Chapter 5 Fear

Isla POV

I didn't know how long I sat there after Vince left-my body a rigid thing, my breath a ghost in my chest. Time passed in strange ways inside that room, where the fire still crackled and the scent of him lingered like smoke trapped in velvet.

Eventually, I moved.

Because what else could I do?

My limbs ached from holding tension too long. My knees creaked as I stood. The silence had returned, that strange hush that settled over everything here like snow-beautiful, suffocating.

I opened the door slowly.

The hallway beyond was empty.

I stepped out, my bare feet whispering against the cold stone floor. I wasn't sure where I was going, only that I had to move, to do something, to find air again.

I followed the corridor, passing closed doors and dark portraits. A man in one of them looked down at me with cold eyes and a cruel mouth. He could've been Vince's ancestor-he had that same sharp, unforgiving bone structure.

Eventually, the hallway opened into a grand dining room. I stopped at the threshold.

It was beautiful.

High ceilings. A long mahogany table, polished until it shone like wet obsidian. Tall windows draped in heavy velvet. A chandelier above, glittering even in daylight. Silverware lined each place setting like weapons. And in the center of the table, untouched, was more food-freshly arranged platters of croissants, eggs, fruit, carved meats.

I swallowed hard.

Then I heard it.

Voices. Clattering dishes. The metallic ring of cutlery.

I followed the sound around a corner and pushed through a swinging door.

And stepped into the kitchen.

It was alive in here. A stark contrast to the stillness I'd grown used to. Stainless steel gleamed under warm lights. Pots bubbled on the stove. Pans hissed. Maids and cooks moved in practiced rhythm. Someone was chopping herbs. Someone else slid a tray of pastries into a massive oven. The smell hit me-savory, sweet, real.

I froze just inside the door.

Then she turned.

The woman from earlier.

She clocked me immediately, her mouth tightening as she stepped away from a butcher's block.

"Miss Isla," she said sharply, her voice slicing through the chaos like a whip.

I straightened instinctively. Her eyes were dark, framed by fine lines, and she wore authority like armor.

"I'm Sofia," she said. "Head housekeeper. You'll remember that."

I nodded, trying not to shrink beneath her stare.

Her gaze swept over me. Not kindly.

"You didn't eat the breakfast left for you."

"I-I wasn't hungry," I managed.

"That's not your decision to make," she snapped. "You eat when food is provided. You need your strength if you plan to work."

Work?

She didn't give me time to ask. "Camila!"

A younger woman with warm brown skin and honey-colored eyes looked up from where she was arranging fruit.

"Yes, Ms. Sofia?"

"Get her fed. Then take her to the laundry quarters. There's a uniform waiting."

"Yes, ma'am."

Sofia turned back to me. "You earn your place here, girl. Don't expect special treatment because he picked you."

Then she walked away without another word.

I stood frozen until Camila approached, offering me a soft, slightly apologetic smile.

"Come," she said gently, guiding me to a stool near the prep counter. She set down a small plate-soft scrambled eggs, toast, and a slice of orange.

"Eat. Please. Ms. Sofia's bark is worse than her bite. Most days."

I ate, slowly. Camila stayed nearby, slicing strawberries with easy grace.

"I'm Camila, by the way," she said. "But everyone calls me Cami."

"Isla."

She nodded like she already knew. "Yeah. We all know."

When I finished, she took the plate and led me through a narrow hall that branched off the kitchen. We descended a short flight of stairs into a cooler, plainer space-the servants' wing. She opened a door into a small linen room, where folded uniforms sat stacked like bricks.

She handed me one.

Black. Modest. Clean. A maid's uniform.

"Get changed," she said. "I'll wait outside."

I stared at the clothes in my hands.

Another cage. Just... softer.

Still, I changed.

The fabric was crisp, a little stiff. The collar high. The hem hit just below my knees. When I stepped out, Cami gave me a nod of approval.

