Chapter 6: Six

Raven’s fingers trembled against the edges of the contract, the paper still warm with the heat of her panic. The signature scrawled across the bottom didn’t even look like her handwriting... jagged, uneven, practically shaking off the page. She had expected something after signing it… relief, maybe. Purpose…. This was her lifeline to save her business and get her life back.

Instead, a cold, stone-heavy dread settled in her stomach like a slow poison.

Across from her, Giovanni reached out his hand. No emotion. Just expectation.

“Give it to me.”

She didn’t move.

Her grip became firmer, whether it was instinct or desperation... she couldn't tell... as she wrapped her fingers around the document.

The paper bent under the pressure.

Giovanni's eyes narrowed slightly, just a tiny movement, but the warning in his gaze was clear.

“Miss Quinn.”

She froze, like a deer caught off guard. Her breathing was quick and shallow. Her heart pounded hard, pressing against her ribs.

What am I doing?

Why did I sign this?

I can’t do this. I can’t…

Miss Quinn," he said again, this time more slowly. "Let. Go!" "I just... I need a moment," she murmured, her voice breaking.

Giovanni stood up from his chair with a slow, predatory grace. "What you really need," he said in a calm voice, "is to let go."

Her throat tightened. He moved closer. She instinctively pulled the contract back again.

That was it.

His jaw tightened... controlled, disappointed, and a bit annoyed. "For someone on the brink of losing everything," he said softly, "you sure are hesitating a lot."

Then he moved.

No pressure. No pulling. Just a seamless, inevitable move…. his fingers curled around the edge of the contract, effortlessly taking it from her with a strength that didn’t need to be shown off.

It slipped from her grasp before she had a chance to fight back.

He smoothed the page with a flick of his wrist, expression twisting in faint disgust.

“You’re already becoming a headache,” he grumbled.

The words cut deeper than they should.

Before she could respond, he lifted his gaze, completely unreadable again.

“It’s done,” he said. “Now get ready. Say your goodbyes.”

Her pulse stuttered.

“…Goodbyes?”

"Yes." He gathered the remaining pages and tucked them into a leather folder, closing it with a snap. "We’re heading to Italy tomorrow."

Everything stopped.

Italy.

Tomorrow.

What!.

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

"I... Italy?" she echoed, as if the word was something unfamiliar.

“Yes.” He didn’t bother looking up. “Our flight leaves at 12 noon. Pack lightly.”

Her voice came in a trembling rush.

“No…wait, wait, nobody said anything about moving to Italy!”

Giovanni tapped the folder with the back of his finger. “Clause two.”

She shook her head violently. “Clause two says I must reside in your home! Not in another country! I thought…”

“You thought wrong.”

The words sliced through her.

“You can’t be serious!” she cried. “I have a job, a business, clients who rely on me….my entire life is here! You can't do this…”

Finally, Giovanni lifted his eyes.

Cold.

Colder than steel pulled from winter dirt.

“I can,” he said. “And I will.”

Her voice cracked. "You can't just turn my life upside down!"

“Clause one,” he reminded her. “You agree to whatever I say. Without objection.”

Her blood went cold.

Clause one.

The one she didn’t take seriously.

The one she skimmed.

The one that now shackled her entirely.

Giovanni stepped closer, towering without touching, but she still felt trapped against the weight of him.

“There is no point arguing.” His voice was quiet, final. “You signed. You agreed. Now you comply.”

A tremor ran down her spine.

“You can’t do this to me,” she whispered.

“I already have.”

He adjusted his cuffs, dismissing the moment like it was nothing more than minor paperwork.

“I take it we have an understanding?”

Her voice barely made it out.

“…Yes.”

“Good.” He turned away, already finished with her. “Matteo will see you out.”

She stood there for a second too long, waiting… hoping… for something….. Compassion… A change of heart..

But Giovanni didn’t even glance back.

“Have a good day, Miss Quinn.”

It was a cruel goodbye.

Crueler because it wasn’t cruel…. he man she met in Vegas was totally different from the man standing in front of her.

Matteo appeared beside her like a ghost.

“This way, Miss Quinn.”

Her legs carried her out of the suite, but she didn’t feel them. She didn’t recall the hallway, the elevator, or the lobby. It was all a blur. The city noise outside hit her like a muted hum.

Inside her, everything was silent.

Matteo held the car door. She stepped in.

And finally, with the door closing…

Her composure was shattered.

The sob broke out of her like something torn loose from her chest. She pressed a hand over her mouth, crying soundlessly, her body shaking.

She cried all the way home.

Raven got to her apartment. She stumbled inside, letting the door slam shut, and pressed her back to it as if she needed it to keep her upright. Then her legs gave out.

She fell down to the floor, hugging her knees, her breath jerking in painful bursts.

The contract replayed in her head like a verdict.

Six months.

Obey without question.

Live in Giovanni Monti’s home.

In Italy.

Tomorrow.

A broken laugh slipped out of her.

“How did I end up in this mess?”

Her voice quivered, barely a whisper.

She dragged herself to the bedroom, grabbed the suitcase from the shelf, and flinched when it thudded to the floor. She opened it, staring at the empty space like it was the mouth of a cave she was about to walk into blind.

Her hands shook as she started shoving clothes into it.

Her phone buzzed.

Unknown Number:

Pack three suitcases. Bring only essentials. Matteo will pick you up at 9.

— G.M.

She swallowed hard.

Another text flashed seconds later.

And Miss Quinn… Do not be late.

Her stomach twisted violently.

She threw the phone onto the bed and pressed her hands to her face.

Tears came again, quieter this time, worn-out and exhausted.

By the time she finally looked up, her reflection in the mirror startled her: red eyes, trembling lips, hair stuck to her cheeks.

But underneath the fear, there was hollow acceptance.

This was happening.

There was no escape.

No loophole.

No undoing.

She zipped the suitcase. She wiped her face with shaky fingers.

“Just six months,” she whispered.

Her voice cracked.

“Just six months.”

But even she didn’t believe it.

She was trapped.