Chapter 2 — A Prison in Disguise

Vivi

The iron gates of the Russo Estate loomed ahead, their intricate filigree designs threading together like a delicate web—beautiful, yet inescapable. Vivi sat stiffly in the backseat of the black sedan, her fingers absently tracing the hem of her silk blouse. The faint aroma of leather and engine oil filled the cabin, mingling with the tight coil of anger and defiance twisting in her chest. She had been delivered, a reluctant bride to a world she had fought to escape. The gates creaked open, their grinding echo a herald of her new confinement.

As the car rolled forward, Vivi’s gaze lingered on the estate beyond the gates. The sprawling villa perched atop the hillside was breathtaking in its grandeur. Its pale stone walls glowed in the amber light of the setting sun, and jasmine vines wove through the columns, their delicate fragrance carried on the warm Mediterranean breeze. Yet the high stone walls enclosing the property told the truth: this was not a sanctuary. It was a fortress.

The car came to a stop, and the driver stepped out to open her door. Vivi hesitated, her fingers tightening briefly around her clutch. She drew in a breath, steadying herself, before stepping out. Her heels clicked against the cobblestones, the sound sharp and deliberate. She would not let them see her falter—not here, not now.

Her eyes flicked to the figure descending the villa’s broad marble steps. Dante Russo moved with measured precision, his tailored suit fitting him like armor, his dark eyes fixed on her with an unsettling intensity. He was the lion surveying his territory, and she was the intruder.

“Welcome to your new home,” Dante said, his voice calm, almost courteous, but edged with steel. “I trust the journey was comfortable.”

“Comfortable enough,” Vivi replied, her tone measured but sharp. She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze head-on. Defiance came to her like a reflex, a shield against the unsettling power he radiated. “Though I doubt comfort is your priority in this arrangement.”

A faint, humorless smile tugged at Dante’s lips. “Comfort is relative, Mrs. Russo. Shall we go inside?”

The title stung, but Vivi refused to flinch. Instead, she brushed past him, her steps precise and unyielding, even as her pulse thundered in her ears. The villa’s grand entrance swallowed her whole, its marble floors gleaming beneath ornate chandeliers. The scent of polished wood and faint citrus clung to the air, but no warmth could be found here. This was not a home. It was a stage, curated and pristine, where appearances were everything and intimacy was nowhere.

Dante led her into a sitting room, where a tray of tea and finger sandwiches sat untouched on a low table. The room was impeccably designed—dark wood, muted gold accents, and heavy drapes that blocked out the fading sunlight. Yet the presence of two guards stationed near the door shattered any illusion of comfort. Their silent watchfulness pressed against her like the weight of invisible chains.

“Let’s get one thing clear,” Dante began, his tone as sharp as the cut of his suit. “Our arrangement is simple. In public, you will act as my loyal wife. Your presence lends credibility to my role. In return, you’ll be afforded certain… liberties.”

“Liberties?” Vivi echoed, arching an eyebrow.

“You’ll have freedom within the estate,” he replied, his voice steady, his gaze unwavering. “And you may continue to run your gallery, provided it doesn’t interfere with my interests. But make no mistake—your loyalty is expected.”

“And if I refuse?”

Dante’s expression darkened briefly, a flicker of something dangerous crossing his features before his mask of control returned. “I wouldn’t advise it.”

The silence between them crackled, heavy with unspoken threats and challenges. Vivi forced her breathing to remain even, her heart racing beneath her calm exterior. She would not let him see her fear.

“Shall I show you to your quarters?” Dante asked, his tone returning to its calculated calm.

“Lead the way,” Vivi said curtly.

As they moved through the villa, Vivi took in every detail with a calculated eye. The polished floors amplified the sound of their footsteps, each echo stretching into the quiet. Heavy wooden doors lined the hallways, their brass handles gleaming under the recessed lighting. Outside, the faint hum of security drones mingled with the distant murmur of waves—a reminder of the estate’s isolation.

When they reached the guest wing, Dante opened a door to reveal a spacious bedroom. The decor was elegant but cold, all muted tones and sparse furnishings. A large window overlooked the manicured gardens, their riotous beauty confined by the high stone walls.

“This will be your space,” Dante said, his words crisp. “You’re free to make it your own.”

“How generous,” Vivi replied, her voice laced with sarcasm. She stepped into the room, her heels sinking into the plush rug. “And where will you be? In your throne room?”

Dante’s lips twitched, as if her defiance amused him. “I’ll be in my study. If you need anything, ask one of the staff. And Vivi…”

She turned to face him, her hazel eyes locking onto his.

“You’d do well to remember that trust is earned,” he said, his voice lowering subtly, almost as if the words carried a weight he didn’t entirely wish to reveal. “Not freely given.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Vivi alone in the suffocating silence. She exhaled slowly, her gaze drifting around the room. The air felt heavy, oppressive, as if the walls themselves were watching her. She had to move.

Determined to familiarize herself with her surroundings, Vivi stepped into the hallway. The villa was a labyrinth of opulence and control. She passed a library with floor-to-ceiling shelves, the scent of aged leather and paper lingering in the air. A dining room with a table large enough to host an army. A solarium filled with exotic plants that seemed almost out of place in this sterile mansion.

Her steps slowed as she approached a door slightly ajar. Pushing it open, she stepped into a study—Dante’s study, she realized immediately. The room exuded his presence: dark wood furnishings, meticulous organization, and the faint scent of his cologne. On the desk sat a single object that drew her gaze—a gold signet ring bearing the Russo family crest.

Her fingers itched to touch it, to feel the weight of the symbol of his authority. But her instincts warned her against it. Instead, her attention shifted to a locked safe discreetly built into the wall behind the desk. Its presence was subtle, almost hidden, but undeniable. What could be inside? Something tied to her father’s debts, perhaps? Or secrets Dante guarded as fiercely as his authority?

The sound of footsteps in the hallway jolted her. She quickly slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her just as a small voice called out.

“Who’s there?”

Vivi turned to see a boy standing a few feet away. He couldn’t have been older than ten, his dark hair slightly tousled, his wide brown eyes both wary and curious. He hugged a leather-bound sketchbook to his chest, his small frame almost swallowed by the villa’s vastness.

“You must be Enzo,” Vivi said softly, crouching slightly to meet his gaze. “I’m Vivi.”

Enzo nodded, his grip on the sketchbook tightening. “Are you Uncle Dante’s wife?”

“I am,” she replied, the words feeling foreign on her tongue. “And you’re his nephew?”

“Yes,” Enzo said, his voice barely above a whisper. He hesitated, then added, “Do you like to draw?”

“I do,” Vivi said, warmth creeping into her tone. “Do you?”

Enzo nodded again, his expression softening. “I like to draw things I see. And sometimes things I imagine.”

“That’s a wonderful gift,” Vivi said, her smile gentle. “Maybe you can show me your drawings sometime.”

Enzo’s lips quirked into a shy smile. “Maybe.”

Before she could say more, Dante’s voice echoed from down the hall, calling for Enzo. The boy’s expression shifted, a mixture of affection and apprehension flitting across his features. He gave Vivi a small wave before hurrying off, leaving her alone once more.

As she stood in the quiet hallway, Vivi felt a pang of something she couldn’t quite name. Enzo’s presence was a reminder of the innocence still clinging to this world, fragile and fleeting. She couldn’t ignore it.

The walls of this gilded cage were high, but they weren’t impenetrable. Vivi Moreau wasn’t one to remain a prisoner for long.