Chapter 3 — Arrival at the DeLuca Estate

Valentina

The gates of the DeLuca estate loomed ahead, wrought iron twisted into intricate patterns that might have seemed decorative—if not for the razor-sharp edges embedded within. They weren’t just a barrier; they were a warning. The car slowed, the crunch of gravel beneath the tires unnervingly loud in the suffocating silence. A guard stood motionless to the side, his hand resting on the gun holstered at his hip, his eyes tracking my every move like a hawk.

I gripped the strap of my bag tighter, my knuckles whitening. This was it. The moment I stepped through those gates, any semblance of control over my life would be gone. Not that I’d had much lately, but this felt final, like the slam of a cell door. My family’s safety was the price of my autonomy, and for all my defiance, I couldn’t shake the bitter truth: I had no choice.

As the gates groaned open, I allowed myself a single glance up. The estate sprawled across the hill like a fortress, its sharp lines and towering windows bathed in the fading glow of the setting sun. The hedges were so meticulously trimmed they looked artificial, and the fountain in the circular driveway gushed water that sparkled like diamonds. To anyone else, it might have seemed beautiful. To me, it was a gilded cage, the kind of place where power curled through the air like an invisible noose.

The car door opened, and the evening chill rushed in, biting through my leather jacket. I stepped out, my boots crunching against the gravel as I straightened to my full height, squaring my shoulders. No one here would see me falter—not Adrian DeLuca, and certainly not the guards who watched me like they expected me to bolt.

The front doors opened before I could mount the steps, and there he was. Adrian.

He was as striking as I remembered from the wedding, though the tailored suit was gone, replaced by a charcoal sweater that emphasized his broad shoulders and dark slacks that made his height even more imposing. His stormy gray eyes locked onto mine, unreadable but sharp, like a blade poised to strike. Yet, for just a fraction of a second, something flickered there—curiosity, maybe, or something softer—before his expression hardened.

“Valentina,” he said, his voice smooth, low, and utterly devoid of warmth. He gestured toward the open doorway. “Welcome to your new home.”

I didn’t move. “It’s Val,” I said, my tone clipped and sharp. “Only people who know me call me Valentina.”

His lips twitched ever so slightly—an expression that wasn’t quite a smile but hinted at amusement. “Noted,” he said, stepping aside to hold the door open wider. “Shall we?”

I climbed the steps, my chin held high, and crossed the threshold. The interior was as grand as the exterior promised—high ceilings, gleaming marble floors, and chandeliers dripping with crystals that scattered light like shards of ice. The air smelled faintly of wood polish and gardenias, an artificial attempt to soften the cold edges of the house.

Adrian closed the door behind me with a soft click that sounded far too final.

“Let’s get something clear,” he said, stepping in front of me. His height forced me to tilt my head back slightly to meet his gaze. “This arrangement is a necessity, not a choice. I don’t expect you to like it, but you will respect the rules of this house. No wandering into restricted areas, no interfering with my business, and no leaving without my permission.”

“Respect?” I repeated, a bitter laugh bubbling up before I could stop it. I let my bag drop onto the marble floor with a deliberate thud. “That’s rich, coming from a man who didn’t even bother asking for my consent before turning my life into a chess move.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “Your room is upstairs, third door on the left. Dinner is at eight. Don’t be late.”

“I’ll show up if I feel like it.”

He leaned in slightly, his eyes narrowing. “You’re under my roof now. You’ll follow my rules.”

The words carried an unspoken threat, but I refused to back down. I met his gaze, defiance burning in my chest despite the knot of unease tightening my stomach.

The tension between us crackled like a live wire until he finally straightened, his expression cooling into something distant and unreadable.

“Do yourself a favor, Val,” he said with quiet, measured intensity, his voice carrying a weight that made the air seem heavier. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

I stayed rooted in place as he turned on his heel and walked away, his footsteps echoing against the marble floors, each one deliberate and precise. My heart was pounding, though whether from anger, fear, or pure adrenaline, I couldn’t tell.

The oppressive silence of the house closed in around me, broken only by the faint hum of distant machinery—cameras, probably—or the faint ticking of a clock I couldn’t see. I picked up my bag and climbed the staircase, the sound of my boots against the steps echoing like the countdown to something inevitable.

My room was as coldly impersonal as the rest of the house. A queen-sized bed with crisp white linens, a mahogany dresser, and heavy curtains that swallowed the last rays of sunlight. A single vase of fresh marigolds sat on the nightstand, their vibrant orange petals clashing against the muted tones of the decor. A small touch of life, incongruous and almost mocking.

I dropped my bag onto the bed and sank into the chair by the window, staring out at the city lights twinkling in the distance. Somewhere out there was the life I had dreamed of, the freedom I had clung to like a lifeline. And now? Now I was here, a pawn in a game I didn’t want to play.

My gaze fell to the bag, and I unzipped it, pulling out my journal. The weathered leather cover was warm under my fingertips, the clasp worn smooth from years of use. It was the one thing in my life that still felt wholly mine, the only place I could be honest.

I ran my thumb over the clasp, debating whether to open it. The thought of Adrian—or anyone in this house—finding it sent a shiver down my spine. I considered hiding it but decided against it for now. Later. I’d find a place later.

For now, I turned back to the window, letting the city lights blur and fade as the shadows deepened. Somewhere in this house, Adrian DeLuca was probably congratulating himself on winning whatever twisted game he and my father were playing. But he didn’t know me—not yet.

I would bide my time, gather my strength, and when the moment came, I would remind them both that I wasn’t some damsel to be locked away in a tower.

I was Valentina Russo. And I would find a way out.

That night, after the house had gone silent, I crept from my room. The pocket watch I had noticed earlier in Adrian’s study had caught my interest, and I needed answers—if not about him, then about the kind of man I was now tethered to.

The study door was unlocked, which surprised me. The room itself was immaculate, every surface gleaming under the soft light of a desk lamp. The faint scent of leather and old paper hung in the air, grounding the space in a sense of history and control.

The watch sat on the desk, its silver surface polished to perfection. I picked it up carefully, turning it over in my hands. The intricate engraving of ivy vines was beautiful, almost delicate. I flicked it open, my breath catching at the sight of the faded photograph inside.

A young boy—Adrian, I realized—stood beside a woman with kind eyes and a soft smile. His mother.

The watch was silent, its mechanism long since stilled. Its silence felt heavy, almost deliberate, like a secret too painful to share. A strange pang of something I couldn’t name twisted in my chest: sympathy, maybe. Or envy. Adrian could carry this piece of his past with him, while mine was shrouded in unanswered questions and memories that felt more like wounds.

I set the watch back down and slipped out of the study, my mind racing.

One thing was clear: there was more to Adrian DeLuca than the cold, unyielding facade he presented. And if I was going to survive this, I needed to figure out exactly what that was.