Chapter 3 SHE'S NOT INNOCENT

AVA's POV

The first thing I notice when I wake is silence.

Not the kind of silence I'm used to-the heavy, fearful kind, punctuated by shouting, slamming doors, footsteps that mean pain is coming. This silence is cleaner. Too clean.

I sit up slowly, every muscle in my body aching like it's been trampled. The pain in my side has dulled to a deep throb, but it's manageable. My head still spins when I move too fast, but I've had worse.

I look around again.

The room is just as unfamiliar as the night before. It's not lavish-nothing like the mansions I imagined mafia men lived in-but it's sleek. Modern. Stone walls. Hardwood floors. A fireplace, extinguished. Minimal decor. No windows. There's a tray on the nightstand with toast, eggs, and tea. I eye it suspiciously.

Poison? Drugged?

I don't touch it.

My stomach growls anyway.

The clothes I'm wearing are clean, soft, clearly new. The kind that says someone picked them out while I was unconscious. It makes my skin crawl. I don't like the idea of someone touching me while I wasn't aware, even if it saved my life.

I throw off the blanket and swing my legs to the floor. My bare feet meet cold wood, and I tiptoe toward the door.

It's unlocked.

That's either good... or very bad.

I ease it open and step into a hallway that feels too quiet. Like a museum after hours. Everything is polished and dim, the lights above casting long shadows down the corridor.

I walk, slowly. Cautiously.

I don't know what I'm looking for. An exit maybe. A weapon. Something that proves I'm not a prisoner here-even if it feels like I am.

I turn a corner and freeze.

There's a man leaning against a kitchen island, scrolling on his phone. Late twenties, tall, tatted neck, black tee. His face is sharp in the way men like Dominic seem to be carved-hard lines, permanent scowl.

He notices me before I can disappear.

"Well, you're awake," he says, straightening.

I don't respond.

He nods toward the cabinets. "There's coffee. Tea. Food. You don't look like you've eaten in days."

"I'm fine," I lie.

He gives me a once-over. Not leering, but curious. "You're Ava, right?"

I stiffen. "And you are?"

"Luca."

I recognize the name. Dominic mentioned him in the club. His cousin, maybe. Or second-in-command.

"Are you the one who cleaned me up?" I ask, voice sharper than intended.

He snorts. "Hell no. I don't touch half-dead girls. Adrian patched you up."

"Adrian?"

"Private medic. Doesn't ask questions."

I cross my arms. "What is this place?"

Luca shrugs. "Dominic's safehouse. You're here because you had something he wanted."

"My necklace."

"Among other things." He studies me. "You really don't know what you walked into, do you?"

"I didn't walk into anything," I snap. "I was thrown into a van and left to rot in an alley."

His face darkens slightly. "You're lucky he found you. Could've been anyone else."

"Lucky," I echo bitterly.

Luca walks to the fridge and pulls out a bottle of water. He tosses it to me. I catch it on instinct.

"Don't worry. It's not drugged," he smirks.

"You think this is funny?"

"No," he says, voice flat. "I think it's tragic. But that's kind of the theme around here."

I grip the bottle tighter, unsure whether to throw it at him or drink it.

"Is there a door out of here?" I ask.

Luca gives me a long look. "There's lots of doors. None that open for you."

So I am a prisoner.

He shrugs like it's nothing personal. "Dom says you stay. You stay."

I clench my jaw. "I'm not a pet."

"Didn't say you were."

He turns and leaves without another word. And just like that, I'm alone again.

---

I spend the next hour pacing the hall, counting exits, trying doors. Some are locked. Some aren't. But they all lead to places that feel like mazes-steel-reinforced windows, guards outside. No phones. No clocks.

Every time I think I've found something that could get me out, I find another dead end.

This isn't a home. It's a prison with good lighting.

Eventually, I go back to the room. My head is pounding. My body is weak. My anger is the only thing keeping me upright.

The necklace sits on the nightstand now, like bait. I snatch it up and hold it in my fist.

Dominic Voss wants answers? So do I.

---

DOMINIC

I watch her on the monitor.

She's angry. Suspicious. Smart enough to test every door, dumb enough to think they'll open. She's thin. Lethal in her own way, though I doubt she knows it.

I don't keep people in this house. It's where I go when I need silence. To think. To remember things I shouldn't.

But I brought her here.

Not to save her.

To study her.

Ava Moretti.

The name means nothing. But the necklace? That meant everything.

She was wearing it like it was just silver and glass. As if it hadn't belonged to Isabella. As if my sister hadn't died screaming while wearing that same chain.

Or vanished.

There's only one way a girl like Ava ends up with that necklace.

She was either there when Isabella died.

Or she isn't Ava Moretti at all.

She's a liar.

But I can't look at her without feeling something twist inside me. Something I thought I buried years ago.

She's the past clawing its way back.

And I'm going to break her open until I find out why.