route," I replied without turning.
He chuckled, the sound rich and warm. "At least you're honest."
"One of us should be."
He poured the wine, offering me a glass. "What makes you think I've been dishonest?"
I took the glass but didn't drink. "You're a mafia Underboss holding me captive. Dishonesty is your business model."
"Fair point." He sat across from me, his large frame making the elegant chair seem small. "But in this case, my interests align with honesty. I want what's on that drive. You want protection from Antonio. We can help each other."
"And when you have what you want? What happens to me then?"
His eyes held mine, unblinking. "That depends on what you want to happen."
Heat crawled up my neck at the implication in his voice. The tension between us shifted, electric and dangerous. This was nothing like the calculated manipulation I'd endured with Antonio. This felt… honest. Raw.
"I want freedom," I said firmly.
"From Antonio? Or from everything?" He leaned forward slightly. "Because I can offer both, but they come with different prices."
I studied him—the perfect suit, the cold eyes that occasionally sparked with something warmer, the hands that could probably snap my neck without effort but had moved with careful control when he handed me the wine.
"What's your game, Vittorio? Torture me until I magically develop hacking skills to unlock something Antonio made sure even I couldn’t access?"
"Is that what Antonio would do? Torture you?"
"Without hesitation."
Vittorio's eyes narrowed. “He trusted you enough to keep everything a secret.”
I gave a short, bitter laugh. “Trusted me? He went digital because I found the ledgers. The moment I confronted him, he ripped the paper trail away and moved everything onto that drive—some paranoid upgrade to stay ten steps ahead of everyone.”
His gaze sharpened. “So, you never knew the password?”
“No.” I shook my head. “I was going to take it to the FBI, let their tech teams crack it open. That was the plan… until you intercepted me.”
He sipped his wine thoughtfully. "I'm not Antonio."
"No," I agreed, finally taking a sip of my own wine. "You're more dangerous."
His eyebrow raised. "How so?"
"Antonio never pretended to be anything but what he is. You…" I gestured around the beautiful room, at the wine, at the small kindnesses that had been accumulating. "You make captivity feel almost like a choice."
A smile ghosted across his lips. "Perhaps I'm offering you a real choice."
"There are no real choices when one option is death."
"There's always death, Sophie. The question is what you do before it comes."
We fell into silence, the air between us heavy with unspoken possibilities. I found myself studying the way the fading light caught in his dark hair, the controlled strength in his hands, the curve of his mouth when he almost smiled.
When had my captor become more interesting than my escape plan?
The evening stretched before us, full of dangerous possibilities and choices I wasn't sure I was ready to make. But one thing was becoming clear—Vittorio Ricci was nothing like his brother. And that realization was both terrifying and oddly comforting.
I was no longer just planning my escape. I was trying to understand the man who held me captive, and discovering that understanding him might be the most dangerous thing of all.