Chapter 39
39
Victoria
I find the asshole in the foyer, shrugging into a black jacket.
Guess he’s going somewhere today… again.
It’s not that I like his presence, but I don’t like being alone in this big estate.
At least when he’s here, my brain is busy thinking of ways to avoid him. If he’s gone, I’m just bored.
Lorenzo doesn’t notice me at first, or more likely, he does, but chooses to ignore me.
“Where are you going?” The question leaves my mouth sharper than I intend because apparently, my self-preservation clocked out with my wedding vows.
He is still mid-button. Slowly, he turns his head like a lion acknowledging a fly that is trying to annoy him.
Lorenzo’s gaze slides over me. It moves from my head to my feet, then trails back up. It feels like he’s cataloging me, for what? I don’t know… maybe to measure my casket?
“Business.” The word lands clipped and final, like a stamp on an envelope. The last step before it’s shipped off.
“That’s not an answer p>
“That’s all you get.” His mouth twitches.
I step closer, because standing back feels like surrender. “I’m your wife. I think that earns me more than a single syllable p>
He drifts past me, tugging on his gloves like he’s dressing for war instead of leaving his house. “If you were looking for transparency, Little Bird, you married the wrong man p>
“I didn’t choose anything,” I hiss. His brows lift, but he doesn’t respond. “And what am I supposed to do while you’re gone?” I follow him to the door, heat climbing up my throat.
He pauses with his hand on the handle, then looks over his shoulder like he’s considering whether to toss me a bone. “Stay put and behave p>
“Behave?” The word comes out bitter, like it tastes rotten. “I’m not a pet p>
“No…” He leans in until he is close enough that I feel his breath against my cheek. “Because pets get affection p>
The sentence shouldn’t hurt. It does anyway. It hits some old bruise I didn’t know was still there.
He steps back, and I feel like I’ve been punched.
“Don’t test the perimeter. My guards won’t take it well.” His tone is colder, and his jaw is stiff like steel.
“Are you serious?” I demand.
He opens the door, and the morning light slices across the foyer, bright and stupidly cheerful. It doesn’t belong in this house, especially right now. “Deadly p>
Then he’s gone.
A heavy final thud echoes through the cavernous space as the door slams shut. The silence that follows isn’t peaceful. It actually feels predatory.
Like if I step out of line… Well, I don’t want to think about what that means. His warning hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating.
My teeth grind and my heart pounds. I want to throw something… something expensive. Instead, I take one long breath. Then I turn and walk straight toward the nearest exit.
Because if Lorenzo Amante wants obedience, he should have married someone else.
I push open the back entrance and step outside. It’s chilly today. I probably shouldn’t be out here without a jacket, but I can’t find it in me to care. Because for one perfect second, the world feels normal. Like I’m just a normal woman stepping outside to breathe in the fall air.
Then all my illusions are smashed to the ground when two guards step into my path.
And by step, I mean materialize from the shadows.
“Mrs. Amante.” One of them dips his chin, voice low, polite, empty.
The title makes my stomach clench.
“I’m going for a walk.” I keep my tone light on purpose, like I’m asking permission to exist.
“No.” The answer comes clean and immediate.
The second guard folds his arms. “You were instructed to remain indoors p>
I blink at him. “You can’t be serious p>
“We are.” No apology. No smiles. Just an order, and a hidden threat beneath it.
A laugh bubbles out of me. “So that’s it? I’m trapped in my own home p>
The first guard’s eyes meet mine. “This isn’t your home p>
There’s no malice in his voice, but the comment still stings.
“I’m allowed outside.” I lift my chin. “It’s the morning. I’m not trying to escape p>
“You’re not allowed outside alone p>
“Oh my god.” I drag a hand down my face. “If I bring a chaperone and a permission slip p>
“Mrs. Amante.” The second guard straightens, voice careful now, like he’s stepping around a tripwire. “Please return inside. Don’t make this difficult p>
I stare at them. I can push…
I can even scream.
Hell, the world is my oyster with the shit show I can create, but instead, I turn sharply and walk back inside, fury coiling in my spine.
Fine, I won’t go outside, but I’ll find freedom somewhere else, and I know exactly the spot…
The library feels like stepping into a different century. Floor-to-ceiling shelves stuffed with leather-bound books. Tall arched windows spilling gold light across the floor.
I trail my fingers along the spines, letting the texture ground me. Nothing beats this feeling.
My gaze skates over the titles, and I’m not surprised that half the collection is violent in some way. The Art of War, The Iliad, War and Peace. I mean, what did I expect from Lorenzo’s library? Jane Austen?
I pull out a volume at random.
The Count of Monte Cristo
Of course.
I shove it back like it burned me and keep wandering. Toward the back wall, behind a half-open cabinet, something catches my eye.
A frame.
Face down.
Which, in Lorenzo’s world, might as well be a neon sign that says don’t touch.
My fingers slide it out gently anyway because being told no has never been my kink.
