Chapter 16: Naked Before the Devil.

Katarina’s POV, At Vittorio mansion

I could smell her before I even saw her. Thick incense. Like something burning in a temple. It wrapped around my throat, making my head swim a little. She moved like smoke, too soft, slow, but heavy with her presence.

I blinked up at the woman everyone called Aunt Malva.

She looked like something from one of those books I read about voodoo queens and priestesses. Her eyes were sharp, ancient. Her beads clinked with every step. Her dreads were tied high like a crown. She didn’t look like a maid. She looked like she belonged on a throne made of bones and fire.

"Come, baby," she said gently, like I wasn't shaking or covered in bruises. "You need rest."

My legs barely worked, but she took my arm, steady and warm, and helped me up the staircase. So many rooms. Long hallways. Marble under my feet, tall ceilings, paintings of men with eyes too cold for heaven.

I leaned on her, my skin hot and raw, old wounds burning under my clothes.

"Where are we going?" I whispered.

"Somewhere safe away from these thugs," she said.

She led me to a room across from a massive door, the master bedroom, I guessed. This room, though... this room was soft. Feminine. The air smelled dusty, untouched. Like no one had been here in years. A painting hung on the wall of a woman. She looked like me. Not exactly. But close enough to make my skin crawl. She was older. Beautiful. She looked Tragic and Sad.

There was something about the room that made the hairs on my arms lift. Like I wasn’t alone. Like the woman in the painting was still here watching. Waiting.

Aunt Malva helped me sit on the edge of the bed.

"Strip, baby," she said, not unkindly. "Let me see where it hurts."

My cheeks burned. But I did it.

She gasped when she saw the bruises. The cuts. The dried blood crusted around my ribs.

"Stay," she ordered, suddenly stern. "I'll get my herbs. And medicine. Something for the pain."

She left. And I stood there. Naked.

Alone.

I looked at myself in the mirror. At the mess. My collarbone was bruised, my lips cracked, eyes puffy from crying. My thighs ached. My stomach groaned. I looked like a girl who had just crawled out of hell.

Tears welled up again.

Mateo. Dead and Gone.

And now I was here. In some mafia king’s house. Being bathed and fed by a spiritual woman who smelled like spells and secrets.

How the fuck did I get here?

The door slammed open all of a sudden.

"Who the fuck is in Fiorella’s room?!"

What? I froze.

Then I saw him.

Vittorio.

The Don I had just met downstairs.

The one who ruined my sleep for nights after the club.

His green eyes hit me like a storm. And this time… there was nothing between us. No Bodyguards. No music. No crowd. Just his eyes, and me.

Naked.

Completely, shamefully, achingly bare.

His gaze dragged down my body. Slowly. Like he owned every inch.

My breath caught, and my thighs clenched.

And then his eyes landed on my breasts, my pinky pointing nipples lingering, burning. He didn’t look away. He wasn’t polite. He stared like he was memorizing them. His jaw tightened. His chest rose heavily. I watched his fingers twitch by his sides like he wanted to grab me. I traced my eyes to his ck, having a mind of its own.

Something pulsed low in my stomach.

Heat rushed up my neck. My nipples peaked under the cold air, but it wasn’t just the air. It was him. The way he looked at me was like I was already on my knees for him.

I hated it.

God, I hated that I could feel the slick between my legs, pooling in the ache he created.

For one horrible, hot second, I imagined his hands on me. On my breasts. Feeling the bruises. His mouth replaced the pain with pleasure.

I blinked and snapped out of it.

I scrambled to grab the sheet, wrapped it around me like a shield. My heart was beating so loudly that it echoed in my ears.

"Who told you to come in here? WHO PUT YOU IN THIS ROOM?!"  He Shouted After

"What is wrong with you?!" I shouted. "You just barged in here while I'm naked? This is your fault! You kidnapped me!"

He didn’t blink. He stepped forward.

"Answer the question. WHO PUT YOU IN HERE?!"

"I don’t fucking know! The nice woman, Malva. She brought me here. She said it was safe!"

He looked like a bull about to charge. Jaw clenched. Veins were visible in his neck. I didn’t care. I glared right back. My eyes burned.

He opened his mouth to yell again, but the door flew open a second time.

Aunt Malva. Thank God.

She walked in like a queen, followed by two maids. One carried herbs and a bowl of water. The other, a tray of food.

She spoke rapid Italian to him. I caught the words “calma,” “thugs,”  and “donna.”

Whatever she said worked. His fists unclenched. His eyes dropped to the floor. Then back to me.

He turned and stormed out, his scent of cologne, cigar smoke, and fury lingering behind him.

Malva turned to me. Her face is soft.

"Mi bambina," she said gently. "You did nothing wrong. This room... this room belonged to someone he loved. Long ago. He did not expect to see you here."

I didn't know what to say.

She helped me to bed. One maid washed my face. The other set the food down.

Malva cleaned my cuts, rubbed something warm and strong-smelling into my skin. Herbs. Magic.

She spoke prayers under her breath as she worked.

I cried.

Not from pain.

But because it was the first time in years someone treated me like I mattered.

I wanted my mom to hold me like this. Just once. To ask if I was okay. To noticed when I was in pain. But she never did. She was always chasing a high, wrapped in her demons.

Tears slipped down my cheeks. I wasn’t just crying for Mateo anymore.

I was crying for the mother I never had.

Was she even okay? Was she still alive? Still high? Still passing out with a needle on the floor? I hated her for abandoning me. But I still couldn’t stop worrying. That guilt clung to my ribs like a second skin.

I didn’t even want to think about my father. That coward. That selfish, greedy man who sold me like I was nothing. My heart couldn’t carry that pain on top of everything else.

I ate slowly. Every bite hurt going down. My head throbbed. My body buzzed with heat and numbness.

And the sleep came. But sleep didn’t mean peace.

Not in this house. Not in this world.

And not with a man like Vittorio watching me like he already owned my soul.

Tomorrow, I’d either survive… or break.

Maybe both.