Chapter Four CHIARA
For one blissful second after I opened my eyes, I didn’t remember where I was.
The sheets were too silky. The room was too quiet. Pale morning light poured through walls of glass, turning everything silver and cold. It almost felt peaceful.
Then I saw the city.
Not the vast gardens outside my bedroom window at home.
This skyline was too high, too wide, too far below me.
My breath caught as everything came rushing back at once.
The wedding, Papa, the lie, the blood on The Serpent’s mouth in the garden, the way that bastard looked at me, like I was already his.
I sat up too fast and pain tore across my back.
A broken sound left my throat. My ankle throbbed, my shoulders ached, and the bloody welts Papa’s belt left behind seemed to wake with me, burning under my skin like they remembered exactly how they got there.
I pressed a hand over my mouth and squeezed my eyes shut. I wanted to scream, but then that man would know I was awake, and he’d come for me.
This was all my fault.
One stupid, selfish choice.
One stupid night of pretending I could want something for myself.
I had wanted one taste of freedom. One night. One reckless little fantasy before Papa handed me over to some stranger old enough to be my grandfather.
Instead, I had walked into a nightmare wearing a mask and a maid’s dress.
My stomach roiled.
If I had stayed in my room, none of this would have happened.
If I hadn’t gone to the ball, I never would have been bitten by a snake.
I never would have met him. He never would have made up those lies about me.
Papa never would have beaten me. Sienna would not have been crying.
Aurora would not have looked at me like she already knew I was gone.
And I’d be able to say goodbye to Matteo, at least…
A hot wave of shame flooded me so fast I thought I might be sick.
I threw the silk covers back and forced myself to stand. My ankle protested, sharp and ugly, but I welcomed the pain. I deserved it. Maybe I deserved even worse. I had ruined everything with one choice, and now I was stuck here with an infamous killer.
In his home. Not his bed, at least. Not yet. Small mercies.
The thought hit me hard enough that I looked around the room again, properly this time.
It was a beautiful, but sparsely decorated guest bedroom.
A plush armchair with a matching vanity.
Dresser, closets. An en-suite bathroom in all marble.
Floor-to-ceiling windows. Beautiful. Luxurious. A prison for an unwilling bride.
My pulse started to climb. I crossed the room as fast as my ankle would let me and grabbed the door handle. Twisted it. Nothing happened.
I tried again, harder this time, rattling it until the metal bit into my palm. Locked. Of course it was locked.
A laugh nearly came out of me, thin and cracking and wrong. Another gilded cage. Different walls. Same prison. Only this one sat in the sky.
I turned to the windows next, limping toward them. The city glittered beneath me, distant and indifferent. Cars crawled below like ants. People were somewhere down there, living their lives, drinking coffee, laughing, making choices that belonged to them.
I pressed trembling fingers to the glass. Too high. Too thick. No balcony. No ledge. No way down except through him.
Panic rose so fast it made my chest seize. I backed away from the window, shaking my head, dragging in air that never seemed to reach my lungs.
No, I was not doing this again.
I would not wait for another man to decide what happened to me. I would not kneel. I would not learn to live inside whatever pretty prison Leo Moretti had built for me.
He thought he had already won. That was the only reason I was still breathing. That was his mistake. I’d kill him before he killed me.
I wiped angrily at the tears spilling down my face. Crying would not open doors. Hating myself would not get me home. Regret would not save Aurora or Matteo or Sienna.
I needed to think. Really think.
I forced myself to stand still in the middle of the room and started going over every option I had.
Scream? And who would come? His staff? His guards? Men loyal to him because he paid them, terrified them, or both?
Attack him? With what? Bare hands and a half-healed ankle?
Throw myself out the window? Better to die than belong to him?
I shut that thought down so hard it made me sway.
No.
I was not dying for him, either.
That left only one option.
I could not fight Leo openly. Men like him crushed open defiance for sport. But maybe… maybe I didn’t need to fight in the open at all.
If he thought I was beaten, he would loosen the leash. If he thought I was scared enough, obedient enough, resigned enough, he might stop watching so closely.
And when he did, I would run.
I would learn the layout of the penthouse. Count the doors. Watch who came and went. Find the staff entrance. Steal a phone, cash, a keycard, anything useful. I would learn his patterns and his guards’ routines and every blind spot in this monstrous glass tower he was so damn proud of.
Then I would leave. And if I had to crawl out of this place on my hands and knees, I would.
My breathing started to steady.
For the first time since Papa told me who my husband was going to be, something besides fear took root inside me. Resolve.
Leo Moretti might own the building. He might own the city. But he was never going to own me.
The tray was already there when I noticed it. I hadn’t heard the door open. Hadn’t heard footsteps. One second I was leaving to shower in the stupid marble bathroom, and the table was empty, the next, it wasn’t.
Food.
My stomach twisted. I stared at it from across the room like it might move. Like it was alive. Bread. Fruit. Something warm under a silver lid. Tea, and a saucer of milk. Some sugar cubes. Who told him I liked my tea that way?
My pulse started to climb. A memory slipped in before I could stop it.
