Chapter 6 A LIFE I DIDN'T ASK FOR

(Ariana's POV)

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The SUV's leather seats were so soft, I almost felt bad bleeding on them.

Almost.

If I leaned back too far, I'd sink into the cushion like I was being absorbed into mafia-flavored memory foam. Every bump in the road made my ribs scream and reminded me that this wasn't a dream it was just a really, really stupid chapter in the book of What the Hell is My Life?

The men in front said nothing. Silent types. Professional. Boring. Maybe their mouths were glued shut or maybe they'd taken a vow of mafia monkhood. I didn't ask. I just glared at the back of their heads and imagined kicking them both in the neck. It made me feel better.

We drove in silence. No radio, no conversation. Just the low hum of the engine and the occasional sound of my dignity deflating.

It was still dark outside, but the kind of dark that hints at morning. The sky was soft and blue, like it didn't know someone's entire world had just imploded.

I slumped in the seat and stared out the tinted window, wondering how Renzo could vanish like that. How someone who'd held my hand like I was breakable could disappear without a fight.

Stupid.

I was stupid.

Maybe I always had been.

But then again, who has time for critical thinking when you're being sold like a goat in a silk dress?

We arrived at the gates just after dawn.

And when I say gates, I don't mean like regular human gates. No. These were gates that had opinions. They were tall, black, and ornate-like someone paid an architect to make them look rich and judgmental.

The SUV slowed, then rolled through.

On either side of the driveway, I saw manicured hedges, trimmed with the kind of precision that screamed we don't have real problems here. The lawn was the type of green that probably had its own skincare routine. Birds chirped somewhere overhead, and for one horrifying second, I wondered if I'd been kidnapped into a luxury rehab center.

And then the house came into view.

Correction: The castle.

It wasn't just big, it was obnoxious. A mansion with too many windows, too much stone, and the emotional warmth of a bank vault. If this was my new home, I hoped they offered a map. Or a tour. Preferably one that ended with a portal back to my old, miserable-but-familiar life.

The SUV stopped in front of a curved driveway. One of the silent mafia monks opened the door and motioned for me to get out.

I stared at him.

"Do I get a 'Welcome to the Family' balloon, or do we skip straight to the dungeon?"

He didn't answer. Just wait.

Fine.

I got out, legs shaky, pride even shakier.

The sun was rising now, spilling soft light across the marble steps. For a second, everything looked almost beautiful.

Then I remembered who I was here for.

And beauty turned to bile.

---

He was waiting in the doorway.

Leone Maurizio.

Even his name sounded like something you'd find printed in gold on a coffin.

He didn't say anything just watched me like I was a package he'd been expecting but hoped would arrive less wrinkled. He wore a black shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the kind of expensive casual that screamed I could ruin your life and still make it look sexy.

I tried not to notice his face.

I really did.

But unfortunately, my brain is a traitor.

Leone wasn't just dangerous. He was dangerously beautiful. The kind of man you should never be alone with in a room unless you have pepper spray or a contract.

His eyes were unreadable. Cold. Calculating. And for some reason, they lingered a little too long on my busted lip.

"Come in," he said simply.

Like we were starting a brunch meeting. Not a hostage situation.

I didn't move.

He raised an eyebrow, just slightly. "I don't like repeating myself."

"Oh? I don't like being dragged into stranger mansions," I replied, folding my arms.

One of the men behind me tensed.

Leone didn't blink. "Then we're already getting to know each other. Inside."

I walked past him, chin up, pretending my knees weren't jelly and my soul wasn't screaming. The entrance hall was massive. Everything was polished marble, silver fixtures, and wealth that made my spine itch. It even smelled expensive like vanilla, leather, and injustice.

A maid appeared like magic and took my coat well, the torn cardigan I'd worn during my botched escape. She didn't look at me. Probably had a strict no eye contact with the bride-prisoner policy.

Leone led me into a large sitting room that looked like it had never hosted a single fun conversation in its entire existence.

He gestured to the couch.

I sat.

He sat across from me, perfectly comfortable in his throne-like armchair. A glass of something amber sat on the table beside him. Probably whiskey. Or disappointment.

We sat in silence for a moment.

Then he said, "Tell me. Were you planning to walk to freedom barefoot through wolf-infested woods, or did you think your lover would carry you the whole way?"

My cheeks burned. "Excuse me?"

"Renzo," he said, voice calm but sharp. "I know he helped you."

I blinked. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He tilted his head, amused. "Lie better. If you want to survive here, you'll need to improve your technique."

"I wasn't aware survival required performance skills," I muttered.

"Oh, in this house, everything is a performance."

He poured himself a drink.

Didn't offer me one.

Rude.

"So," I said, unable to stop myself, "what now? Do I get a tour? Or straight to the gilded cage?"

He chuckled, the sound low and unsettling. "That depends. Are you going to run again?"

I didn't answer.

"I wouldn't bother. You'd be dead before your feet hit the gravel."

My stomach turned. "Charming."

He stood and walked over to me, slow, measured. Then just when I thought he might lean down and say something horrible he did something worse.

He handed me a packet of ice.

"For your face."

My pride wanted to slap it out of his hand.

But my cheek was already swollen and pulsing.

I took it.

"Thank you," I said, through gritted teeth.

He didn't respond.

Instead, he turned away and walked toward the hall. "A maid will show you to your room. You'll stay there unless called. Eat what's given. Speak when spoken to."

"And if I don't?"

He paused, glancing over his shoulder.

"Then you'll find out just how little patience I have for ungrateful debt."

And then he was gone.

The maid, tiny, tight-lipped, with sad eyes led me up two flights of stairs and down a hallway that looked like it belonged in a museum. The room she opened was ridiculous. A chandelier. A four-poster bed. Silk sheets. A bathtub big enough to drown my feelings in.

I walked in like it didn't impress me.

Mostly because I was too tired to be impressed.

The maid closed the door quietly behind me.

And then I was alone.

Truly, heartbreakingly alone.

I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the untouched luxury around me.

A week ago, I was sweeping floors and dodging Greta's insults. Now I was in a mansion owned by a mafia king, waiting to be claimed like lost luggage.

I pressed the ice against my cheek and exhaled.

And then, for reasons I'll never fully understand...

...I laughed.

Just a little.

Because if I didn't?

I'd cry so hard the walls would peel.

Like I even have the strength to cry, I hope they would be nice enough to give me something to eat. I am just a girl, I said under my breath. I think my tear glands are malfunctioning, because I want to cry but it isn't coming.