Chapter 17 A seat at the table
Lina’s POV
The punishment didn’t stop.
It evolved.
Doors that used to open now required permission. Corridors that once felt endless now felt measured — patrolled.
Even the garden had guards posted like decorative statues with guns.
I tested it anyway.
“I’m going outside,” I told the guard near the staircase.
“You need approval.”
“From who? God?”
“From Don Carlino.”
I smiled without humor. “Does he also approve when I breathe?”
The guard didn’t react. They never did. I walked past him anyway. He stepped in front of me.
Not touching. Not threatening.
Just blocking.
Message received.
I turned on my heel and went the other way, jaw tight. If Carlino wanted a symbol, fine. Symbols could still be inconvenient.
By lunch, three different staff members had “politely reminded” me that meals were now to be eaten in my sitting room.
“Am I contagious?” I asked the maid.
“I don’t make the rules, Donna.”
“No,” I muttered, “men with control issues do.”
That evening, I broke another one.
Dinner was supposed to be sent to me. Instead, I walked straight into the main dining hall.
Two guards followed. Of course they did. Carlino was already seated at the long table, reading something on his phone. Two of his men sat farther down, mid-conversation. Their voices died the second they saw me.
Carlino didn’t look up.
I pulled out the chair beside him and sat.
A plate was placed in front of me within seconds — like they’d been warned this might happen.
Still no reaction from him.
I picked up my fork. “What, no escort back to my cage?”
Now he looked at me.
Calm. Assessing. Irritatingly unreadable.
“You were told to eat upstairs.”
“I get lonely.”
“This isn’t a negotiation.”
“Good. I’m not negotiating. I’m sitting.”
One of the men at the table shifted awkwardly. Carlino flicked his gaze toward him.
“Leave,” he said.
They didn’t argue. They never did. Within seconds, we were alone in the massive room, the silence thick as smoke.
I took a bite of food just to prove I could. “See? The world didn’t end.”
“You’re testing boundaries,” he said.
“You erased them.”
“I set them.”
“For a prisoner.”
“For someone under threat.”
I dropped my fork. “From who? The men whose egos I bruised? Should I apologize for not applauding murder?”
His jaw flexed. Small movement. Big tell.
“This isn’t about morality,” he said. “It’s about stability.”
“Your stability.”
“Our survival.”
I leaned back in my chair. “You keep saying that like I asked to survive like this.”
He studied me for a long second. “You think I enjoy this?”
“Yes.” That surprised him.
“I think you like control,” I continued. “I think it makes you feel untouchable.”
“And you think defiance makes you brave?”
“It makes me me.”
Silence stretched between us.
Then he said quietly, “You walked into a room full of men who solve problems with violence and called them cowards.”
“Accurate.”
“Reckless.”
“Honest.”
“Dangerous.”
I held his stare. “Good.”
Something shifted in his expression. Not anger. Something sharper.
“You want freedom,” he said.
“Yes.”
“You want to speak your mind.”
“Yes.”
“You want to move without guards.”
“Yes.”
He leaned back slowly. “Then stop proving why you can’t have those things.”
I laughed under my breath. “So I earn basic human rights by pretending I don’t have a spine?”
“You earn safety by understanding the board you’re standing on.”
“I’m not one of your chess pieces.”
“Everyone in this house is.”
“I’m not in your empire,” I said. “I’m trapped in it.” That one landed. I saw it.
His fingers tapped once on the table.
Controlled. Measured.
“You think I don’t see what this place is doing to you?” he asked.
“Then stop letting it.”
“I don’t have that luxury.”
“You’re the Don.”
“Exactly.”
The weight behind that word silenced me for half a second.
He leaned forward slightly. “Every alliance I have is built on perception. Strength. Order. Control. If my own household looks divided—”
“So this is about your image.”
“It’s about preventing war.”
“It’s always war with you people.”
“Yes,” he said flatly. “It is.”
I looked away first. Not because he won. Because I was tired.
He noticed.
His voice lowered. “Bella is safe.”
“Then bring her back.”
“Not yet.”
“She didn’t do anything.”
“She made you comfortable.”
“That’s a crime now?”
“In this life? Yes.”
I shook my head. “You punish kindness like it’s weakness.”
“I remove vulnerabilities.”
“I am not a vulnerability.”
His eyes met mine. Dark. Intense.
“You are the biggest one I have.” The words hit harder than shouting would have.
I swallowed it down. “Then let me go.”
“No.”
“See? Control.”
“Protection.”
“Possession.”
His gaze sharpened. “Careful.”
“Why? Going to assign me more guards? Or perhaps lock me in the basement?”
“If I have to,” he responded.
I pushed my chair back and stood. “You can control the walls. You can control the staff. You can even control where I eat.” I leaned forward slightly. “But you don’t get to control who I am.”
Something flashed in his eyes again — not anger. Conflict.
“You think I don’t know that?” he said quietly.
“Then stop trying to break it out of me.”
“I’m trying to keep you alive,” he argued.
“By invincibly choking me.”
“By stopping you from walking into crosshairs you can’t see.”
“I’d rather see them than live blind.”
His jaw tightened. “That’s not bravery. That’s suicide.”
“Maybe I’m just tired of being managed like territory.”
“You are connected to me,” he said, voice low now. “That makes you part of the battlefield whether you like it or not.”
I held his stare. “Then maybe your battlefield is the problem.”
The air between us went still. Heavy. Charged.
For a second, I thought he might actually lose his temper. Instead, he stood slowly. The movement was controlled, but the tension under it was not.
“You want less restriction?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Then you will attend tomorrow night’s meeting.”
I blinked. “What?”
“You want to speak? To be treated like more than decoration?” His eyes locked onto mine. “You’ll sit at the table again.”
“That’s a trap.”
“That’s a test.”
“Of what?”
“Whether you can survive this world without setting it on fire.”
“And if I fail?” I asked, curiosity gnawing at my inside.
His expression went cold again. Don. Not man. “Then I stop treating you like someone who can handle freedom if let loose.”
I searched his face. “You’d really risk that?”
“I already am,” he said.
Silence stretched.
“Why?” I asked before I could stop myself.
His answer came too fast. “Because if I lock you away any tighter…” His voice lowered, rougher now. “I won’t just lose your spirit.”
My heart thudded. “What will you lose?” I asked.
His gaze held mine. Steady. Intense. Unprotected for just a second. “Control.”
I saw the way his eyes reflected, that terrified him more than any enemy ever could.