The following morning, Clara woke to find a tray of breakfast on the table beside her bed. It was an elegant spread: croissants, fruit, freshly squeezed juice, and coffee. But Clara's stomach twisted in knots at the sight. She had no appetite, not in this prison. The previous night's events still hung heavy in her mind, the questions, the fears, and the unspoken tension between her and Benjamin.
After a long, silent breakfast, she was led to a lavishly furnished sitting room. The heavy curtains were drawn, casting the room in dim light. The man who had brought her to this room left without a word, leaving Clara to wait in silence.
It wasn't long before Benjamin entered. He looked every bit the mafia king he was: powerful, ruthless, and yet… there was something unsettlingly gentle in the way he approached her. His expression was unreadable, his eyes focused, though his movements were deliberate, almost slow as if he was measuring each step.
Clara stood as he entered. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched under a microscope.
"I need your help," Benjamin said, his voice quiet but firm. "You may not understand why you're here, but you can either cooperate, or things will get worse."
Clara's eyes narrowed. "How could you say that to me? You've taken everything away from me. My life, my freedom."
"I'm not here to make things harder," he replied. "I just need the truth."
Clara hesitated. She knew he was dangerous, but there was a part of her that wanted to understand more, that wanted to find a way out of this nightmare. She was no longer a pawn—she was now a key player in a game she didn't fully understand.