He poisons people slowly. Just to watch them suffer.
My fingers curled into my palms. This was how it started. Not with chains. Not with violence. With something small. Something quiet. Something I’d take willingly, like a bite of the delicious meal he’d presented me with.
A bite. A sip. And then?
Death?
My breath hitched. No, I wasn’t that stupid.
I forced myself closer, each step careful, like I was approaching something dangerous. The scent hit me first. Sweet. Rich. Normal.
Too normal.
I reached out, hesitated, then grabbed a piece of bread. My hand trembled.
What if death wasn’t instant? What if it was slow?
What if he wanted to watch?
My stomach turned violently. I dropped the bread like it burned me.
“Not hungry?”
I spun around. He was leaning against the doorway like he’d always been there. Watching me. My heart slammed against my ribs so hard it hurt.
“How long have you been standing there?” I demanded.
“Long enough to be amused.” His gaze flicked to the tray. Then back to me. “You didn’t touch your food. I thought you’d be hungry by now.”
“I’m not stupid,” I snapped. A flicker of something crossed his face. Amusement? Interest?
“Good to know,” he said calmly. “I’d be disappointed if you were.”
My skin prickled with fear.
“Eat,” he added.
“No.” It came out fast.
His head tilted slightly. “That wasn’t a suggestion.”
Silence stretched between us.
“Eat,” he repeated.
My pulse roared in my ears. “No.”
Something shifted in the room. He didn’t get louder. Or harsher. But his noose around my neck got tighter.
“Why not?” he asked.
I laughed, breathless and intimidated. “You really expect me to trust you?”
“I didn’t say that,” he smirked.
“Then what do you want?” I shot back. “To see how long it takes?”
His eyes narrowed, just slightly. “How long what takes?”
“For it to work.” I motioned to the food. “Your little game. What did you put in it? Roofies?”
There. I said it.
The word hung between us, ugly and sharp. Understanding clicked into place in his expression.
“You think there’s poison in there?” he asked, almost curious.
“Yes.” I didn’t look away. “You have a reputation to live up to, right?”
“You think I poisoned your food.” He chuckled. “Like I need to use drugs to make you obedient.”
“I think you’re exactly the kind of man who would,” I spat out.
For a second, he just stared at me. Then he laughed. Not loud. Not mocking. Genuine. Like I’d surprised him. My chest tightened.
“You’re serious,” he said, pushing off the doorframe. “You actually believe that.”
“Everyone knows you’ve done worse,” I snapped. “So why wouldn’t I?”
He stepped closer. I stepped back.
“Eat,” he said again, softer now.
“No!” I hit the table behind me. Cornered. My breath came faster. Too fast.
Before he could move, I did. I lunged sideways, shoving past him, ignoring the explosion of pain in my ankle as I ran for the door.
Freedom. Just a few steps left.
Leo’s hand caught my arm, hard. I gasped as he yanked me back, my body slamming into his chest. Pain shot up my leg as I lost my footing, but he didn’t let me fall.
“Let me go!” I struggled, hitting his chest, pushing, clawing at anything to get away. “I fucking hate you!”
“Stop,” he demanded.
“I’m not eating that!” I snapped, my voice breaking now. “I’m not just going to sit here and let you murder me!”
“Chiara.”
The way he said my name cut through everything. I froze, and not because I wanted to. Because my body remembered what happened when he last touched me. His grip loosened slightly, but didn’t leave me.
“I didn’t poison your food,” he said.
“I don’t believe you,” I spat out.
“I know,” he said. That almost made it worse.
My chest heaved. My hands were still pressed against him, fingers twisted in his shirt like I didn’t know whether to push him away or hold myself upright.
“I won’t let you starve yourself either,” he added.
“I’d rather starve than be your puppet.”
Something flickered in his eyes then. Darker this time.
“Careful,” he said quietly. “That sounds like a challenge.”
“I don’t care what it sounds like,” I shot back, even though my voice shook. “I’m not letting you control me.”
He studied me for a long second. Then, without warning, he reached past me, grabbed the same piece of bread I’d dropped earlier, and took a bite.
He chewed slowly. Swallowed. Nothing happened. My pulse stumbled.
“That answer your question?” he asked, tossing the bread back on the plate.
I stared at him. Then at the tray. Then back at him.
“You could have built a tolerance,” I said, because I had to say something. Because I couldn’t be wrong. I couldn’t afford to be wrong.
His mouth twitched.
“There it is,” he murmured. “That fight.”
“I’m not eating it,” I said again, weaker now but still holding on.
“Maybe not yet,” he agreed. That made my stomach drop. “You will once you’re hungry enough.”
He stepped back, finally releasing me completely.
“You should be grateful,” he added, adjusting his cuffs like none of this had happened. “Behave like you should, and cherish every gift I give you.”
My throat tightened.
“Delicious food. Pretty clothes. A priceless wedding ring. My hard cock,” he smirked.
Each word landed heavier than the one before, and when he said the last one, I flinched.
“Freedom, though,” he finished, almost thoughtfully. “That’s one gift you will never have. I’ll make sure of it.”