His villa

His villa

~ KAIA'S POV ~

Oh wow.

I can’t even mask the shock that ripples through me. My eyes are practically glued to the window as the car rolls past the final iron gates, and there it is….his house. No… not house. Not even mansion. A villa. A palace disguised as a villa.

Like seriously? One human owns this?

I blink a few times, almost as though my brain needs confirmation that I’m not hallucinating. Every angle of the massive structure screams wealth, dominance, and generational power. It’s the kind of building that doesn’t just hold people….it tells stories of centuries.

The car glides smoothly until it comes to a stop right in front of the villa’s grand entrance. The cobblestones beneath the tires glimmer faintly under the sun, as if they’ve been polished only minutes ago.

I swallow my amusement, forcing my face into calm neutrality. No need to look like a wide-eyed tourist in front of him.

The driver and one of his bodyguards step out in perfect sync, moving with that rigid discipline that only comes from loyalty drilled into the bones. They open the car doors with such precision it feels rehearsed, like a scene from a movie.

“Thank you,” I murmur automatically, stepping out with as much grace as I can gather.

And then….wow.

The sheer magnificence of this place hits me again. The walls stretch high, adorned with climbing vines that look strategically placed instead of wild. The windows are tall, framed in marble. The sheer aura is undeniable. This isn’t just wealth, this is old money. Generational. Rooted deep like an oak that has stood the test of centuries.

Standing here, I feel like I’m at the gates of some royal castle, the kind only seen in history documentaries. It’s not excessively tall, but the style….the heavy arches, the statues carved into the corners, it gives the unshakable impression of nobility.

“Welcome, Capo,” voices chorus as we walk in. Guards and house workers bow their heads deeply the second Vittorio steps foot onto the marble floor. Their reverence is not just for any man….it’s for the man.

So, this is what power looks like up close.

The air inside is cool, perfumed faintly with something expensive, like sandalwood mixed with citrus. My eyes sweep across the grand hall, and my breath hitches. Gold designs run across the ceiling, intricate and endless, while the walls are a pure shade of white that somehow glows under the chandeliers. The combination is lethal, opulent without apology.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Vittorio says casually, as if we just walked into an ordinary suburban home.

“Carmela!” His voice rings out, commanding yet smooth.

Almost instantly, a middle-aged woman appears, her steps quick but graceful. She bows her head slightly, eyes sharp, hands folded respectfully.

“Sissignore,” she replies. The word rolls off her tongue like silk, dripping loyalty.

Unfortunately, my translator isn’t with me. I can only guess from tone and body language.

Vittorio gestures towards me. “Take her to the guest room upstairs,” he instructs.

She nods deeply, eyes lowering in compliance. No questions asked.

“Make yourself comfortable. Rest. If you need anything, let her know,” Vittorio adds, his gaze locking on mine with a softness that almost contradicts the iron aura he carries.

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat, and follow Carmela up the winding staircase.

As I climb, my side-eye betrays me, I can’t help sneaking glances at the décor. Every step reveals more wealth carved into wood, painted into canvases, woven into rugs that look older than me yet without a single stain.

“Oh, he’s wealthy to the core,” I whisper in my mind, my lips pressing together to keep the thought inside. “No wonder Rodriguez wants him dead.”

Every inch of this place screams untouchable.

The staircase leads to a long hallway, the walls lined with old paintings, portraits of stern men and elegant women, each pair of eyes following me like ghosts of his lineage. Their gazes are sharp, proud, unyielding. Generations of Capos, I guess. This isn’t just his home. It’s a legacy museum.

Finally, Carmela stops in front of one particular door—a golden door. Then again, all the doors here are golden, each polished so finely I can almost see my reflection. The way they gleam makes me wonder if this is actual pure gold. With Vittorio, I wouldn’t put it past him.

Carmela opens the door gently, motioning me inside.

The moment my eyes land on the room, my mouth nearly betrays me. My jaw threatens to drop, but I snap it shut, masking awe with indifference. I can’t afford to look like a peasant amazed by riches.

But, oh, woah.

The bed is the first thing I notice. Enormous, wide enough to fit twelve full-grown men with space to spare. The sheets shimmer faintly under the light, so crisp they look untouched. My eyes roam the rest of the room, gold accents paired with a clean white backdrop, touched with a third shade I can’t quite place. Maybe champagne? Or pearl? Whatever it is, it works. It radiates serene luxury.

I sit on the bed slowly, testing it, while Carmela remains standing like a shadow of duty.

“Ma’am, please get comfortable. Do you want anything to eat?” she asks politely, her voice softer than I expected. Sweet, almost nurturing.

I shake my head with a small smile. “No, I’m fine. Thanks.”

She bows again before excusing herself, closing the door with quiet dignity.

Now alone, I inhale deeply, letting the ambience of the room settle around me. The cool air circulates evenly, the ventilators humming low and steady, making the golden curtains ripple ever so slightly.

I glance around again, absorbing every inch. This is more than a room. This is a statement. A promise that whoever stays here will never lack comfort, will never feel small.

But I do.

Because no matter how soft the sheets, how golden the doors, or how silent the chandeliers, the truth is clear. This is his world. And I’m the outsider.

My fingers graze the edge of the bed, nails tapping softly. “I’m here now,” I whisper into the stillness. “I have to play my cards right.”

The words echo inside me, a reminder, a warning.

Because in a villa like this, with a man like him, even the walls probably have ears.