Nowhere to Run

Alessia’s POV

Cold dread spread through my veins like poison. I backed away from Rocco De Santis, my bare heels sinking into the plush rug as every instinct screamed at me to run. The heavy scent of his expensive cologne hung thick in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of fear in my throat. He was not a ghost or an illusion. He was the cold-blooded killer who had murdered my father right before my eyes, and now I stood trapped inside his personal fortress with no shield between us.

He stared at me with unblinking, dark eyes, his tall frame cutting off the light from the chandeliers. The thought of being kept here as his obedient pet made bile rise in the back of my mouth. I refused to let that happen. Survival pushed through the paralysis gripping my limbs, and my eyes darted across the expansive penthouse living room until they locked onto the massive steel double doors on the opposite wall.

I spun on my heel and sprinted.

My breath tore through my lungs in ragged gasps as I crossed the polished floor. I threw my entire weight against the steel doors and gripped the heavy metal handle with both hands, wrenching it down with everything I had. The lock did not budge. The solid steel frame stood completely motionless beneath my fingers.

"Open! Please, god, open!" I slammed my fists against the cold surface, rattling the metal fittings.

A sleek digital console beside the frame hummed to life, bathing my trembling hands in a pale blue light. A digital prompt blinked across the screen: *Access Denied. Enter Passcode.*

A cold shudder raced down my spine. There was no latch, no keyhole, and no way out without an encrypted code I did not have.

Behind me, a low chuckle rolled through the open room. It was a slow, amused rumble that carried the easy confidence of a predator watching an animal throw itself against the bars of a cage. Heavy footsteps approached at an unhurried pace, rhythmic and steady.

I turned around, pressing my back hard against the reinforced steel. Rocco stopped less than two feet away. He towered over me, his massive shoulders blocking my view of the entire room.

"I rule every square inch of this compound, little girl," he said, his voice flat and steady. "Even if you managed to get past that lock, you would not make it ten yards down the corridor. My men guard every doorway and every perimeter gate. They would drag you straight back to my feet, bleeding from the waist down if you gave them an excuse."

Defiance flared through the icy terror in my chest. I stared up into his hard, ruthless face, refusing to bow my head to the man who had stolen everything from me. I drew in a deep lungful of air, parting my lips to scream at the top of my lungs for anyone outside to hear.

Before the first note of sound could leave my throat, his massive hand shot forward. His calloused palm clamped over my mouth like an iron shackle, shoving my head back against the metal door. The cry died against my teeth.

Rocco leaned down until his lips brushed against the curve of my ear. His breath was warm against my skin, sending a sickening chill down my neck.

"Strike one, little girl," he murmured, his tone smooth and lethal. "Try that again, and I will punish you."

Rage erupted inside my ribs, burning away the remaining shreds of my restraint. I was not his child, and I was not a stray dog he could break with quiet threats. I clamped my teeth down hard, sinking them deep into the thick meat of his palm.

Rocco snarled a dark Italian curse and yanked his hand back. The sudden break in his grip gave me just enough room to stumble sideways across the floorboards.

"Let me go!" I shouted, keeping my back to the wall as I glared at him. "I am not your property, and I will never be your whore!"

Rocco stood still for a second. He slowly raised his hand, looking down at the red crescents cut into the flesh of his palm. A thin bead of crimson welled from the broken skin, dripping toward his wrist.

When he lifted his gaze back to me, every trace of dark amusement had vanished from his face. His jaw was set like carved granite, and his eyes burned with an icy, murderous fury that made the breath catch in my throat.

Before I could take another step toward the hall, he crossed the distance between us in a single stride.

His hand gripped the front of my dress and hauled me off my feet, slamming my spine back against the steel door. The brutal impact drove every ounce of air from my lungs, sending a shockwave of pain through my ribs. Before my head stopped spinning, his thick fingers closed around my throat.

He tightened his grip and lifted me clean off the floor.

My feet dangled uselessly in the empty air, kicking against his shins as my fingers clawed desperately at his iron wrist. The pressure on my windpipe was absolute. My lungs burned for oxygen, and dark spots began to swarm across my vision. His arm did not waver. He held my entire weight off the ground with terrifying, effortless power, pinning me against the steel like a mounted specimen.

"I could snap your neck right now," Rocco growled, leaning close enough that I could see the lethal darkness swimming in his pupils. "I could crush the life out of your body, drop you on these tiles, and sleep like a child tonight. Do not mistake my patience for weakness."

The room started to fade into gray shadows. My pulse hammered in my ears, a frantic, frantic drumbeat that grew weaker with every second my windpipe stayed closed. I could not break his hold. My nails tore at his skin, but his fingers remained locked in place, choking off the last pocket of air in my chest.

Pride dissolved under the crushing weight of pure biological survival. I did not want to die pinned against this door.

"Please," I forced the rasping sound past my bruised vocal cords, tears leaking down my cheeks. "Stop... I can't breathe."

Rocco did not loosen his grip, but his eyes narrowed as he watched the fight drain from my limbs.

"Please," I choked out again, my voice breaking into a dry, pathetic rasp. "I am... I'm sorry."

