CAPTIVE

KIARA

I don’t know what time it is. Locked in here, time doesn’t pass—it stagnates.

The room is spacious, far too spacious for a prisoner. I have a massive bed, soft sheets, a private bathroom, a warm lamp that never turns off… but not a single window. Not a crack in the wall. Not a single sound from the outside world.

Five days like this.

Five days without seeing the sun, without hearing a door open except to leave me food.

Five days waiting for my father to cave to the demands of the man who swore to destroy him.

Luca Vitrani.

The name burns my tongue even when I don’t say it out loud.

The first and only time I saw him was the day of the kidnapping. He didn’t hit me, he didn’t yell; he didn’t even touch me. He just looked at me with those gray eyes, cold as wet steel, and said with an inhuman calm:

“I won’t hurt you… as long as your father complies.”

Five days later, I still hate the tone he used. As if this were an agreement, not an abduction.

I get out of bed and start pacing in circles.

Step number thirty.

Turn.

Step number thirty.

Turn.

I repeat it so I don’t lose my mind.

I don’t know where I am. It could be a basement. A high floor. A windowless warehouse. All I know is that every morning—or what I imagine to be morning—a perfect breakfast is left on the table. Fruit, warm bread, coffee. Everything is impeccable, as if I were staying in a luxury hotel… one I’m not sure I’ll ever leave.

They don’t speak to me.

They don’t answer my questions.

I don’t know if my father intends to meet their demands.

I don’t know if I’m still alive for any reason other than a whim of Vitrani’s.

I walk over to the bathroom mirror. My eyes are swollen, but I’m not crying anymore. I won’t give Luca the satisfaction of seeing me broken.

The problem is, he hasn’t come to check, either.

Is he waiting for me to crack?

I won’t.

I pound on the wall. I know it’s useless, but I need to feel something other than helplessness.

“Open up!” I scream. “I know someone’s out there! Say something!”

Silence.

I collapse onto the bed, exhausted. I hate myself for being tired despite doing nothing. I hate myself even more for thinking about him—about that cold, analytical gaze that swept over me as if I were a problem to be solved.

Or a weapon.

I don’t know how much time passes until I hear a different sound: the click of a lock.

My heart leaps. I don’t know if it’s fear, rage, or both.

The door opens slowly.

And there he is.

Luca Vitrani fills the frame effortlessly. Tall, elegant, with that controlled expression that seems permanent. He’s dressed in black from head to toe, as if mourning a morality he never possessed.

His gaze pierces through me. He shows no surprise at my state. No pity. No interest.

But there’s something… something I can’t quite name. Something in the way he observes me more than he should.

I hate him.

I loathe him.

And he knows it.

“Five days,” he says, as if reviewing a data point on a report.

“Five days,” I repeat with venom, “in which you could have set me free.”

A joyless smile plays on his lips. More dangerous than any weapon.

“Not until your father signs.”

“He won’t sign,” I spit. “And you know it.”

Luca looks down for a moment. His fingers slide along the edge of the door, as if he’s deciding something important.

“He’ll cave,” he murmurs, his eyes never leaving mine. “Everyone caves.”

“Not me.”

“I’m not asking anything of you. You’re just Daddy’s scared little princess.”

I feel it in the air, in the tension vibrating between us.

He’s asking me to be afraid.

To break.

To beg.

And I won’t give him that. I won’t even answer.

Luca steps inside, closes the door behind him, and takes two steps toward me. Each step sounds like a sentence.

My breathing quickens.

He notices.

“I want you to understand something, Kiara,” he says in a low voice, as if explaining a law of nature. “Nothing that happens here is personal.”

I hold his gaze.

“It is to me.”

His eyes darken slightly.

A tiny detail.

But enough to make my skin crawl.

Luca tilts his head, measuring my words like someone studying a threat.

“Fine,” he finally says. “Then let’s make it personal.”

And then I know:

My story with him won’t just be one of captivity.

It’s going to be a war.

And I don’t intend to lose.

Luca approaches without haste, as if enjoying every step he takes toward me. His shadow engulfs me, and I have to tilt my chin up to keep meeting his eyes. He, in turn, lowers his head slightly, leaning in just enough to be at my level.

Too close.

Too damn close.

His gaze drops to my lips. My breathing hitches without my permission.

Don’t you dare.

If he tries to kiss me, I swear I’ll rip his tongue out with my teeth…

“You should see your face, Princess,” he whispers, with a smile that chills my blood.

It almost seems like he can hear my thoughts.

He moves a millimeter closer. His breath brushes against my mouth as he says:

“I’m going to break you. I’m going to shatter Daddy’s little doll into a thousand pieces until I get what I want.”

I don’t think. I don’t calculate.

I just react.

I spit in his face.

He freezes for a second, caught off guard. Then his expression hardens. He steps back just enough to pull a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes himself slowly, as if restraining the impulse to do something worse.

