Chapter 4 THE DEVIL'S GAME

Alessia Rizzo's POV

I couldn't escape the feeling that everything in this mansion was designed to watch me, to trap me. The walls, the windows, the doors-all of it felt like a prison. No matter how grand it looked, this place wasn't my home, nor would it ever be.

Marco stepped into the room, his presence filling the space with an unsettling calm. Unlike Donatello, who carried the weight of a predator with every step, Marco had an almost comforting aura. He wasn't as imposing, but something about the way he looked at me told me he wasn't innocent.

"Donatello told me you'd be upset," Marco said, his voice smooth and friendly. "I just wanted to check in on you."

I wasn't sure how to respond. There was no use pretending I wasn't furious. But then again, what could I do? I was trapped here, at the mercy of these men, and no amount of defiance would change that.

"I don't need anyone checking in on me," I replied, my voice harsh, betraying my frustration.

Marco chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it. "You'll need more than just checking in before this is all over, Alessia." His tone had an edge to it that made me uneasy. "But I'm here to help, really. You'll get used to this place, eventually. Donatello doesn't keep people around who don't serve a purpose."

I recoiled slightly, instinctively stepping away from him. "I'm not here to serve anyone," I snapped. "I'm not a tool for your games."

Marco's eyes flickered with something-was it amusement? Or something darker? I couldn't tell.

"You'll learn soon enough that here, everyone serves a purpose," Marco said, his voice colder than before. "You, Alessia, just happen to be a very special case."

I didn't want to ask what that meant. I already had a sinking feeling in my gut. What could possibly make me a "special case" in the eyes of men like them?

Without another word, Marco turned and left, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The quietness of the room felt oppressive.

I sank into the plush chair by the window, my mind racing. This was my life now, wasn't it? Stuck in a gilded cage, a pawn in their twisted game. I had no idea what Donatello wanted with me, but I knew it wouldn't be good. His cold, calculating gaze haunted me, and his words-"You'll learn your place here. Soon enough."-resonated in my mind.

Days blurred together after that. The mansion felt like a house of mirrors, each reflection warped and twisted, giving me a false sense of familiarity. I spent my days in silence, unsure of how to navigate this new reality. There were servants-quiet, efficient, always avoiding eye contact. None of them spoke to me, not that I expected them to. I was just another prisoner in their eyes, another piece of furniture in Donatello's empire.

I saw Donatello only briefly, passing me in the halls, his cold gaze following me wherever I went. He didn't speak to me directly, but the tension in the air was palpable. It was like being stalked by a predator who was waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Then, there were the nights. The nights were the worst. I lay awake in the large bed, staring up at the ceiling, hearing the soft echoes of the house around me-the creaks, the whispers of distant conversations I couldn't make out. It was in the stillness of the night that the fear crept in. What did Donatello want from me? What kind of man was he?

But what scared me more than any of that was the idea that I might never get an answer. That was it. That I had been sold and traded, and my life would never be the same.

One evening, as I sat in the drawing room, lost in my thoughts, the door opened, and Donatello stepped inside. My heart skipped a beat, a mixture of fear and anger flaring up inside me. His presence was overwhelming. He didn't have to say a word for me to feel his power.

"I trust you're settling in?" Donatello asked, his voice smooth, almost too polite. It felt like a mockery.

I didn't answer immediately, just stared at him, my mind whirling. Settling in? Was he joking? How could I settle into a life where my every move was being watched, where my worth was nothing more than the debts of a man I barely knew?

"I don't need your pity, Donatello," I finally said, my voice low but firm.

Donatello's eyes narrowed slightly, but his expression remained calm, unreadable. "I'm not offering you pity, Alessia. I'm offering you a place. A purpose."

I stood up abruptly, pushing past him toward the door. "I don't want your place, and I don't want your purpose," I spat, my voice full of defiance. "I want my freedom."

He didn't move to stop me, but I could feel his gaze on my back as I stormed out of the room.

I didn't get far, though. I was stopped by one of Donatello's men just outside the door. His hand on my arm was firm, not painful, but it held me in place.

"Donatello has requested you stay in your room for the rest of the evening," the man said, his voice flat, no emotion in it.

I pulled away, but I didn't fight. What was the point? This was my life now, a series of commands and restrictions.

I turned and walked back toward my room, my heart heavy. That night, sleep came harder than usual. I couldn't shut my mind off, couldn't stop thinking about the future, about Donatello. He was a man who ruled with an iron fist, who treated people like pawns on a chessboard, moving them however he pleased.

And I was his pawn.

I tried to hold onto the small shred of defiance I had left, but it felt like I was slowly being drained of it. Day by day, I felt more like a ghost, like a shadow that didn't belong in the world anymore.

The days passed in a haze of routine, but the atmosphere in the mansion grew more oppressive with each passing day. The servants moved around like robots, completing their tasks without a word, never acknowledging my presence. Marco would visit occasionally, but his visits were brief, always polite, but cold in their own way.

Donatello seemed content to keep his distance. It was like he was waiting for something, watching me from afar as though studying me for some unknown reason.

Then one evening, as I sat by the window, a voice interrupted my thoughts.

"Alessia."

I turned sharply to find Donatello standing in the doorway, his tall figure looming over me. He had a strange look in his eyes, one that I couldn't quite place.

"You've been here for a while now," he said, his voice almost thoughtful. "You've been quiet. I thought you'd be more...resistant."

I didn't say anything. There was no point. What could I say that would change anything?

"I know you hate me," Donatello continued, stepping into the room. "But you should understand this, Alessia: You're here because I wanted you here. I've had my eye on you for some time. You're more valuable to me than you think."

I couldn't hide the shock on my face. "Valuable?" I repeated. "What could you possibly want with someone like me?"

Donatello's lips twisted into a faint smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You'll understand soon enough. But for now, just know this: You're not as powerless as you think."

As Donatello turned to leave, he paused at the door and glanced back at me. "We'll begin soon. You'll play your part, Alessia. You won't have a choice."

The weight of his words hung in the air, and for the first time since I arrived at the mansion, I felt a cold shiver run down my spine.

I didn't know what game Donatello was playing, but I had a horrible feeling I was about to find out.