Paradox of Deceit

Chapter 3: Rules

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Aurélia's voice broke the silence. "Let me show you to your room," she said, her tone polite but distant.

I nodded, following her through the winding hallways of the mansion. As we walked, I took in my surroundings. The walls were adorned with expensive artwork, and the floors were made of polished marble. But despite the opulence, the atmosphere felt heavy, oppressive.

We stopped in front of a door, and Aurélia pushed it open. "This is your room," she said.

I stepped inside, taking in the decor.
The room was luxurious, but it wasn't welcoming.

Everything was designed for power, not comfort. Black marbel floors stretched beneath an ornate chandelier, its golden light reflecting off deep-toned walls. A massive bed sat at the center, draped in rich black sheets, perfectly made-untouched, as if no one ever dared to ruin its perfection.

A sleek table rested against the far wall, a velvet armchair positioned beside it. There was a sense of control in every detail, as if whoever owned this place despised chaos.

And then there were the windows-tall, framed with dark curtains, revealing a view that wasn't exactly freeing.

Because beyond them, there was nothing.

No roads, no city lights. Just his owned land stretching into the distance, swallowed by trees.

A beautiful prison.

Aurélia turned to leave, her expression neutral. "I'll leave you to settle in," she said.

I watched her go, feeling a sense of unease settle over me. I was alone, with no idea what lay ahead.

I took a deep breath, trying to process my situation. Trapped in a mansion with a ruthless mafia lord, with no idea what he wanted from me.

Minutes passed, stretching long and quiet as I kept looking at the view outside the window.

Even If I ran,I wouldn't get far.

A reminder.

Then-three sharp knocks.

The door opened without waiting for permission. A man stood in the doorway, broad-shouldered, dressed in black, his gaze cold.

"The boss wants you."

His voice left no room for argument.

I exhaled slowly and straightened my shoulders

I followed him through the winding hallways of the mansion, my heart pounding in my chest. We eventually stopped in front of a large, ornate door. The man pushed it open, revealing a dimly lit study.

"Mr. Martino is waiting for you," he said, stepping aside to let me enter.

I took a deep breath and stepped inside, my eyes adjusting to the soft, muted light. The room was sleek and modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a stunning view of the surrounding landscape.

And at the center sat him.

The first time I had seen him, he stood over my father like a god deciding whether a mortal deserved mercy. Back then, I had seen him as a threat-a ruthless, untouchable force.

Now, I was seeing him again.

Up close.

And somehow, this felt worse.

No blood. No gun in his hand. Just a man lounging in a chair, his suit impeccable, one leg stretched out lazily, fingers wrapped around a glass of whiskey.