Chapter 23

Chapter 23 — Prisoner’s Gambit

Colina Rosetti

I’ve lost count of how many suns have risen and set since Santino began keeping me confined. My body aches, my hands still bear the marks of the cuffs he finally removed—but he hardly visits. Instead, I spend my days plotting my exit, eyeing the guards who deliver food, imagining how I might charm or overpower one to escape. Let’s be honest: Santino would never approve of my seduction tactics—but he lost his claim on my thoughts the minute he dragged me here.

A soft click at the door interrupts my reverie. He enters as if summoned by my very mind.

I leap upright, pressing my back against the wall and bracing for him. Still in his tailored suit, wet hair clinging to his forehead, his gaze burns through mine. My pulse races as we stand locked in silent confrontation.

“I figured you’d be bored of me by now,” I say carefully, hoping to bait him.

He closes the distance in one fluid step and seizes my wrists, pulling me into his chest. My breath catches. “Bored? Never,” he murmurs. “I still have unfinished business—with you.”

His eyes darken. I cling to the hope inside me: maybe this is the beginning of my chance.

He lowers his head until our lips are just inches apart. His breath brushes my mouth.

I slip a hand under his jacket and grab him swiftly. He groans, unsubtle and raw, and pins my wrist. “Santino, I’ve missed you,” I whisper, voice trembling. “I need you.”

His gaze flicks, devouring my cleavage, then my lips. I tighten my grip.

“I want you,” I continue, longing to push his desire further, to gain leverage.

He releases my hand and slams his fingers around my throat, pushing me against the wall. “You will do as I command,” he hisses.

My pulse pounds—fear and heat swirling together. But I refuse to back down. “Then fuck me,” I plead. “I won’t run.”

He narrows his eyes—but then retrieves a key from his pocket and unlocks my cuffs, cuff after cuff dropping heavily to the floor. I exhale, pain-and-hope mingling.

“Try to escape,” he warns, “and I will kill you.”

“I won’t,” I whisper, lifting my dress in a gesture I hope will keep him close. “I promise.”

He steps back, slipping through the doorway. The click behind him echoes like finality. But at least I’m free from metal chains—for now.

I press my palm to the doorframe and murmur to myself, One step at a time. But doubt gnaws at me: I need to plan better. Stronger. For Isabella. I won’t remain a prisoner forever.

My eyes scan the sparse room: bed. Lamp. Nightstand. No tools. No hope. With mounting frustration, I fling the lamp at the door. It shatters with a violent crash. Shards glitter on the floor. Pain blooms in my palms as I fall backward.

“Let me out!” I shout. “Please!”

No answer—until footsteps approach.

The door bursts open. A guard. I swing the lamp, striking his neck. He stumbles. I bolt.

A strong arm wraps around my waist, yanking me back. I kick and scream.

“Santino!” his voice erupts behind me. His grip tightens as he sets me on the couch. The guard lunges again—only to be punched in the face by Santino.

He pins the guard with a bloodied fist. “Stay the hell away from her,” he roars. The guard cowers.

Santino turns to me, breath hot and wild, eyes soft for a flicker. “How did you—?”

My voice trembles, “Let me go.”

He glances away, cold again. “Your little escape? Stop it.”

He nods to two men. I’m seized and dragged back inside. As I’m pulled away, I glimpse Santino’s face: flickers of something—anger, protectiveness, maybe something I’ll never understand.

⸻

Alone in my room, I hold my broken hands to the pillow. The ache is agonizing. Later, the smell of pasta brings me out of fevered thoughts.

I eat in slow bites. The dull ache in my body sharpens with each step toward the bathroom. The bathtub water stings my freshly cut skin. Tears leak free as I wash—pain and shame mingling in every drop.

Dressed in the white dress they left, I stare at the night through the barred window. My reflection—tear-streaked, bruised—frays my soul.

Footsteps. The door opens.

Santino stands framed in the dim light, eyes intense. He closes the gap and sits on the bed beside me, gesturing silently for me to join him.

My heart pounds. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “Let me go.”

He reaches for me, face grave, fingers gentle as he brushes tears away. “Don’t say sorry, Colina,” he murmurs softly—my real name on his lips for the first time, edged with tenderness.

He yanks me closer, voice low. “You belong to me. Understand that?”

My throat tightens; tears fall. “I—I understand.”

His hold loosens, then tightens again. He kisses sighes of my neck before ripping my dress away. Suddenly, desire and fear clash within me.

He pins my wrists above my head. His mouth slides down, harsh and exquisite. Heat blooms from humiliation and want.

My mind rebels… but my body responds — against all reason.

“You’ll scream for me,” he growls close to my ear. His touch rough, precise. He brags about possessing me—taking me completely.

I pray he doesn’t see how much I’m broken. How much I feel.

⸻

The door creaks.

He pulls out, leaving me trembling and vulnerable.

My heart thrums with heat and shame and an ache I can’t name.

He left me here—only the moon witnessing our dark, twisted farewell.