I flip it over—
And forget how to breathe.
It’s him.
Young him.
Maybe sixteen. Maybe seventeen. Wild hair. A grin that’s reckless and real.
He’s standing in front of a rusted chain-link fence, shoulders relaxed, eyes soft. Looking at this makes my throat tighten painfully. Because I knew that boy.
And that boy didn’t survive.
My thumb drifts along the edge of the frame, slow and stupidly tender. He doesn’t smile like this anymore. He barely smiles at all unless it’s sharp enough to cut someone. This is the way he used to smile at me.
He used to be human.
I swallow hard and set the frame down with careful precision, like if I handle it wrong, I’ll shatter something inside me.
My eyes fill with tears, and I know I’m close to breaking. I need to get out of here, to go home… because the guard is right, this place isn’t my home. It’s not his either. It’s a museum of what he became. And now it’s supposed to be my cage.
Fantastic.
I start to walk back out of the room to find somewhere else to hide away with my depressed thoughts.
A corner desk sits beneath the windows, and while that’s not anything special, what’s sitting on top of it is.
A phone.
Perfect.
Ever since Lorenzo took my phone away after the wedding, I’ve missed having a line of communication to the world.
I’m not a big texter, and social media is not my thing, but I like having it. But I guess in Lorenzo’s mind, prisoners don’t get to make calls after all.
I grab the receiver and dial my parents.
“This number is temporarily unavailable p>
I frown and dial again. Same response. I try my mother’s direct line. My father’s office. The estate. Every number, and every time I dial, I get the same thing… Nothing.
Just that same calm, automated voice, saying, “This number is temporarily unavailable p>
“Seriously? They can’t all be unavailable p>
A throat clears behind me.
I jump and spin, heart slamming like it’s trying to break out.
A man stands in the doorway. He’s in his mid-thirties, tall, dark hair trimmed neat to his face, tattoos crawling down both arms. He’s handsome, but not like Lorenzo. Lorenzo is something else entirely.
“Sorry.” He lifts his hands slightly, palms open. “Didn’t mean to scare you p>
“You didn’t,” I lie automatically.
His gaze flicks to the receiver still clutched in my hand. “Lines are blocked p>
My throat tightens. “Blocked p>
He nods once, like this is normal. “Boss’s orders p>
The word boss lands heavy. Lorenzo might work for his uncle, but this scary man works for Lorenzo…
I steady my breathing. “So I’m cut off from the world p>
He shrugs, a small movement that reads like resignation. “That’s one way to phrase it p>
“And your way would be.. p>
“Safe.” He says it like a rehearsed line. Then his expression shifts. “I’m Nico p>
He steps forward a half pace, then hesitates. What is he doing? Then his hand reaches into his jacket, and my whole body tenses. This is when it happens… I’m going to die. Lorenzo told him to kill me if I try anything.
But instead of a gun, I’m met with a small phone. I’ve seen enough movies to know it’s a burner. He holds it out discreetly, palm flat, like he’s offering contraband in church.
I stare at it like it might explode. “Why are you helping me p>
Nico’s jaw flexes, eyes flicking toward the hall. “Because everybody needs someone. Even in situations like yours p>
He doesn’t say prisoner. There’s no need to.
“I’m not—” My voice catches on the lie before it can form.
Nico tilts his head slightly. “Aren’t you p>
My stomach drops.
“Use it when you need it.” His voice lowers. “Not now. Cameras don’t cover the west hall bathroom. Bad wiring. Use that spot p>
My pulse spikes. “If Lorenzo finds out p>
“He won’t.” Nico’s mouth tightens. “And if he does, you didn’t get it from me p>
He steps back into the hall, already retreating like he knows staying longer makes him a target.
At the doorway, he pauses, eyes on mine. “Mrs. Amante p>
The title again—soft, cautious.
Then he’s gone.
I stand frozen with the burner in my hand, feeling the weight of it like a weapon I don’t know how to use.
A lifeline.
A trap.
A test.
I slip it into my pocket and force my legs to move, carrying myself upstairs like I’m not trembling under my skin.
My room is too big, too perfect, too wrong. Sunlight spills across the bedspread. Everything looks peaceful, but it’s a lie.
Nothing about this place is a paradise.
Blocked phone lines. Stopped at the doors. Eyes everywhere.
I don’t care what anyone says… this is my cage. Like my nickname, Little Bird.
The funny thing is that he thinks he can control me.
That he can keep the world from me.
But he doesn’t get to keep me from myself. I straighten slowly, making my spine harden.
He wants me contained.
He wants me compliant.
He wants me broken.
“No,” I whisper.
If Lorenzo Amante thinks he can trap me in this house, choke off my world, and call it protection—
He’s forgotten who he married.
I’m not eighteen anymore.
I’m not fragile.
I’m not blindly in love with him.
And I will not break the way he wants me to.
Not now.
Not ever.
Let him wage his war.
I’ll quietly start mine.