APRIL
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I woke disoriented, sunlight streaming through unfamiliar windows. For one blissful moment, my mind was blank, then reality crashed over me like ice water.
The flower shop. Leonardo. The car.
My prison.
I bolted upright, taking in my surroundings. The room was obscenely large, with vaulted ceilings and cream-colored walls adorned with tasteful artwork. The bed beneath me was king-sized, the sheets Egyptian cotton against my skin. A sitting area with plush armchairs occupied one corner, while floor-to-ceiling windows revealed manicured gardens beyond.
A beautiful cage, but a cage nonetheless.
I realized with a start that I was wearing silk pajamas that weren't mine. Someone had changed my clothes while I was unconscious. The violation sent a wave of nausea through me. Had it been Leonardo? One of his staff? Either possibility made my skin crawl.
Sliding from the bed, I padded barefoot to the nearest door. Locked. The next revealed an en-suite bathroom with marble fixtures and a shower large enough for four people. The third door was a walk-in closet filled with women's clothing, all in my size, all with designer labels still attached.
He'd been planning this.... For how long?
The windows were my next target. I rushed to them, fingers scrambling for latches, but they didn't open. When I pressed my face to the glass, I could see we were at least three stories up. Even if I could break the window, the fall would likely kill me.
Which, at the moment, didn't seem like the worst option.
"I wouldn't." a cool voice said from behind me.
I whirled around to find a woman standing in the now-open bedroom door. She was perhaps fifty, with steel-gray hair pulled into a severe bun and the rigid posture of someone who'd spent decades in service.
"The windows are reinforced," she continued, her accent Northern Italian. "And there are consequences for attempted property damage."
"Who are you?" I demanded, hating how my voice trembled.
"Mrs. Ricci. Head of household staff." Her eyes swept over me, assessing and dismissive all at once. "Mr. Russo instructed me to inform you that breakfast will be served on the east terrace in thirty minutes. You are to dress appropriately."
"And if I refuse?"
Mrs. Ricci's expression didn't change. "Then you will not eat. The choice is yours Miss De Luca."
I flinched at hearing my real name. "It's Hannah."
"Not in this house." She gestured to the closet. "Thirty minutes. I suggest you don't keep Mr. Russo waiting."
The door closed behind her with a decisive click. I heard the lock engage, a sound that would become all too familiar in the days ahead.
For several minutes, I remained frozen, fighting back tears of frustration. I wouldn't cry. I wouldn't give Leonardo the satisfaction.
Instead, I stormed into the bathroom and turned the shower to scalding. As steam filled the room, I scrubbed my skin raw, as if I could wash away the past twenty-four hours. When I finally emerged, my skin was red and tender, but I felt marginally more in control.
The closet mocked me with its bounty of expensive clothing, all chosen by him, all meant to transform me into whatever vision he had of April De Luca. I grabbed the simplest items I could find: black trousers and a white blouse, ignoring the dresses and heels.
Small rebellions. That's all I had left.
When the lock turned again precisely thirty minutes later, Mrs. Ricci found me dressed and waiting, my damp hair pulled back into a severe ponytail.
"This way," she said, turning without checking if I followed.
I had no choice but to trail behind her through corridors decorated with antique furniture and paintings worth more than my entire shop. The house was massive, a sprawling estate that spoke of old money and older cruelty.
The east terrace overlooked a stunning view of Lake Como, the water glittering in the morning sun. In another life, I might have found it beautiful.
Now it only emphasized how far I was from the safety of my small town.
Leonardo sat at a table laden with food, reading something on a tablet. He wore a crisp white shirt open at the collar, revealing the tanned column of his throat. Without his suit jacket, I could see the lean muscle of his forearms as he reached for his coffee.
He didn't look up as I approached, though I knew he was aware of every step.
"Sit," he commanded, still not looking at me.
I remained standing.
Slowly, he raised his eyes from the screen. "I said, sit."
"I'm not hungry."
"I don't care if you're hungry or not. You will sit, and you will eat." His voice was soft but edged with steel. "Your health is now my concern, and I won't have you fainting like some Victorian heroine."
I glared at him, hating how effortlessly he commanded the space around him. Hating even more the tiny flutter of fear, or something else, that rippled through me under his gaze.
"Why the hell am I here?" I asked, still standing. "What do you want from me?"
Leonardo set down his tablet with deliberate slowness. "You're here because you belong here. With me. As was arranged."
"I never agreed to any arrangement."
"Your consent wasn't required." He gestured to the chair again. "Last chance to sit willingly April."
Something in his tone warned me that defying him further would end badly. I sat, back rigid, hands folded in my lap.
"Good girl," he murmured, the condescension making my teeth grind. "Now eat."
The spread before me was extravagant, fresh fruit, pastries, eggs prepared three ways, imported cheeses.
My stomach growled traitorously, reminding me I hadn't eaten since yesterday morning.