I barely slept.
That was the first thing I realized when the pale gray light crept through the narrow gap in the curtains. My body felt heavy, my limbs stiff, like I had spent the night fighting instead of resting. Every time I had closed my eyes, my mind had dragged me back—to my mother's trembling voice, to my father's blood soaking into the carpet, to the sound of the door closing behind me as I was brought into this place.
I had dreamed of my mother standing alone in our apartment, calling my name over and over while I stood on the other side of a locked door, unable to answer.
When I finally gave up on sleep, my pillow was damp with tears I didn't remember crying.
I sat up slowly, pulling my knees to my chest. The room was quiet—too quiet. The kind of silence that made you hyper-aware of your own breathing, your own heartbeat. Somewhere far away, I heard footsteps and doors opening and closing, the low murmur of voices I couldn't make out.
Life was happening around me.
Just not with me.
I glanced at the clock on the wall. Late morning.
My chest tightened.
My mother would be awake by now. She would have made coffee out of habit, even if she didn't drink it. She would be sitting at the table, staring at the chair across from her, wondering how she had lost so much without ever leaving the room.
I hugged myself tighter.
You have to stay strong, Elena.
I repeated the words over and over in my head like a prayer. Strength was the only thing I had left to give her. If I broke, if I let fear consume me, then everything I had done—everything I had sacrificed—would be meaningless.
So I stayed in that room.
I didn't explore. I didn't open the door. I didn't touch anything that didn't need to be touched. I sat on the edge of the bed for hours, staring at nothing, replaying every moment that had led me here. I counted my breaths. I traced the lines in the carpet with my eyes. I memorized the way the light shifted slowly across the floor as the sun moved through the sky.
Waiting became my punishment.
Waiting, and thinking.
By the time afternoon arrived, my head ached from hunger and exhaustion, but I ignored it. Compared to the weight in my chest, it felt insignificant. I wondered if this was intentional—if they expected me to feel small, forgotten, powerless.
If so, it was working.
The knock came suddenly.
Three sharp raps against the door.
I flinched, my heart leaping into my throat. I hadn't heard footsteps approach. I hadn't heard anything at all.
I stood slowly, smoothing my wrinkled clothes with trembling hands, and walked to the door. For a moment, my hand hovered over the handle. I wasn't sure what waited on the other side.
But hiding wouldn't protect my mother.
I opened it.
A man stood in the doorway—tall, broad-shouldered, his expression blank and uninterested. He looked like the others. Dark suit. Gun visible at his side. No warmth in his eyes.
"You're to come with me," he said.
My stomach tightened. "Where?"
"The capo's office."
The words hit harder than I expected.
Alessandro De Luca.
I nodded once, my throat too tight to respond.
The man turned immediately and walked away.
He didn't look back.
I stared after him for a moment, stunned by the suddenness of it. No explanation. No escort. No instructions. Just an order, dropped at my feet like it was nothing.
I shut the door slowly and leaned against it, pressing my eyes closed.
This is it, I thought.
Whatever comes next… this is it.
I forced myself away from the door and went into the bathroom. The sight of my reflection startled me. My face looked pale, my eyes shadowed and tired. I barely recognized myself. Still, there was no time to dwell on it.
I turned on the water.
The bath was quick—mechanical. I washed myself without really feeling it, scrubbing my skin like I could somehow wash away the last twenty-four hours. The water steamed the mirror, blurring my reflection until I was just a vague shape behind fogged glass.
Good.
I didn't want to see myself.
I dried off, changed into clean clothes, and took one last deep breath before opening the door.
The hallway outside was empty.
I hesitated.
He hadn't told me where to go.
Of course he hadn't.
I felt irritation flicker beneath the fear—a small, sharp spark of anger that surprised me. Was it really too much to ask to be shown the way? Was confusion part of the test? Or did no one here care enough to consider what it felt like to be lost inside someone else's world?
Men, I scolded silently. All power, no sense.
I stepped into the hallway anyway.
The mansion looked different in daylight—less like a nightmare, more like a cold, watchful presence. Dark walls stretched endlessly, broken only by tall windows and the occasional piece of art. My footsteps echoed softly, reminding me again and again that I didn't belong.
I walked slowly, carefully, trying not to look like I was afraid.
I wasn't sure how far I had gone when I saw a guard stationed at the end of the corridor. He stood rigid, facing forward, his expression unreadable. The sight of him made my pulse quicken.
I hesitated, then forced myself to approach.
"Excuse me," I said quietly.
He turned his head toward me, his eyes sharp but not unkind.
"I'm supposed to go to the capo's office," I said. "Could you tell me where that is?"
For a moment, he studied me. I felt exposed under his gaze, like he could see straight through me—see the fear, the exhaustion, the girl who was pretending she wasn't breaking apart inside.
Finally, he nodded.
"Down the east corridor," he said, pointing. "Second staircase. Top floor. Last door on the right."
"Thank you," I whispered.
He didn't respond, already turning back to his post.
I followed the direction he had given me, my heart pounding harder with every step. The further I walked, the more my chest tightened. Each corridor felt longer than the last, each staircase heavier beneath my feet.
This was his domain.
I was just passing through it.
By the time I reached the top floor, my hands were shaking. I paused at the end of the hallway, staring at the door he had described. It was larger than the others, darker, guarded by an unspoken sense of authority.
I thought of my mother.
I thought of her hands in mine, the way she had squeezed them as if trying to memorize the feeling. I thought of her voice telling me I didn't have to be brave.
But I did.
I squared my shoulders.
For her.
I raised my hand and knocked.
The sound echoed louder than it should have.
I stood there, waiting, my heart racing, knowing that whatever waited behind that door had the power to change everything.
And this time, there was no turning back.