The Blood Debt Bride

Bianca’s Pov

I didn’t sleep.

I lay on the bed with my shoes still on, the coat Dante’s man had given me folded over my chest like a shield. The sheets smelled clean, faintly of soap, not hotel-clean but lived-in clean. That made it worse. It meant this room wasn’t staged last minute. It existed before me. It had been waiting.

Every sound in the house felt deliberate. Footsteps passed outside my door at regular intervals. Not pacing. Guarding. Somewhere below, a door opened and closed. A murmur of voices. The quiet never fully settled.

I stared at the ceiling until my eyes burned.

At some point, exhaustion dragged me under anyway.

When I woke up, it was morning.

Soft light filtered through the curtains, pale and wrong, like it didn’t belong to the world I’d woken up in. For half a second, I forgot where I was. Then I remembered everything at once. The wedding. The gunshot. The way Dante’s thumb wiped blood from my face like it meant nothing.

I sat up too fast and had to grab the edge of the bed to steady myself.

Someone had been in the room.

My shoes were gone. The coat too. The dress I’d slept in was folded neatly on a chair by the window. Cleaned. Pressed. The blood was gone.

My stomach twisted.

I slid off the bed and checked the door. It wasn’t locked. That almost irritated me more than if it had been.

I stepped into the hallway.

The estate was bigger in daylight. Long corridors. High ceilings. Windows that looked out over cliffs and open water. No neighbors. No nearby roads. Just distance.

A woman stood at the end of the hall, holding a tray.

She looked at me like she’d been expecting me to come out at that exact moment.

“Good morning,” she said politely. Not warm. Not cold.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Lucia,” she replied. “I’ll be attending to you.”

The word attending sat wrong in my chest.

“I didn’t ask for that.”

“I know,” she said calmly. “Breakfast?”

I almost laughed. My stomach chose that moment to twist painfully.

She led me downstairs without waiting for my answer.

The dining room was large but sparse. Long table. Minimal decoration. No unnecessary luxury. Everything here felt chosen for function, not comfort.

Food waited on the table. Simple. Eggs. Bread. Fruit. Coffee.

I stared at it like it might be poisoned.

“It isn’t,” Lucia said, setting the tray down.

“He doesn’t do that.”

“He?” I asked, though I already knew.

She didn’t answer.

I sat anyway. Hunger won. I hated myself a little for it. The eggs were warm. The bread is fresh. Normal. That was the worst part. It made it harder to stay angry.

“Did he order this?” I asked quietly.

Lucia nodded. “He likes routine.”

“I don’t.”

A flicker of something passed over her face. Not sympathy. Not quite fearful either.

“You’ll adjust,” she said.

I looked up sharply. “You don’t know that.”

She met my eyes evenly. “Everyone does.”

That stayed with me long after she left.

After breakfast, I explored.

No one stopped me. That was intentional. Freedom was controlled. Certain doors were unlocked. Others weren’t. I learned quickly which ones mattered.

There was a library. Not for show. Books with cracked spines. Marginal notes. Some of them are mine. I froze when I realized that.

I picked one up. A paperback I’d owned in university. My name was written inside the cover in my handwriting.

My chest tightened.

I put it back slowly.

I found a sitting room with a piano I didn’t know how to play. A balcony that looked out over the sea. Bedrooms that were clearly occupied but empty now. Lives paused.

This wasn’t just a house.

It was an operation.

I was in the hallway again when I heard footsteps behind me.

I didn’t turn right away. I didn’t need to. The air felt different when he was near. He filled space without touching it.

“You slept,” Dante said.

It wasn’t a question.

“Eventually.”

“You ate.”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

I turned then. He stood a few feet away, jacket off, sleeves rolled up. He looked like he’d already had a full day while I’d been trying not to fall apart.

“Why are my things here?” I asked.

His gaze didn’t waver. “Because you need them.”

“From where?”

“Your father’s apartment. Your dorm room storage. A place you stayed briefly in Florence.”

My heart skipped. “I never told anyone about Florence.”

“I know.”

I swallowed. “How long?”

He considered me. “Long enough”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting today.”

Anger flared, sharp and sudden. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to plan my life like it’s a schedule.”

“I already did,” he replied evenly.

I stepped closer without thinking. “I’m not your sister.”

The silence that followed was immediate and heavy.

Dante’s jaw tightened. His eyes darkened, not with rage but something more controlled. Dangerous.

“Don’t speak about her,” he said.

“Then stop surrounding me with her things,” I shot back.

He took a step toward me. Just one. It was enough.

“You resemble her,” he said quietly. “You are not her.”

“That doesn’t make this better.”

“No,” he agreed. “It makes it honest.”

We stood there, the space between us tight and charged.

“Why me?” I asked.

He looked at me for a long moment.

“Because you survived long enough to be useful.”

“That’s not the truth.”

A pause.

“Because you were already being sold,” he corrected. “I just took ownership.”

The word made my skin crawl.

“I won’t stay forever,” I said.

“You won’t leave today.”

“Tomorrow, then.”

He shook his head once. “You’re thinking too small.”

I crossed my arms. “I’m thinking about breathing.”

“That’s why you’re alive.”

I stared at him. “Is that supposed to comfort me?”

“No.”

He turned away then, like the conversation was over.

“Rules,” he said over his shoulder. “You’ll learn them as you break them.”

“And if I break the wrong one?”

He stopped at the doorway and glanced back.

“Then we’ll both regret it.”

He left.

I stood there long after he was gone, my heart pounding, my mind racing.

This place wasn’t meant to cage me.

It was meant to shape me.

And that terrified me more than chains ever could.