Chapter 11:The Red Room

"Where the hell are we?"

I scream as Nico slams the heavy steel door shut behind me. The echo bounces through the concrete walls like a gunshot. There's nothing but a red-tinted bulb dangling from the ceiling, flickering like a dying heartbeat.

He doesn't answer. Of course he doesn't.

His back is to me. He peels off his bloodstained gloves slowly, as if it's foreplay. I take a step back, the cold floor biting into my bare feet. I was in silk a few hours ago. Now I'm just in a torn nightgown and humiliation.

"You're quiet now," he says finally, voice low and casual, like we're in a café. "Scream again. I liked it."

"Nico, please—"

He turns.

That smile.

That fucking smile.

"Bianca, Bianca," he says, walking toward me slowly. "You really think you married a businessman who sold antiques in Munich?"

"I—I didn't know—"

"Exactly."

He presses a finger to my lips. Blood. Not mine.

"But you loved him anyway, didn't you? You begged him to stay. You let him ruin you."

I slap his hand away, trembling.

"You're sick," I breathe. "You're a liar. Everything was fake—"

"No," he says softly, "the sex wasn't."

I blink.

"And neither was the obsession."

He moves closer. I move back. But there's nowhere to go. My back hits the cold wall. His hand cages my throat, not tight, but enough to remind me he could snap it if he wanted.

"Germany was real," he murmurs. "Every moan, every scream, every time you told me you'd die without me… That was your truth, Bianca. Don't run from it now."

"I didn't know who you were!"

"You didn't care who I was. You cared that I made you feel alive."

Silence. The bulb flickers.

He presses his forehead against mine. I want to move. I don't.

"I'm Nico Lorenzo," he whispers. "Capo of the most feared mafia family in Southern Italy. I slit throats in churches. I burned my uncle alive. And you—" he grabs my wrist and yanks it up, forcing me against the wall— "you, sweet wife, were just another pawn. Until you weren't."

My heart is hammering.

"Why me?"

He chuckles.

"Because you were hard to break."

Then, in one sharp move, he pulls me by the hair and throws me into a chair. The cuffs click fast—cold metal biting into my skin.

"Now we play my way," he says.

I spit at him.

He doesn't flinch. He wipes the spit with his thumb, then smears it across my cheek like war paint.

"You're going to learn pain, Bianca. But you'll thank me for it."

She's fire.

God, she's fire.

I wanted to use her. I planned to. Get into her family's tech firm. Use her access. Leave.

But then she touched me like I was human. And I hated her for it.

"You made me weak," I murmur as I wrap a belt around her wrists. "So now, I'm gonna make you stronger. Strong enough to survive me."

Her eyes don't beg. They burn.

I want to destroy her.

I want to kiss her.

Same thing.

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