Chapter 4 THE DEVIL WAITS SILENTLY

Leone's POV – "The Devil Waits Silently"

I knew she'd run.

Even before Riccardo stormed in, breathless and wide-eyed. Before the guards scrambled. Before the house stirred like a beast waking too late. I already knew.

There was a look in her eyes yesterday - not fear, not even hate. Just a quiet, burning thing. Most people miss it. But I've learned to see fire before it spreads.

"She's gone," Riccardo said, catching his breath. "She had help."

I didn't look at him. Just kept watching the paused security footage. Her face frozen in motion, grainy and blurry but still, that expression. Fierce. Panicked. Alive.

And then he said the words I'd been expecting:

"She almost made it."

I turned away from the screen, finally.

"Almost," I repeated. "Not quite."

Riccardo nodded. "She's back in holding. We intercepted them before the perimeter. There was... a fight. Two men died."

"And the one with her?"

"Injured. Got away. We don't know who he is yet, but he's not just some street rat. He knew how to fight. Real training."

Of course he did.

Though I know she was going to run away, like, who would want to be sold to a beast? But I didn't send those men, and the guy who was trying to take what's mine thankfully saved her from being taken away. Who the hell is he? And Ariana is a lot of trouble.

---

They think I didn't notice her bruises the first night. That I didn't see the shape of Greta's fingerprints across her cheek. The slight swell beneath her eye. She never mentioned it, and neither did I.

But I knew.

I had been standing just outside the room when it happened. Close enough to hear Greta's voice echo off the marble: "Spoiled little brat. You should be grateful he even wants you."

Then a sharp sound skin hitting skin.

Ariana didn't scream.

She didn't cry either.

She stood still, chin lifted, eyes locked on the woman who had just struck her.

Greta called it discipline. I called it weakness.

She thinks striking a girl half her size makes her strong. I think letting someone like Ariana live with that moment is more powerful than any slap.

Later, Greta had the nerve to meet my eyes like she expected a pat on the back. I said nothing. Just stared long enough to make her uncomfortable.

She doesn't know it yet, but I already started writing her ending.

---

Downstairs, one of the attackers was still alive. Not for long, though.

They'd tied him to a chair - arms limp, face swollen, blood crusted over a torn lip. Sloppy work. My men weren't usually this emotional, but I understood. The girl they were supposed to protect had almost been taken, and someone got the drop on them.

"Leave us," I said.

They filed out silently.

The man lifted his head, barely. "You... Maurizio?"

I didn't answer.

He smiled, a sick kind of smile. "She was something. Fought like a-"

I didn't let him finish.

I drove a pen - nothing fancy, just the one in my coat pocket - into his thigh, straight through the muscle. Not deep enough to kill. Just enough to remind him I was still deciding if he got to leave here alive.

"You were saying?"

He gasped, choked. "We were paid... someone said the girl would be easy. No guards. They lied."

I watched him shake.

"And the man with her?"

The pause was longer this time. "Didn't know he'd be there. He... wasn't part of our team. Just showed up. Almost gutted Lupo."

Interesting.

I stepped closer. "And you? What did you do when you got your hands on her?"

He didn't speak.

Wrong answer.

I struck him again - cleaner this time. Right across the jaw. Not to punish. Just to remind him.

"Don't lie to me," I said quietly. "Lie to anyone else in this house. But not to me."

He coughed blood. Didn't look up again.

I let him live. Barely.

---

Later, I sat in front of the monitors again, watching frame by frame. Ariana slipped through the side gate. Sprinting barefoot across the back alley. That mysterious figure moving in front of her, shielding her with his body when the ambush hit.

She looked back once.

I paused it there.

Her mouth was open - like she was calling his name. Her eyes were full of panic and something else. Trust?

I hated that look.

Not because it made her weak.

But because it wasn't directed at me.

---

"Do you want us to isolate her again?" Riccardo asked.

I didn't respond right away.

"She's not a prisoner," I said. "She just hasn't learned her place."

"She won't run again," he added.

"She will," I said softly. "But not yet. Next time, she'll make it further."

He blinked. "You want her to run?"

I smirked. "I want her to know she can't."

---

It was nearly dawn by the time I walked past the holding room. I didn't go in. Just stood by the door and listened.

She was awake. Breathing steady. Not crying. She was thinking.

Good.

Let her think. Let her wonder if I'll be the monster they warned her about. The guessing is worse than the truth.

Later that morning, Greta cornered me in the hall. All silk and perfume and irritation.

"She's lucky you didn't let them take her," she said. "Girl's a snake. Spoiled. Rude. You give her too much rope, she'll hang you with it."

"She's not the one who needs a leash," I replied, not even bothering to look at her.

She stiffened.

"I was only trying to help. She doesn't respect this house."

"She doesn't need to respect the house," I said. "She needs to respect me."

And that was the part Greta never understood.

---

I finally entered the observation room a mirror between me and her.

Ariana sat on the small couch, arms wrapped around her knees. Her eyes were open, staring at the blank wall. She hadn't eaten. She hadn't asked for anything.

Her ankle was scratched. Her lip cracked a little. But she didn't look like a defeated girl.

She looked like someone waiting for the next war.

I respected that.

But respect has nothing to do with mercy.

Riccardo stood nearby, waiting for a command.

"Bring her to the winter room," I said. "No cuffs. No guards. Just her."

"Are you sure?"

"She's not going anywhere. Not today."

He nodded and left.

I stayed a while longer, watching her.

There was a time I thought debt collection was just business. Cold. Clean.

But now I know better.

Some debts were delivered in blood. Others... required patience.

And Ariana?

She was both.