"Come on. You'll meet the rest."

Back in the kitchen, the rhythm hadn't slowed.

Cami guided me around the space, introducing names I tried to memorize.

"That's Giulia," she pointed to an older woman stirring a massive pot. "Head cook. Don't mess with her recipes."

Giulia gave me a once-over, then returned to her sauce.

"That's Matteo-he runs supplies. Clara does desserts. Enzo helps with deliveries."

I waved, unsure if I was supposed to.

Then Cami lowered her voice.

"And her-" she jerked her chin toward a tall, red-lipped girl with high cheekbones and a stare like broken glass "-that's Milly. Watch out for her."

Milly looked over. She smiled. It wasn't friendly.

"She's been here a while," Cami added quietly. "Thinks Vince is going to marry her someday."

That hit me harder than it should have.

Milly walked past us, brushing my shoulder just hard enough to make me stumble.

"Slut," she muttered, not quietly enough.

Cami grabbed my arm before I could react. "Let it go," she whispered.

I swallowed hard.

For the next hour, I washed vegetables. Cami worked beside me, making small talk. I learned she was twenty-two. She'd come here after her older brother racked up gambling debts. She smiled easily, but it never reached her eyes.

"None of us chose this, you know," she said quietly. "But you survive. You learn to survive."

I didn't know what to say.

Sofia returned as I was drying my hands.

"You'll clean the lower west room," she instructed. "It's empty. No one goes down there, so don't dawdle."

She handed me a cloth and a spray bottle.

Cami shot me a look-one I couldn't read.

I left the kitchen, following her directions.

Down the hall. Past the grand staircase. Through a colder corridor, where the air felt heavier.

I found the door. It creaked open with a groan.

The room was dim. I started to clean, wiping down surfaces, folding linens that didn't look used.

Then I heard it.

A scream.

Ragged. Broken.

I froze.

Another scream. Closer now.

Male. Agonized.

I shouldn't. I knew I shouldn't.

But I followed the sound anyway.

Down the hall. Around the corner.

A thick wooden door stood slightly ajar.

I crept closer.

Voices. Low. Threatening.

I pushed the door open a fraction and looked inside.

What I saw hit me like a punch to the stomach.

The room was stone. Cold. Stark.

And in the center-

A man was tied to a chair.

Bloody. Bare-chested. Bruised beyond recognition.

Vince stood over him, sleeves rolled, forearms spattered in red.

Another man stood beside him Rocco, I remembered. "The Enforcer."

On a tray near them-tools. Not medical ones.

Rusty pliers. A blowtorch. A scalpel. A hammer.

Vince took the pliers and gripped the man's hand.

"No more lies," he said softly.

Then, without warning-

He crushed the man's finger.

I slapped a hand over my mouth to muffle my scream.

The man cried out, body jerking.

Another finger.

And another.

Vince was methodical. Unhurried. His expression didn't change.

Then the blowtorch.

A low flame roared to life.

Vince pressed it against the man's leg.

The stench of burning flesh filled the air.

I stumbled back, but the door creaked.

Every head turned.

Vince's gaze found me instantly.

His eyes locked on mine.

Cold. Absolute.

"Bring her in," he said.

Rucco opened the door fully.

I stood frozen, shaking.

Vince pointed to the chair across from the man. "Sit."

I didn't move.

"Now."

I sat.

I couldn't breathe.

Couldn't think.

Vince stepped closer, crouching beside me.

"You wanted to see what this life is, Isla?" he whispered. "Then watch."

He forced my chin toward the bleeding man.

"This is what happens to traitors."

I sobbed. Quietly. Hopelessly.

He didn't stop.

And I watched.

Every second of it.

Every scream, every broken bone, every burn.

Until the man stopped screaming.

Until he stopped moving.

And even then-

Vince didn't look away from me.

Neither did I.

Because I couldn't.

Because in that moment, I understood exactly what he meant when he said-

You belong to me now.