Sleep evaded me like a mischievous spirit, darting away each time I neared its edges.
My mind replayed the gala in fragments, the diamond collar tight around my throat, Leonardo's possessive hands, the masked stranger's penetrating stare. By dawn, I'd given up entirely, watching sunlight creep across the ceiling of my luxurious prison.
The dress from last night lay discarded on the floor where I'd let it fall, red silk pooled like blood. I'd scrubbed my skin raw in the shower afterward, as if I could wash away Leonardo's lingering touch, the phantom press of his fingers against my spine, my waist, my hip.
My body ached with tension and exhaustion as I slipped from the bed, wrapping myself in a robe that probably cost more than a month's rent for my apartment above the flower shop. Three days. That's all it had taken for my carefully constructed life to disintegrate, leaving me back where I'd started,trapped in a cage, awaiting a predator's pleasure.
The bedroom door was unlocked this morning, a small surprise that immediately put me on guard.
What game was Leonardo playing now?
I pushed it open cautiously, half-expecting to find him lounging in the hallway, ready with some new torment.
Instead, the corridor stretched empty and silent in both directions.
Testing my boundaries, I wandered through the east wing, noting the locations of stairwells, elevators, service doors, anything that might offer escape. Each turn brought another revelation about the estate's vastness. Artwork worth millions adorned the walls, Persian rugs cushioned my steps, and security cameras tracked my every move from discreet corners.
Eventually, my exploration led to a room at the end of the hall ..a library with floor-to-ceiling shelves and leather chairs that smelled of pipe tobacco and old money..
I trailed my fingers along book spines, surprised to find worn paperbacks mixed among leather-bound classics. Hemingway nestled beside Dante, Austen alongside Machiavelli.
"Looking for something specific?"
I whirled around to find Leonardo in the doorway, dressed casually in black trousers and a gray cashmere sweater that clung to his broad shoulders.
Without his usual suit, he looked almost human, almost.
"Just exploring my prison's perimeter." I replied, dropping my hand from the books.
"Prison?" He stepped into the room, closing the distance between us with unhurried confidence. "Most prisoners don't sleep on thousand-thread-count sheets or wear silk robes."
"Luxury doesn't equal freedom."
"Freedom is overrated." He was close enough now that I caught his scent, sandalwood and coffee and something darker underneath. "What most people call freedom is actually just chaos. Structure provides security."
"Is that what you tell yourself to justify kidnapping?"
His lips twitched. "I don't need justification, April. I take what's mine." He gestured to the shelves around us. "The library is at your disposal. I recall you were quite the reader as a child."
The casual mention of my childhood, of things he shouldn't know, sent ice through my veins. "You've been watching me for a long time, haven't you?"
"Since you were sixteen," he confirmed without shame. "Your father was proud of your intelligence, though he never told you. He showed me your school essays once, said you had a mind sharp enough to run the family business someday."
The revelation was... daunting.
My father, proud? The same man who criticized every decision, who treated me like a decorative object to be traded for political advantage?
It didn't fit the man I'd known.
"You're lying," I said flatly.
Leonardo shrugged. "Believe what you want. Marco was many things, most of them despicable, but he recognized quality when he saw it." His eyes never left mine. "As do I."
Before I could formulate a response, Mrs. Ricci appeared in the doorway, her expression as impassive as ever.
"The car is ready sir," she announced.
Leonardo nodded. "I'll be going into the city for meetings. I expect to return by dinner." His gaze settled back on me with renewed intensity. "Mrs. Ricci will provide anything you need, within reason. The grounds are at your disposal, but the gates remain locked. Any attempt to leave will be...discouraged."
"You mean I'll be shot."
"I mean you'll be stopped," he corrected. "How painfully depends entirely on your methods." He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear with deceptive gentleness. "Be smart, Piccola Rosa. Don't make me hurt you."
With that, he turned and left, leaving behind only the phantom sensation of his fingers against my skin.
Mrs. Ricci lingered in the doorway. "Breakfast is served in the small dining room, Miss De Luca. Afterward, Mr. Russo suggested you might want to familiarize yourself with the gardens."
"Did Mr. Russo also suggest what I should wear while admiring his roses? Perhaps another collar?"
If my sarcasm affected her, she didn't show it. "Your closet has been fully stocked with appropriate attire for all activities."
"How thoughtful," I muttered.
After she left, I remained in the library, the temporary solitude precious after days of constant surveillance. For a brief, desperate moment, I considered barricading myself inside, building a fortress of leather-bound classics against the world Leonardo was forcing upon me.
Instead, I returned to my room, changed into the least offensive outfit I could find, jeans and a simple blouse, and made my way downstairs.
The estate felt different without Leonardo's presence. The staff moved more freely, speaking in normal tones rather than hushed whispers. I ate breakfast alone in a room designed for intimate gatherings, the silence broken only by the clink of silverware against fine china.
Afterward, restlessness drove me outside.
The gardens were spectacular in daylight, acres of manicured lawns and carefully tended beds, stone pathways winding between fountains that sparkled in the morning sun.
Under different circumstances, I might have found it beautiful.
My wandering eventually led me back to the greenhouse where I'd destroyed the rare roses. The damaged plants had been removed, the space immaculate once more. Fresh soil filled the empty beds, waiting for new specimens. A silent message: try again, do better.
I left quickly, unwilling to contemplate what Leonardo's 'gardening lessons' might entail.
Hours passed as I explored the grounds, mapping exits and security measures.
By midafternoon, the futility of escape was clear. Guards patrolled the perimeter, cameras covered every angle, and the walls stood fifteen feet high with nasty-looking wire along the top. Even if I could scale them, motion sensors would alert security before I reached the other side.
I was truly trapped.
Exhaustion finally drove me back inside. After showering away the day's sweat and frustration, I surveyed the closet's offerings with growing resentment.
Everything fit perfectly, as if Leonardo had memorized every curve of my body. The thought sent a chill down my spine.
What else did he know about me? How long had he been planning this? How many years had he spent watching, waiting, before finally making his move?
As I pulled a clean shirt over my head, my elbow knocked against the bedside lamp, sending it crashing to the floor. The ceramic base shattered, revealing something hidden inside its hollow center, a small leather-bound book I recognized instantly.
Giulia's diary.
but how could it..
My hands trembled as I lifted it, hardly daring to believe what I was seeing. The worn cover, the ribbon bookmark, the faint scent of lavender that had always clung to my nanny, it was unmistakably hers.
How had it gotten here? Leonardo had claimed Giulia died soon after my escape. Had he taken her possessions? Or had she somehow planted it here, knowing I would eventually be brought to this house? ...or was this some play by Leonardo?
I opened it with reverent fingers, tears blurring my vision as Giulia's familiar handwriting swam into focus.