“Dammit…” he mutters, furious.

He looks at me with barely contained rage.

And then I see Luca lose control just a little.

“You’ll never get what you want,” I snap at him, trembling. “My father will never cave.”

His eyes turn dark—a contained storm. He takes a step toward me. He raises his hand to strike me… fear pierces through me like a lash.

I stand frozen, holding my breath, waiting for him to explode.

Instead, he drops his hand and brings his face level with mine. His hand clamps around my throat, starting to squeeze, forcing me to hold his gaze.

“Don’t you ever do that again,” he whispers, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t provoke me like that, Kiara. You have no idea what you’re doing.”

He lets go of me abruptly. I stumble back, clutching my neck, stunned by his violence. I imagined him colder, incapable of showing emotion. The vertigo of fear mixes inside me with a burning rage.

“I hate you,” I manage to say through choked-back tears. “You hear me? I hate you. And if I ever get out of here… I’m coming for you.”

He smiles.

“I can’t wait, Princess,” he responds without looking away. “When the time comes, I’ll be waiting for you.”

He turns around and leaves, the door clicking shut with a sharp click.

LUCA

I didn’t think I’d lose control that fast.

Lately, it seems that’s all I do—lose it. Ever since my father started demanding that I take back the territory Morelli stole from us years ago, telling me to do it at any cost.

I tried to keep her out of it. Mateo, my second-in-command, can vouch for that. I tried to talk, to negotiate with Morelli for the land, but that stubborn old bastard wouldn’t budge. He left me no choice but to take Kiara.

I don’t want to hurt her. It’s not her fault she has an idiot for a father. But if he keeps digging his heels in, if he refuses to listen, we’re going to have to turn up the pressure.

Damn it. I don’t even want to think about it. And to top off the mess my father put me in, his daughter is a brat.

But I like that.

I’ve never cared for the quiet ones.

I like that she wants to face me, to fight back. It turns me on to have her standing there, fuming, with that pure hatred burning in her eyes. She’s a goddamn beauty.

The image flashes back: her looking me dead in the eye, breathing hard, ready to rip my throat out if she could.

The way she set her jaw.

The way she spat at me without a single thought for the consequences. Any other girl in her position would be begging, crying, pleading for mercy.

But not Kiara Morelli.

She’d rather set herself on fire than bow her head. And that…

It irritates me.

And it ignites me.

“A goddamn beauty,” I mutter to myself, my voice low so no one can hear.

I like her. She has this energy that pushes me right to the edge of the cliff. The only thing I don’t know yet is if I want to push her into the abyss…

Or jump in with her.

I haven’t been able to get her out of my head since the moment I saw her.

“Operation was a success. We have her,” Mateo told me. I went to see her because I needed to know if it was really her; I’d only ever seen her in photos. And the exact moment I walked in, I thought: those photos didn’t do her justice.

She is breathtakingly beautiful.

Hair as black as the night itself.

Those massive emerald-green eyes—the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.

And her body… fuck. They caught her just as she was heading out with her friends, dressed to kill: a short black dress that left her endless legs exposed, and a deep neckline that showcased her perfect breasts.

How inconvenient, I thought.

Dammit.

She looked terrified, crying, but I didn’t let a single thing show. I forced myself to look cold, indifferent. I looked at her with feigned disgust and snapped:

“I won’t hurt you… as long as your father complies.”

“What the hell do you want?! Let me go right now! You goddamn son of a bitch!” she screamed, thrashing between two of my men who were struggling to hold her down.

“Keep her tied up,” I ordered, without moving a muscle. “Don’t let her go until she calms down.”

I closed the door to the sound of her screams and insults.

And I smiled.

If she only knew what that does to me… she wouldn’t be so insolent.

Afterward, I stayed back, watching her through the hidden camera in that room. She spent hours tied up until she finally promised to stop fighting. Only then did they untie her.

Daddy’s little princess.

She’s probably used to everyone obeying her, giving orders, and never being told ‘no.’ With her father’s power and the terror he instills, her “little girl’s” attitude doesn’t surprise me.

The phone rang, snapping me out of my thoughts. I was in my office, surrounded by paperwork and screens for one of our front companies.

“Luca,” I said, answering the extension.

“Your father,” Jana, my secretary, announced. “Should I put him through?”

“Of course,” I replied, though I thought: Dammit, he’s going to pressure me again.

“Luca,” my father said, using that same authoritative voice he’s always used to crush us.

“Father. We’re handling the situation, I already told you. Leave it to me.”

“I want you to meet with Morelli tomorrow. Bring him a… let’s call it a souvenir of his daughter.”

My stomach sank.

“What do you mean?” I asked, though I already knew.

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“But—”

“No ‘buts.’ Consider it done. Tomorrow, Luca. Not a day later.”

And he hung up.

“Dammit!” I growled, slamming my fist against the desk.