Chapter 5 THE RULES

The lights flickered once, then again-faster this time-before plunging the hallway into a low, humming darkness.

Alina froze.

The ornate chandelier overhead dimmed to a faint amber glow, casting long shadows on the marble floor. The portrait of her mother loomed above her, still and silent, but now hauntingly alive under the amber light. Her painted eyes seemed to follow Alina, as if warning her. Protecting her. Or maybe accusing her for standing here at all.

A soft creak echoed behind her.

Alina spun around, heart hammering, eyes struggling to adjust.

Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Booted soles against stone.

Then he appeared.

Luciano emerged from the shadows like something conjured from the dark-a phantom made flesh. He didn't speak at first. Just stood there, tall and still, his face carved in quiet menace. The firelight from a distant room danced across his sharp cheekbones, highlighting the aristocratic line of his jaw, the cold depth of his midnight eyes.

He was unnervingly beautiful. Not soft or pretty-no. His beauty was dangerous. Predatory. His black hair was slicked back from his forehead, revealing a widow's peak that emphasized the severity of his expression. The tailored suit he wore hugged his frame like it had been stitched for his sins-black on black, with a hint of gold at his cufflinks. There was elegance in him, but it was the kind that came with blood on his hands and power in his veins.

His voice, when it came, was low and lethal. "Follow me."

Alina didn't move.

He didn't repeat himself.

Her bare feet were silent against the marble as she reluctantly obeyed, each step hesitant. She passed the portrait again, her eyes drawn back to her mother's painted smile-soft, familiar, and utterly out of place in this cold, violent world.

They walked in silence through corridors that felt too grand to be comforting. Gilt-framed paintings, antique vases, the scent of lavender and aged wood-it all screamed wealth, but it didn't soothe her. Not when she still didn't know why that painting was here. Or how this man knew her name before he ever said it.

Luciano led her into a room that felt like stepping into a different century.

Dark wooden panels lined the walls, shelves bursting with old books in languages she couldn't name. A stone fireplace crackled with orange fire, the only warm thing in the room. A single leather chair sat behind a massive desk carved with ornate detail. The scent of cigar smoke and aged bourbon clung to the air like memory.

He closed the door behind her with a click.

Alina turned toward him, fists clenched at her sides. "Why is my mother's portrait in your house?"

Luciano didn't answer. He moved behind the desk, poured himself a rich amber liquid and sat, folding his hands on the polished surface. He gestured to the chair opposite him.

"Sit."

"I'll stand."

"Sit," he repeated, quieter this time-but somehow more dangerous.

Jaw tight, she lowered herself into the seat.

"I don't like games," Alina said sharply. "You brought me here against my will. You kept me blindfolded. You bought me."

"You weren't blindfolded for my pleasure," he replied. "You were blindfolded for your protection."

She scoffed. "Protection? Is that what you call kidnapping now?"

Luciano's expression didn't change. He reached into a drawer and withdrew a thick black folder. With precise movements, he laid it flat on the desk and turned it to face her.

Alina frowned.

Inside were documents. Pages of signatures, dates, notary stamps. Wire transfer receipts. Legal contracts. And there-at the bottom of the first page-her father's name. Victor Rayne. In pen. Clearly written.

"No," she whispered.

"There is no mistake," Luciano said. "Your father sold you to the Valieri Syndicate to pay off a debt. I paid twenty million to take you from them."

She shook her head. "No, he would never-"

"You're twenty," he interrupted. "You're an adult. But he made you collateral when you were seventeen. He waited until you were of age to cash out."

Alina's mouth went dry. Her eyes scanned the page again, hoping for a forgery, a typo, a lie.

"There's proof of the money. Wire transfers. Bank logs. Surveillance footage of him signing in Rome," Luciano said calmly. "Would you like to see it all?"

She didn't answer. Couldn't.

The betrayal sat like acid in her stomach.

Her father.

Her only living parent. The man who had raised her alone after her mother's death. The man who brought her hot tea when she was sick, who kissed her forehead before school, who told her that she was the last good thing in his life. She knew he was heartbroken and slipped into gambling but she didn't know that he would sell her.

And he had sold her.

Luciano let the silence stretch between them before he continued. "Now that you know the truth, we'll discuss the rules."

Alina's gaze snapped up.

"You're to remain on the estate. You will not attempt to leave. You will be watched at all times. Meals will be brought to you or served in the main dining hall if you're escorted."

"You think I'm just going to accept this?" she snapped.

"You don't have a choice."

"I will escape."

His expression didn't shift. "Try, and you'll fail."

Alina stood, rage bubbling up under her skin. "You think this is normal? You think you can lock me in a gilded prison and I'll just go along with it?"

"You misunderstand the situation," he said, rising slowly. "You are not my prisoner. You are my fiancée."

Her breath caught.

"What?" she said flatly.

Luciano circled the desk. His presence filled the space like smoke-heavy, suffocating. "We will marry in ten days."

Alina backed up a step. "You're insane."

He took another step forward. "It was part of the deal. You belong to me now."

She raised her hand and slapped him.

Or tried to.

He caught her wrist mid-swing, his grip firm but not brutal. Their eyes locked.

"You'll learn to obey me," he said quietly.

She yanked her hand back, heart racing, face flushed with humiliation. "Go to hell."

"Already been," he said. "You'll find it looks a lot like this house."

Alina's chest heaved.

"You can dress it up in fire and silk, Luciano, but it's still a cage."

"I never said it wasn't."

She shook her head, stepping backward until she hit the edge of the chair. "Why me? Why not some other girl at that auction?"

"I had my reasons."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you'll get tonight."

He returned to his desk, the heat of his body still lingering in the air around her.

"You may leave now," he said without looking at her. "Teresa will show you to your room. Again."

"I'm not sleeping here. I'm not eating your food. And I'm not marrying you."

Luciano didn't react. "Do as you wish. But in ten days, we will marry-whether you come to me in silk or chains is entirely up to you."

Alina's lips parted in shock.

"You're a monster."

"No," he said, flipping open a file. "I'm just the man who paid more than your soul was worth."

She stormed out of the office, the firelight chasing her down the hallway.

Back in her room, Alina paced like a caged animal.

The windows didn't open. The glass was reinforced. The door locked from the outside. Teresa had said nothing as she led her back, just offered a polite nod and closed the door behind her.

She wanted to scream. Cry. Throw something.

But she wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

Instead, she stared at the moonlight filtering through the curtains, silver on stone. And then she turned her attention inward-to the one thing she had left:

Her will.

She wouldn't give up.

She wouldn't play house with a devil in a suit.

And she damn sure wasn't going to wear a white dress for a man who thought he could buy her.

Ten days.

That's how long she had.

She would escape this place.

Even if it killed her.