Chapter 11 Dressed for the wolves
The sun crept from behind a veil of thin morning clouds, pale gold light spilling across the room. It slipped through the narrow gaps in the window panels and struck my hand where it lay above the covers, warm and intrusive.
I turned away with a quiet groan, dragging the blanket with me to the cooler side of the bed, shielding my eyes from the glow. I tried to fall back asleep. I really did.
But every time darkness pulled me under, Ruciano’s face followed.
The way he had looked at me.
I gave up.
It had only been one day since I arrived in this house, yet it felt like I had lived through weeks of silent terror. Today, I would be taken to the mafia gathering — a place filled with people powerful enough to end lives over pride, boredom… or nothing at all.
I didn’t know when we were leaving.
I didn’t know what I would be forced to wear.
I didn’t know how I was expected to behave.
And then it hit me. I hadn’t eaten.
As if my body had been waiting for permission to complain, my stomach growled loudly in the quiet room. I pressed a hand to it, wincing.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
I froze.
It wasn’t just the knock that startled me — it was how gentle it was. Nothing in this house has been gentle so far.
Another knock.
“C–come in,” I called, my voice thinner than I meant it to be.
The door opened slowly.
An older woman stepped inside, perhaps in her late fifties. Her hair was streaked with gray and pulled into a neat low bun, her posture straight despite the tray she carried.
As she moved closer, I could finally see what was on it. Food.
“Good morning, Miss Lina,” she said warmly, offering a small, practiced smile.
“And you are?” I asked, sitting up straighter, my eyes never leaving her.
“Bella,” she replied. “The matron. Head housekeeper of the Lesantra household.”
“Oh.” The title caught me off guard. “Where are the other housekeepers? I haven’t seen anyone since I got here.”
Bella set the tray down on the bedside table. A simple meal — porridge, two boiled eggs, and a glass of water. Plain, but right now it looked like a feast.
“Signor Carlino doesn’t allow women in the main wing while he’s present,” she explained calmly. “We only come in to clean when he’s away.”
“Why?” I asked, suspicion curling in my chest.
She gave a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “That is a conversation for another day.”
Before I could press further, she stepped back.
“Eat, Miss Lina. You’ll need your strength.” She tilted her head slightly. “I’ll return shortly.”
“For what?” I asked.
But she was already at the door.
And then she was gone.
If Carlino didn’t allow women in his main wing, then that could only mean one thing.
He hated women.
A misogynist. A sick, control-obsessed man.
So why take me?
The question circled my mind like a vulture, but I never let it land. Not like the answer would save me anyway.
I ate like someone afraid the plate might vanish if I blinked too long. The porridge was lightly sweet, plain but warm. The boiled eggs had no seasoning at all.
I almost scoffed.
Then I caught myself.
Expectations will get you killed, Lina.
You’re an asset here. Nothing more.
Be grateful you were fed at all.
The thought tasted worse than the food.
I set the tray aside and leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling. Time moved strangely in this house — slow and suffocating. No books. No voices. No freedom.
The tiny illusion of freedom I’d clung to yesterday had been quietly stripped away. I didn’t know how long I sat there before the knock came.
I didn’t hear the first one. Only the second. And then the door opened.
Bella stepped in quickly, shutting it behind her with careful hands. Her breathing was heavier than before, her chest rising and falling beneath the neat fabric of her uniform.
“I thought something had gone wrong with you,” she said.
Concern threaded her voice — real concern, the kind that didn’t belong in a place like this.
Her dark hair, streaked with silver, was pulled into a flawless bun at the nape of her neck. Her posture remained straight, controlled, as though years of discipline had settled into her bones.
“Miss Lina,” she said, her tone calm now. Composed. Neither warm nor cruel. “It’s time.”
Time.
The word dropped into my chest like a stone sinking through water.
“For what?” I asked, even though I already knew.
Her gaze moved over me slowly, not judging — assessing. Like she was taking note of cracks in glass.
“You will be attending tonight’s gathering,” she said, “with Signor Carlino.”
My fingers curled into the bedsheet. “Oh,” I whispered.
A faint smile touched her lips. It held no comfort. No apology.
She turned and walked toward the wardrobe. When she opened it, the room changed. Fabric spilled into view — deep blacks, dark wine reds, silk that caught the light like liquid shadow. Dresses meant for powerful women. Women who chose to be seen.
Not girls who were taken.
My stomach twisted.
“I’m not supposed to dress like that,” I said.
“Traded,” Bella finished smoothly, not even looking at me. “Yes. I’m aware.”
She reached into the wardrobe again and pulled out another dress. When she turned, the fabric fell into view. Black. Simple in design. Dangerous in execution.
No glitter. No softness. Just clean lines and a neckline that whispered confidence instead of begging for attention. Power without noise.
“This,” she said, holding it up, “is what you will wear.”
I stared at it. “People will notice.”
Her gaze met mine then — sharp, intelligent, ancient with secrets. “That,” she said calmly, “is the point.”
My breath caught.
She laid the dress carefully on the bed before moving toward the small vanity I hadn’t dared to touch since arriving.
“Take a shower,” she instructed.
I hesitated… then obeyed.
The warm water did nothing to calm the storm in my chest. By the time I stepped back into the room, wrapped in a towel, Bella had transformed the space into something deliberate.
Jewelry lay arranged in perfect order. Minimal. Intentional. A thin silver chain. Small earrings — the kind fools would overlook but the powerful would notice.
“You will not speak unless spoken to,” she said, not turning around. “You will walk beside him. You will not flinch. You will not lower your gaze.”
A breath escaped me — half laugh, half disbelief. “And if I do?”
She paused.
For the first time since she entered the room, her expression shifted. “Then you will remind them,” she said quietly, “that you belong to Carlino.”
Cold slid down my spine.
She stepped closer and lowered her voice. “Do not mistake this for kindness, child. Tonight is not about being seen as gentle.”
Her fingers lifted my chin — not harsh, but firm enough that I couldn’t look away.
“It is about being seen as untouchable. And learning how to survive in his world.”
My pulse thundered in my ears.
She released me and straightened. “Take off the towel.”
I stood.
When she helped me into the dress, her movements were efficient and practiced. She smoothed the fabric, adjusted the seams, fastened the clasps with the ease of someone who had prepared many women for dangerous nights. But none of them had been me.
When she stepped back, I turned toward the mirror. I didn’t recognize the girl staring back.
She looked… composed. Controlled. Dangerous in a way that didn’t shout.
Not a captive.
A statement.
Bella nodded once, satisfied. Then she moved toward the door.
“Signor Carlino will be waiting,” she said, her hand resting on the handle. She paused and glanced back at me. “Tonight,” she added softly, “the room will decide many things.”
My heart skipped.
“And you, Miss Lina… may decide more than you realize.”
The door opened. Footsteps echoed from the corridor beyond.
Slow. Measured. Familiar.
My breath hitched.
Bella stepped aside.
And then I saw him.