Chapter Three LEO #2
Her breath caught. I stepped back before she could recover. “Inside.”
She walked past me quickly this time. She stood in the middle of the room, looking smaller now, like the fight was starting to wear thin at the edges.
“Sit,” I said.
“I’m not your dog,” she hissed.
“No,” I said. “You’ll still do as I say.”
She glared, but sat on a plush armchair, and when I reached for her, she stilled.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, her voice sharp, but thinner than before.
“Sit still,” I said quietly.
“I am sitting still!”
My fingers brushed the back of her neck. She froze. Completely. I felt it. The way every muscle in her body locked under my touch, like she didn’t know whether to fight or bolt. Good. That hesitation was mine, just like the rest of her.
“What are you doing?” she repeated, softer now. I didn’t answer.
My fingers slid higher, finding the first pin holding her hair in place. Careful. Precise. I pulled the first pin free. A single strand slipped loose.
Chiara’s breath caught.
“Stop,” she whispered.
I didn’t.
Another pin. Then another.
They came out one by one, each soft click louder than it should have been in the quiet room. Her posture stayed rigid, but her breathing didn’t. It started to change to shallow and uneven, betraying her.
“You don’t have to do this,” she tried again. “I shouldn’t wear my hair down until…”
“I know,” I said.
The braid loosened slowly under my hands. Light strands slipping free, soft against my fingers. I worked through it patiently, like I had all the time in the world. I did, because she wasn’t going anywhere. Chiara swallowed hard.
“You shouldn’t touch me,” she said, but there was no heat left in it. “I don’t want it.”
“No?” I murmured. “You sure?”
Her shoulders lifted slightly as my fingers brushed lower, undoing the final twist. Her hair fell free in a soft, light blonde wave down her back. Better than silk. I let it slide through my fingers once, deliberately.
“Bellissima,” I said. She shivered.
“You should wear it like this,” I added, my voice quieter now, closer. “Loose, down. I don’t want to see it up again.”
“No,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “Papa wouldn’t want me to.”
“You’re not in his house anymore,” I reminded her. “You obey me now.”
The conflict flickered across her face, fast and sharp. Hints of fear, habit, something deeper she didn’t understand yet.
My fingers grazed the side of her neck as I moved a strand over her shoulder. Her breath hitched.
“Don’t,” she said again, but she didn’t move away. Didn’t stop me. Her hands clenched in her lap instead.
“I like it better this way,” I said, letting the words settle. “If you want to please me, make me gentle… wear it like this. For me.”
She looked up at me then. Not just angry this time. Unsteady. Confused.
Her eyes dropped to my mouth for half a second before snapping back up like she hadn’t meant to. There it was. The first sight of defeat.
I straightened slowly, letting my hand fall away. She felt the loss. I saw it in the way her shoulders shifted, like something had just been taken from her.
Good.
“You’re learning,” I said. “Good girl.”
Her expression hardened, like she hated that I might be right.
“I’m not learning anything,” she snapped. I almost smiled. “And I am not your good girl.”
“Lie down,” I said easily.
She hesitated, then shifted onto the bed, wincing when her back hit the mattress. I noticed. Of course I did. Just like her injuries didn’t escape me earlier, I registered them this time, too.
I dragged the chair closer and sat. Her eyes flicked to me. “You’re staying in my room?”
“For now.”
“I don’t need a bodyguard anymore,” she hissed. “Remember? You already ruined my life. What’s left to take?”
“Plenty,” I said. “And you need to be supervised, so you don’t do something stupid.”
Her lips pressed together, but she didn’t argue again. Too tired.
Sleep took her fast. Too fast. Like she’d been running on nothing and finally hit the wall. I should have left the room. I didn’t. Instead, I took the time to memorize the details of her lovely face, and that sin-worthy body.
She looked nothing like the girl who fought me hours ago.
Sleep had softened her, smoothed the sharp edges of her defiance into something dangerously delicate.
Her blonde hair spilled across the pillow like silk, loose strands catching the low light, turning almost gold where it touched her skin.
Those blue eyes, the ones that burned with anger every time they met mine, were hidden now, lashes resting against her cheeks, casting faint shadows over a face too beautiful to belong in a world like mine.
Her lips were parted just slightly, breath slow and even, as if she trusted the quiet, as if she didn’t realize where she was.
Mine. The thought settled deep in my chest, dark and certain.
I’d seen women try to make themselves look like this.
Soft, untouched, effortless. But Chiara didn’t need to try.
She was simply made that way. And I was going to ruin it, slowly, until even in her sleep, she looked like she belonged to me.
She was younger than I liked, but it wouldn’t matter for long. Freshly eighteen, plucked right from her Papa’s care and transported into my world. She’d suffer and hate me at first, I knew that. But I’d make her love it.
My fingers touched her cheek, gently stroking her flushed cheeks. She flinched. Still afraid of me, even when she was fast asleep.
The first sound that interrupted the silence was quiet. A broken breath. Then Chiara’s fingers curled into the silk sheets.
“No… no, please…” Her voice cracked, thin, like it was being dragged out of her.
I stilled, my fingers lingering on her cheek. I didn’t want to stop, but I wasn’t willing to risk waking her up.
“Matteo,” Chiara choked out, her body tensing. “Don’t, no!”
My jaw tightened. Her head turned sharply on the pillow, tears slipping into her hair. “Sienna… don’t cry… I’m here. I’m here!”
Something twisted in my chest. Sharp and unwanted.
“Chiara,” I said softly. She didn’t wake.
“Stop! Please, I didn’t mean to. Papa, please, don’t!” Her voice broke completely, dissolving into a raw, helpless sob. “Leave them alone… please… I’ll do it, I’ll go, just don’t hurt them!”
Enough. I leaned forward, my hand closing around her wrist.
“Wake up,” I demanded.
She gasped, jerking violently, eyes flying open. Even in her sleep, she obeyed.
Her breath hitched, panic still clinging to her as she tried to pull away. I let go.
“Don’t touch me,” she said, her voice shaking.
I leaned back, giving her space. “You were having a nightmare.”
“I know,” she snapped, but her hands were still trembling as she wiped at her face. Like she could erase the dream.
I watched her for a moment. “You were crying for them. Your siblings.”
That hit. She froze. Her throat worked, and for a second, I thought she’d snap back again. Fight me. Deny it. Instead, her voice broke.
“I left them there with him,” she whispered, shaking now, the control cracking wide open. “Sienna was crying and I just, I couldn’t… I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”
She pressed her hands to her face, a sob slipping through. “Papa’s going to hurt them because of me.”
“I won’t let him,” I murmured.
Silence filled the room. I shouldn’t have said anything. Definitely shouldn’t have stayed.
“Go back to sleep,” I said.
She laughed, a broken, disbelieving sound. “How?”
I didn’t have an answer. I stood up and left her in there, locking the door from the outside. I spent some time by the door, listening to her breathing even out again, quieter this time. Fragile, but steady. Guilt sat in my chest like something alive. Unfamiliar. Unwelcome.
Chiara Ventura was here because I put her here. Because I said a few words, and her world folded in on itself. That wasn’t guilt. That was power.
I walked away abruptly, jaw tightening, forcing the unwelcome feelings down where they belonged. My fists tightened. The image of her, curled in on herself, begging for her siblings, followed me down the hallway.