Page 94 of Ruined By Capture

His eyes search mine, looking for cracks in my composure. Whatever he sees must satisfy him because he leans forward, capturing my lips in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly deepens. My body responds instantly, arching toward him like a flower seeking sunlight.

He pulls back first, resting his forehead against mine. "I'll wait for you downstairs with a laptop. Take your time."

"I won't be long," I promise, already figuring how quickly I can make myself presentable.

Alessio presses one more kiss to my lips before standing. The mattress shifts as his weight leaves it, and I watch him stride to the door, all lethal grace and controlled power. He pauses at the threshold, glancing back at me with an expression I can't quite decipher.

Then he's gone and I'm alone with my jumble of thoughts.

I slip into the bathroom, wincing at my reflection. My eyes are puffy from crying, my hair a tangled mess.

The bathroom is pristine, everything in its place. I pee, then brush my teeth. The mint taste clears the last cobwebs from my mind, replacing sleep with sharp focus.

My hair takes longer, the tangles requiring patience. As I work through them, I think about Leo. About the risk he's taking. About what we might find in that safe.

If Father has documentation of the trafficking operation we could end this. We could stop Raymond. Stop my father. Save lives.

I twist my hair into a simple knot at the nape of my neck.

I slip into the first clothes I find—another borrowed outfit from Lucrezia's collection. The silk blouse feels cool against my skin, and the tailored pants fit better than expected. I slide my feet into a pair of flats and head for the door.

The Feretti mansion is enormous but I've begun to memorize its layout. The grand staircase curves elegantly down, my hand trails along the polished banister as I descend.

Halfway down I spot Ginerva crossing the foyer below, a stack of fresh linens in her arms. She looks up at the sound of my footsteps and offers a warm smile that crinkles the corners of her eyes.

"Good morning, Miss Melania," she says, her voice carrying the same maternal warmth I noticed yesterday. "Did you sleep well?"

"I did, thank you." The lie comes easily, though I suspect she sees right through it.

Ginerva sets the linens on a hall table and studies my face with knowing eyes. "Is there anything you need, dear? Breakfast perhaps?"

I twist my mother's ring, finding comfort in the familiar motion. "Just a cup of tea, please. I'll be in Damiano's office."

"Of course." She nods, her expression nothing but kindness. "Any preference? We have quite a selection."

"Whatever's easiest," I reply, then add, "Something calming, if you have it."

"Chamomile with a touch of honey, then. Good for nerves." She gives me a knowing look that makes me wonder how much she understands about our situation.

"Thank you, Ginerva." I offer her a genuine smile. "I appreciate it."

"It's no trouble at all, dear." She retrieves her linens. "I'll bring it to you shortly."

I thank her again before continuing toward Damiano's office, my thoughts already racing ahead to Leo and what he might find in my father's safe.

I enter Damiano's office and the enormity of what we're about to do settles on my shoulders. The room holds a tense energy, like the air before a storm breaks.

Damiano sits behind his massive desk, fingers steepled before him. Enzo leans against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching me with those Machiavellian hazel eyes. And Alessio—my pulse quickens at the sight of him—stands near a smaller desk positioned in the corner.

They've set up my laptop there, screen glowing in readiness. A wooden chair waits for me. Beside the computer sits the burner phone—our lifeline to Leo.

"Everything's ready," Alessio says, his deep voice breaking the silence. He straightens as I approach, his gaze tracking my movements.

"The phone is charged," Damiano adds. "We're waiting on Leonardo's call."

I nod, twisting my mother's ring as I cross to the small desk. The setup feels like a command center for a mission—which, I suppose, it is. Our mission to bring down my father and Raymond.

I log into the laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard. "I want to be prepared when he calls."

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