Three days pass in silence.
Not a single word from the brothers since I agreed to stay. No summons, no explanations, no visits—nothing. I'm fed well, three meals a day delivered by silent maids who won't meet my eyes.
I'm given free rein of the house, allowed to wander wherever I please except the west wing, which is always locked.
I'm treated like a guest rather than a captive. It's almost worse this way. At least if they locked me up, I'd know where I stood.
This polite limbo feels like psychological torture, and I suspect they know exactly what they're doing. Letting me stew. Letting me imagine. Letting the anticipation eat me alive.
Every creak of a floorboard makes me jump. Every distant voice sends my pulse racing. I lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering when the other shoe will drop.
Wondering which brother will come for me first. Wondering what they'll want when they do.
I wander through the big house I used to clean, seeing it differently now. The marble floors I mopped on my hands and knees. The chandeliers I dusted with a twenty-foot pole, my arms aching by the time I finished.
The windows I scrubbed until they sparkled, invisible to everyone who passed. I was invisible here once—just another servant, beneath notice. Now I'm something else entirely, and I don't know what that is yet.
The house feels different when you're not working in it. Bigger. Emptier. Full of shadows and secrets I never noticed when I was too busy scrubbing to look up.
On the third day, I'm passing through the east wing, trailing my fingers along a mahogany console table I used to polish every Thursday, when a hand clamps around my wrist.
Before I can react, I'm yanked sideways through an open doorway. The room is dim—some kind of parlor, furniture draped in shadows, curtains drawn tight against the afternoon light.
I open my mouth to scream, but another hand covers it, pressing hard against my lips, muffling any sound before it can escape.
I smell expensive cologne. Feel the heat of a body much larger than mine pinning me against the wall. My heart slams against my ribs as I look up into amber eyes gleaming in the low light.
Matteo.
That familiar predatory smile curves his mouth, and he leans close, lips brushing my ear as he speaks.
"I could take you right here, right now," he murmurs, voice like velvet and poison. "End this whole farce before it even starts. What do you think, piccola? Would you scream? Would you fight?"
He laughs softly against my skin. "Or would you melt?"
My heart pounds so hard I'm sure he can feel it. I try to twist away, but he's too strong—his body a cage of muscle and malice, his chest pressed against mine, his thigh wedged between my legs. I can barely breathe.
"You think too much of yourself," he continues, breath hot against my neck. "Screaming at the auction like you had any power. Like your little tantrum meant anything."
His hand slides from my mouth to my throat—not squeezing, just resting there, his thumb pressing lightly against my pulse. A reminder of how easily he could hurt me. How completely I'm at his mercy.
"You're not special, piccola. Not precious. You're a thing. Property. A toy we paid a great deal of money for."
I glare at him, refusing to look away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing my fear. "Go to hell," I manage through gritted teeth.
His smile only widens. "Oh, I've been there. It's overrated."
His thumb traces lazy circles against my throat. "You could have left, you know. Door was wide open. Car waiting. Your freedom, just a few steps away. But you didn't, did you? You stayed."
"For my family."
"Ah yes. The dutiful daughter, sacrificing herself for Mommy and Daddy. How noble. How selfless." His amber eyes burn into mine. "But I don't think that's it. Not really. Not entirely."
"You don't know anything about me."
"I know more than you think."
He leans closer, his lips almost touching mine, and I hate that my breath catches. Hate the way my body responds to his proximity even as my mind screams danger.
"I think you stayed because part of you wants this. Wants to be taken. Claimed. Wants to stop pretending you don't crave something darker than that soft little life you came from."
His voice drops to a whisper. "I saw the way you looked at me when you were scrubbing my floors, piccola. When you thought I wasn't watching."
My blood runs cold. I want to spit in his face, to tell him he's wrong, that he's delusional. But the words won't come. Because some tiny, treacherous part of me wonders if he's right.
"Matteo."
The voice cuts through the room like a blade—cold, flat, commanding.
Luca stands in the doorway, silhouette sharp against the light from the hall. He's in all black, as always, his suit immaculate, his expression carved from stone. But there's steel in his tone. Danger.
"Let her go."
Matteo doesn't move immediately. His eyes stay locked on mine, that infuriating smirk still playing at his lips. I can feel his heartbeat against my chest—steady, controlled, nothing like the wild hammering of my own.
"Just getting acquainted, fratello. No harm done."
"Let. Her. Go."
Something passes between the brothers—a silent battle of wills that lasts only seconds but feels like hours. Old grudges. Unspoken rules. A hierarchy I don't fully understand.
Then Matteo steps back slowly, hands raised in mock surrender.
"So serious, Luca. You really need to relax."
"It hasn't been decided yet." Luca's gaze shifts to me, and I feel pinned all over again—differently this time, colder. Like being examined under a microscope. "Who she belongs to. Until it is, no one touches her."
Matteo laughs softly. "So possessive already. And here I thought you didn't care about the new pet."
Luca ignores him. His attention stays fixed on me. "How long?" I ask, my voice steadier than I feel. "How long is this hell going to last?"
His thin smile returns—the one that never reaches his eyes. "If it ended quickly, signorina, it wouldn't be worth the price we paid."
He turns and walks away, footsteps echoing down the corridor like a countdown. Matteo lingers a moment longer, dragging his gaze over me one last time.
"See you soon, piccola."
Then he's gone too, disappearing into the shadows like smoke.
I stay pressed against the wall, heart racing, skin crawling where he touched me. I can still feel the ghost of his hand on my throat, his breath on my neck, his body pressed against mine.
I wrap my arms around myself and try to breathe. Try to slow the pounding of my heart.
This is my life now. Trapped between three predators, waiting to see which one devours me first.