Married to the ruthless Billionaire Mafia

Rose stood by the window, staring out at the sprawling gardens beneath the mansion. The view from her wing was breathtaking...green fields rolling into the hills, and the sky slowly darkening as the evening approached. But none of it reached her. Not really.

The room was beautiful. It was hard to deny that. The pale gold walls, the rich velvet curtains, the antique furniture. Everything was polished and gleaming, as if to remind her that she was now a part of this world, whether she wanted to be or not.

Her gaze flickered to the bed which was neatly made, and then to the desk where she had unpacked a few of her things. It felt strange to even think of the space as hers. None of this was her life. She had never asked for it.

Her fingers toyed with the wedding ring again, the cold metal pressing against her skin. A ring that symbolized nothing but control. A token of the price her father had paid to keep her alive.

She hadn't been completely powerless. When they'd signed the papers in the courtroom, her hands had trembled, but there had been a moment. Amidst the formality, she had scribbled a note on the back of one of the forms the official was handling.

Help me. Call the police.

It had been a last-ditch attempt, a desperate plea. She knew the officiant had to have seen it. She had to believe that. It was the only thing that kept her from completely breaking down.

The thought of the note, of someone... anyone...seeing it and acting, made her stomach twist with a strange, almost embarrassing sense of optimism. The police would be looking for her, right? 

She couldn't be the only one who noticed she was gone. Her father would have called them. They would find her, and this nightmare would end.

Her heart thudded at the thought.

But reality crept in like an unwanted shadow. She hadn't even seen the look on the officiant's face when she slipped the note into the paperwork. What if they had dismissed it as nothing? What if it wasn't even seen? She had to trust that someone would act on it. She had no choice but to trust.

Rose closed her eyes, swallowing hard. She had to believe that help would come.

It was the only thing she had left. She heard a  knock at the door followed by a voice from outside which was muffled by the thick wood.

"Signora, your meal is ready."

Rose didn't move. She knew it was another reminder of her captivity, another attempt to force her to accept this life. Her stomach twisted at the thought. She wasn't hungry. She didn't need it.

"I'm not interested," she called back, her voice sharp with defiance.

Silence stretched for a moment, as if the servant was waiting for a different answer. When none came, the soft sound of footsteps retreated down the hallway.

But just as Rose started to sink back into her thoughts, the door swung open. She jumped, startled by the suddenness, her heart leaping in her chest. There, framed in the doorway, stood Dante Moretti. His storm-grey eyes were unreadable, his posture perfect, imposing as ever.

He didn't say anything at first, just stepped into the room and let the door fall closed behind him, his presence filling the space like a storm cloud.

"You refused to eat?" His voice was low, almost casual, but there was a sharpness there that made her stomach knot. It wasn't a question...more like a statement, one that demanded an answer.

Rose's pulse quickened, but she forced herself to remain still, to keep her back straight. She wouldn't let him see how much his presence affected her, how much fear and anger churned inside her.

"I'm not interested in eating," she replied, her voice steady, though her throat felt tight. "I'll eat when I get home."

Dante's gaze hardened, and for a brief moment, she saw a flicker of surprise in his eyes. Then his lips curled into a smirk, a dangerous, knowing smirk that made her heart race.

"Home?" he repeated, his voice colder than ice. "This is your home now."

She swallowed, "Boston was home," she said, her voice soft but firm, as if saying it aloud would make it real again.

Dante stepped closer, his dark eyes never leaving her face. "And what makes you think you're going anywhere?" He was so close now that she could feel the heat of his body, hear the faint rustle of his suit as he moved. Her breath hitched in her chest, but she refused to step back.

"I'll go back," she said, her words quieter now. "I'll go back to Boston, work hard, and pay back everything my father owes. This"-she gestured to the room, to him, to everything-"this won't be my life."

Dante laughed, the sound dark and hollow. "How will you do that, hm?" He paused, leaning in slightly, his voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. "You think you can pay back $10 million? In what? Your law degree?" He took a step back, his eyes glinting with amusement. "You'll never pay that back, not in a thousand lifetimes."

Did you really think that stupid stunt you pulled in the courtroom would save you?" Dante taunted. 

Rose felt a cold sweat bead on her skin as she tried to swallow the lump in her throat as he continued. "What were you thinking? That anyone would come to your rescue?"

Her voice came out low, hoarse. "I didn't think you'd be that cruel," she said, her jaw tight, her eyes not daring to meet his. 

His gaze hardened again, and the words that followed were chilling. "If you try anything again, if you pull any more stunts, your father's life will be the price."

A wave of cold washed over Rose. This was it. There was no hope. No police are coming to save her. No escape..

Dante turned toward the door, his hand already on the handle. "Enjoy your freedom tonight. Tomorrow, your duty starts. You'll do as I say, or there will be consequences."

The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence that followed felt suffocating. Rose sank to her knees, her hands shaking as she clutched the fabric of her dress. She didn't want to believe it. She didn't want to accept it. But she had no choice.

She was truly damned. There was no one coming to save her. And, for the first time since everything had fallen apart, Rose finally cried.