The instant the apology left my lips, the rigid fury in his face shifted. A cold, calculating restraint took its place, pulling the murderous storm back behind his usual composed mask.

He opened his hand.

Gravity pulled me down hard. My knees struck the cold floor, and my body collapsed into a trembling heap against the base of the door. I wrapped both arms around my chest and coughed until my ribs ached, drawing in jagged, burning gasps of air. Every breath scraped against the raw, bruised tissue inside my throat like sandpaper.

I kept my head down, staring at the floor tiles as my tears dripped onto the stone. I was shaking so badly I could barely keep my palms flat.

Before I could attempt to crawl away, two thick arms slid under my knees and beneath my back.

A gasp tore from my mouth, but Rocco lifted me from the ground before I could pull back. He pulled me against the solid wall of his chest, carrying my weight across the room with a steady, quiet gentleness that felt sickeningly out of place after what he had just done. He walked past the marble pillars and approached the seating area, holding me securely against his body.

He stopped beside the large velvet sofa and lowered me down slowly, supporting my shoulders until I was settled into the soft cushions.

I scrambled back into the corner of the sofa, drawing my knees up to shield my torso. Rocco did not step away. He leaned over the edge of the cushions, placing one large hand on the backrest beside my head, trapping me with his shadow.

When he lifted his other hand toward my face, I flinched, turning my cheek away in anticipation of a strike.

The blow never came.

Instead, his fingers caught a loose strand of hair and brushed it gently behind my ear. His touch was warm and slow, sliding down along the curve of my jawline until his thumb came to rest directly over the dark red marks forming on my skin. He traced the swollen ring around my windpipe with an unsettling tenderness, his thumb smoothing over the bruised flesh as if he were admiring his own handiwork.

"It is only faintly bruised," he murmured, his voice drop-dead quiet. "I will have something brought up to treat it."

I kept my mouth shut, pressing my lips together so tightly my teeth ached. I dared not speak, terrified that any sound might reignite the violence lurking right beneath his polished skin.

Rocco lowered his hand, his expression turning cold and sharp once more.

"That was strike two," he warned, his eyes boring straight into mine. "If you push me to a third strike, you will spend every remaining breath of your life regretting that you ever defied me. Do you understand what happens when I run out of strikes?"

I stared at him, my heart hammering against my ribs like a caged bird.

"Do you want to be punished, Alessia?" he asked, the syllables of my name rolling off his tongue with a dark, deliberate weight. "Keep pushing me, and find out."

A violent tremor swept through my entire body at the sound of my name. He had never spoken it aloud until now, and hearing it in his low, commanding voice made the air in the room feel suffocating.

Rocco straightened his posture, adjusting the cuffs of his dark suit jacket as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. He turned away from the sofa and walked toward the small electronic control panel mounted on the adjacent wall. He pressed down on an intercom switch with a single, firm click.

A quiet chime echoed through the penthouse, followed by the soft hiss of hydraulic pressure as the heavy steel double doors slid open.

A woman stepped into the living room. She appeared to be in her late forties, dressed in a neat domestic uniform with her dark hair pulled back into a severe, tidy bun. She carried a polished silver serving tray in both hands, resting a single tall glass of chilled water on its surface.

She walked into the room with measured, silent steps. Her face remained composed, displaying a calm, maternal softness as she turned her eyes toward where I sat huddled on the couch. There was a faint flicker of hesitation in her gaze, a fleeting look of pity that vanished almost before I could register it.

As she crossed the floor, she passed within arm's reach of Rocco.

Neither of them said a word. The woman did not stop, but as her shoulder brushed past his, her left hand dipped into the pocket of her apron with smooth, practiced precision. She passed a small, dark object directly into Rocco’s waiting palm.

Rocco closed his fingers around the unknown item without looking down, slipping his hand into his trousers pocket in one fluid motion.

The woman continued over to the coffee table in front of the sofa. She set the silver tray down with a muted clink and picked up the glass, holding it out toward me with both hands.

"Here, drink this," she said gently, her tone low and soothing. "It will help with the throat."

I stared at the glass, my hands shaking so violently that I had to grip the cool crystal with both palms to keep from dropping it. The condensation felt icy against my flushed skin. The woman gave me a brief, tight nod, then stepped back into the shadows of the room, keeping her head lowered.

I looked down into the glass. The liquid inside was crystal clear, catching the ambient light of the room without a single ripple or cloud of sediment. It looked like pure, clean water.

Yet my mind screamed in terror.

I glanced toward Rocco. He stood a few paces away, his silhouette dark against the wide windows, watching me with cold, unblinking intent. His hand remained buried in his pocket, resting over whatever mysterious object the housekeeper had just slipped to him.

A wave of nausea washed over my stomach. I was entirely alone in this compound, trapped in the house of a ruthless mob boss who had executed my father without flinching. He had nearly crushed my windpipe only minutes ago, and now his servant had delivered a glass of water while secretly handing him an unidentified package.

My fingers locked tight around the glass. I could not tell if the liquid in my hands was harmless relief, or if it had been laced with a heavy sedative—or something deadly enough to finish what his bare hands had started.