The Prototype

3. The Collision

TEMPEST

Consciousness dragged itself forward as light pressed faintly through the curtains. Sunlight leaked in around the edges of the fabric, thin and irritating, enough to announce the morning without offering any sense of relief. I pushed myself upright, palms dragging over my face as sleep loosened reluctantly, shoulders rolling as my spine stretched and protested the repetition of it all.

The room greeted me exactly the same way it always did.

Perfect. Controlled. Silent.

Annoyance settled in immediately, heavy and familiar, the realization sinking deeper with each glance that this was just another turn in a cycle that long since blurred together. Days bled into each other without markers, without dates, without any tangible sense of time. Unaware of what day.How long I'd been here. If a week past or weeks. Everything after arriving fused together into one long stretch of waiting.

Waiting.

Being trapped in this fucking room feeling disturbingly familiar, too close to the sterile isolation of a psych ward, only dressed up in luxury and velvet. The rules just as strict, only prettier. Sleep. Eat three times a day. Shower. Repeat. That was it.  And with that kind of forced stillness, my body changed without my consent, weight settling where I hadn't given permission for it to exist.

Locked away like some fucked-up Disney princess waiting for a prince to arrive, except this wasn't a fairytale. This was a nightmare with better furniture.

This was not how my year was supposed to start. This was not how I imagined being twenty-five. I was supposed to be in Washington D.C., sitting across from recruiters, hosting interviews, deciding which company deserved my talent next. Not trapped in the main building of a Mafia King's estate while he did whatever the fuck he was doing somewhere else, conveniently absent, which honestly gave federal investigation vibes more than anything else.

The waiting gnawed at me.

This feels like being pulled over by a cop who took their sweet fucking time approaching the vehicle, leaving me stuck there, questions stacking, license and registration anxiety simmering even though I haven't done a goddamn thing wrong. Except this time, I've been kidnapped by order of a man who isn't even present, and somehow he feels comfortable enough leaving me locked inside his main building like I'm furniture he planned to deal with later.

I'm not a woman who waits, especially not for a man. The fact that I am doing it now only makes the irritation burn hotter, sharper, more personal. Who the fuck do he think he is?

A knock sounded at the door, crisp and deliberate, snapping the cycle back into motion.

A scoff left my mouth as I shoved my hair out of my face, irritation already primed as the handle turned and the door opened. "Good morning, Tempest," Gia greeted, stepping inside with a breakfast tray balanced carefully in her hands before closing the door behind her.

Seeing her reminded me of how effortlessly striking both sisters were, though in completely different ways. Like Gabby, Gia carried warm tan skin and dark hair, but where Gabby radiated top-secret bad-girl energy, Gia's deceptively softer at first glance. Petite frame. Piercing blue eyes she'd told me she inherited from their father. Innocent if you didn't look too long. Deadly if you did. The contrast between the sisters was sharp, but together they made sense, balanced. She'd mentioned their brother too—Giannino, called Nino—another set of those same blue eyes, another thread in whatever legacy this family carried.

Gia crossed the room and placed the tray gently on the bed in front of me, movements unhurried. "How are you doing?" she asked, voice careful but genuine.