The echo of Mirella Bellandi’s heels rang through the corridor, sharp and furious. The high walls, lined with portraits of ancestors who seemed to watch her with silent judgment, reflected the dim glow of crystal chandeliers, casting long shadows that slithered along the marble floor like ghosts in her wake. Her posture was graceful, but her eyes burned with worry and rage.As she turned a corner, she came face to face with Fabio. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his silhouette etched against the amber light of an old lamp. Their eyes met for a fleeting second—charged with a tense, almost painful complicity. No words were needed to grasp the gravity of the moment.“I don’t like what’s happening,” Mirella snapped, skipping any form of pleasantry. Her voice was a sharp whisper, laced with venom she didn’t bother to conceal. “First Dante, and now the boy. Someone seems very determined to wipe out the only heirs to the Bellandi legacy.”Fabio kept his gaze on an imaginary po

The morning chill woke her. Svetlana opened her eyes slowly, feeling the weight in her eyelids. For a few seconds, her mind drifted in a haze of confusion, disoriented by the dimness of the room and the faint woody scent clinging to the sheets. She looked up at the ceiling and her heart skipped a beat. She recognized it instantly. It was Dante’s room.A shiver ran down her spine as she turned her head and saw him lying beside her, still asleep, his breathing deep and steady. His bare chest rose and fell with an irritating calm. Panic struck her like a blow. What had happened the night before? Her body tensed as a torrent of memories rushed in—disjointed fragments, conversations, the exhaustion that had finally worn her down… But when she looked down and saw her clothes intact, she exhaled in relief. Nothing had happened.Moving carefully, she slipped out of bed, making sure not to make a sound. Her instincts screamed at her to run, to get away from this man and the gilded cage he kept

The icy wind howled across the hills, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and fresh pine. In one corner, the fireplace crackled, casting a golden glow that flickered along the walls. And yet, the chill of Aspromonte crept through every crevice, sinking into the bones like a constant reminder of the danger lurking beyond.Svetlana moved cautiously, her steps barely brushing the floor. With every footfall, her heart pounded wildly—an unrelenting drumbeat echoing in her ears. She knew she was being watched. She felt it in every nerve ending, in the way her skin prickled beneath Dante’s gaze.He sat at the far end of the table, brow furrowed, fingers drumming against the aged oak. His relaxed posture was deceptive; every fiber of him radiated contained tension—a silent threat. But there was something else, too. Something that made her feel exposed in a way she didn’t understand.Svetlana swallowed hard, trying to ignore the sudden longing rippling through her chest. She couldn’t affo

Svetlana hurried down the hallway, her breath ragged and her chest burning with barely contained fury. The conversation with Mirella had left her seething with a sense of injustice she couldn’t shake. How could someone be so cruel? So indifferent to her suffering? Every word had been a lash against her dignity, as if her own will held no value in the world she had been dragged into against her own.The echo of her footsteps rang against the cold marble floor, amplifying the urgency with which she wanted to escape it all. But before she could get any farther, a steel grip clamped around her arm, yanking her back.Giulia.With one swift pull, the woman forced her to turn and face her directly.“If I were you, I’d learn some respect,” she spat, her gaze sharp, her voice low but laced with menace. “Do you even know who you just spoke to?”Svetlana’s heart was pounding, but her pride refused to waver. She jerked her arm free with a sudden motion and lifted her chin, defiance flashing in he

The clock struck seven in the evening when Svetlana sank into the armchair by the window in her room. Outside, the sun bled amber across the vineyards, bathing the estate in a fleeting golden glow. On the freshly delivered table, a variety of steaming dishes awaited her attention—but she had no appetite.She looked at the food with disdain, pushing an olive to the edge of the plate with one finger. She couldn’t understand how she could feel so conflicted.Her mind was torn between two irreconcilable halves: one part of her longed to run, to return to Moscow, to her family, to the life she knew. But the other... the other was dangerously growing accustomed to the comforts, the attention, the illusion of safety that this captivity provided.Since that tense exchange with Dante’s mother and the altercation with Giulia, the rest of her day had passed without incident. She’d spent the morning in her Italian lesson, forcing her tongue to shape unfamiliar sounds under the strict gaze of her