I wear his name like a scar.
Alessandro Rossi stole everything from me; my freedom, my future, the lie I told my father to keep him alive. He thinks I'm a tool to be used, a bride to be displayed, a Fraga to be broken. He thinks the ring on my finge...
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I woke up to pale morning light and the raw, swollen ache behind my eyes.
I'd cried myself to sleep. I could feel it in every tired blink, in the heaviness pulling at my lids.
The room was beautiful in that cold, impersonal way. Everything elegant and expensive and completely empty of any warmth.
Just like him. Cold and untouchable and completely devoid of anything human.
I didn't have time to sit around feeling sorry for myself.
A soft knock came at the door, and I sat up fast, my heart slamming against my ribs. The lock turned, and a maid walked in. Young, maybe my age or a couple years older, blonde hair pulled back in a neat bun, carrying a silver tray loaded with food I knew I couldn't stomach.
"Good morning, Miss," she said, her voice warm but careful. "I'm Helena. I brought you breakfast."
She set the tray down on the small table by the window, moving slow and unhurried, like she was trying not to spook a frightened animal.
The door was open. She'd left it open.
"I don't want breakfast," I said, my voice flat.
Helena straightened, her brow furrowing. "Miss, you should eat something. You'll need your strength—"
I lunged at her and shoved her hard, catching her completely off guard. The tray clattered to the floor, food scattering across the marble, and Helena stumbled back with a sharp gasp. I didn't stop to apologize. I bolted past her, through the door, and into the corridor.
My bare feet slapped against the cold floor as I ran. The staircase appeared ahead, wide and grand, and I took the steps two at a time, my heart screaming in my chest. I could hear Helena calling after me, her voice panicked and distant, but I didn't slow down.
The front door loomed ahead. I could see it. I could see the light streaming through the glass. I could see freedom.
I threw it open and stumbled onto the front steps.
A wall of men in dark suits stood below me, blocking the driveway. My heart sank straight into my stomach.
Then a voice came from behind me. "I don't think that's your smartest idea."
I spun around, my pulse hammering. It wasn't one of the guards. This guy had long, dirty blond hair and bright blue eyes, and he carried himself with this easy confidence that didn't match the situation at all.
"Who the hell are you?" I demanded.
"Who the hell are you?" he shot back.
"Yasenia Fraga," I said, not missing a beat.
"Luca Rossi." His accent curled around the name.
His brother, no doubt.
I studied him, trying to figure out what his deal was. He didn't look like Alessandro. Where Alessandro was all sharp angles and brooding darkness, this guy had actual warmth in his face, something almost approachable about him. It didn't make me trust him for a second though.
