658 Shadows of Vengeance: The Echoes of a Forgotten Empire in a Timeless World

“Or you can try to walk away—and find out whether my guards are faster than your legs.”

The words hung in the warm, fire-lit air between us, heavy with an implicit threat that made my pulse spike into overdrive.

I didn't flinch. I kept my chin tilted up, refusing to let him see the tremor running through my collarbones. “That isn't a choice, Alessandro. That’s a hostage negotiation wrapped in a wedding veil.”

A flicker of dark amusement crossed his amber eyes, though his grip on my chin remained firm. He didn't tighten it, nor did he release me immediately. He studied my face as if searching for a fracture in my armor, a hairline crack where compliance might finally seep in.

“It is the only reality available to you,” Alessandro said softly, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw one last time before he dropped his hand. He stepped back, giving me breathing room, though the weight of his presence still filled every corner of the room. “Eat your dinner, Elizabeth. The nutritionist designed it to keep you and the child strong. Tomorrow morning, a private physician will arrive to confirm everything is progressing as it should.”

“I don't want your doctor,” I snapped, my voice rising. “I want to go back to my apartment. I want to go to my classes. I want my life back!”

“Your old life died the moment you walked out of Room 1520 with my ring in your pocket,” he replied coldly, turning on his heel and walking toward the double doors.

“I didn't take your ring!” I shouted at his retreating back.

He paused with his hand on the brass handle, glancing back over his shoulder with a faint, mocking smile. “No. You left a pendant instead. Which was entirely more efficient.”

The heavy doors clicked shut, and the deadbolt slid into place with a sharp, mechanical throb.

I stood up from the bed, my chest heaving with furious adrenaline, and marched across the room. I grabbed the heavy porcelain teapot from the dinner tray and slammed it against the wall, watching the hot brown liquid splatter across the floral wallpaper in a dark, jagged stain.

“Damn you, Alessandro Vitali,” I whispered to the empty room, my hands shaking as the hot sting of tears finally broke through my anger.

I spent the rest of the night pacing the perimeter of the suite like a caged lioness, testing every window latch—all locked from the outside with reinforced steel frames—and memorizing every shadow. If he thought I was going to sit quietly in a silk dress and wait to become a trophy wife in his mafia dynasty, he had severely miscalculated who I was.

By dawn, exhaustion dragged me down onto the edge of the mattress. I fell into a restless, feverish sleep filled with nightmares of flashing neon lights, falling glass, and amber eyes watching me from the dark.

A sharp knock at the door woke me up just as pale morning sunlight began filtering through the frost on the windows.

“Miss Collins?” Mrs. Gable’s voice called out. “The doctor is downstairs. Mr. Vitali requests your presence in the second-floor solarium.”

I sat up, rubbing my stinging eyes, my throat dry as sandpaper. I looked down at the clothes I had slept in—the same diner uniform shirt and worn jeans I had worn when he dragged me out of my apartment.

“Tell Mr. Vitali he can wait,” I muttered to the wood.

Ten minutes later, the door unlocked. Two armed guards in dark suits stood in the hallway, flanking Mrs. Gable, who looked at me with a mixture of pity and strict professional indifference.

“Mr. Vitali does not like to be kept waiting, Miss Collins,” Mrs. Gable said smoothly. “And neither do I.”