The sun hadn't even risen when the door to the girls' room creaked open.
"Up," a voice barked.
Vittoria sat up quickly, heart racing. Around her, the other girls scrambled to their feet, still sore from yesterday's training. No one spoke. No one dared.
Two male guards entered and pointed to the door.
"Line up."
Vittoria followed, her steps stiff, muscles aching. They were led through long, quiet halls, the floor cold beneath their bare feet. Finally, they entered a large room with a long wooden table in the center and chairs lined up against the walls. A man was already waiting inside.
He was tall, dressed in black, and wore leather gloves even though it wasn't cold. His face was blank, but his eyes were sharp.
"I'm Raffaele," he said flatly. "I handle the wing assignments."
He looked around at the girls slowly. "You've made it past Day One. Some don't. Now it's time you learn how things work here."
He walked past them, slow and deliberate.
"There are ranks. The ones you saw yesterday—the favorites—they live differently than you. They get better rooms, better clothes, more food. But they earn it through loyalty, obedience, and pleasing the right men."
Vittoria swallowed hard.
"You," Raffaele pointed to a trembling red-haired girl. "You're on kitchen duty. You," he pointed to another. "Laundry."
Then his eyes landed on Vittoria. "You. Wing C."
Vittoria looked up, confused. "Sir?"
He stepped forward quickly and grabbed her chin, making her look up. "Speak only when asked. Understood?"
She nodded fast. "Yes, sir."
He released her face. "Wing C is where the marked girls stay. Favorites. Luciano's girls. His men's girls. You're not one of them. Yet. But you'll clean their floors, bring them food, run when they snap their fingers. Don't touch anything. Don't talk back. Don't look anyone in the eye unless told."
Vittoria's stomach twisted.
Raffaele turned to all of them. "There are three things you never do here. One: you don't disobey the favorites. Two: you don't interrupt the masters. Three…" He leaned in closer, voice dropping. "You don't try to run."
He let the silence stretch. "Last girl who tried was found in the forest with a broken leg and no tongue. She's still alive. But she doesn't talk much anymore."
The girls stood frozen.
Raffaele clapped his hands once. "Dismissed. Wing C girl—follow me."
Vittoria nodded quickly and followed behind.
The halls changed. The walls here were cleaner, the air smelled better, like roses and smoke. She passed doors lined with gold handles. Some were half open. She saw girls lounging on beds, some laughing with each other, others being dressed by maids.
Raffaele stopped in front of one room.
"You'll report here every morning. Clean. Serve. Stay out of the way."
The door opened behind them. A girl stepped out wearing a silk robe, her long black hair falling down her back like ink. She was beautiful—flawless skin, sharp cheekbones, and cold brown eyes.
Raffaele stepped aside. "This is Ottavia. Mr. Luciano's favorite. You obey her before anyone else."
Vittoria kept her head down. "Good morning, Miss."
Ottavia laughed softly. "She's polite. Cute."
Raffaele didn't smile. "She's new. Don't break her on the first day."
"I won't," Ottavia said lightly. Then her tone changed, sharp like glass. "Unless she forgets who I am."
Raffaele turned to Vittoria. "Say 'Yes, Miss Ottavia.' Always."
"Yes, Miss Ottavia," Vittoria repeated, voice small.
Ottavia smiled. "Follow me."
Raffaele left without another word.
Vittoria followed her down the hallway and into a large room. It had deep red carpets, tall windows with heavy curtains, and shelves filled with books and wine bottles.
"You clean here," Ottavia said. "Quietly. I don't like noise in the morning."
"Yes, Miss Ottavia."
She turned to Vittoria slowly. "If I tell you to bring me tea, you run. If I'm angry, you apologize. If you ever touch Luciano's things, you'll wish you were never born. Understand?"
Vittoria nodded quickly. "Yes, Miss Ottavia."
Ottavia stepped close, her voice almost a whisper. "You're lucky. He noticed you yesterday. But don't get ideas. He notices a lot of girls. Most don't last. I do. Because I know how to keep him happy."
Vittoria kept her eyes on the floor. Her heart thudded in her chest.
"Good," Ottavia said. "Now clean."
She pointed to the corner.
Vittoria moved fast, grabbing the small broom and rag.
Time passed in silence. Vittoria dusted the shelves and wiped the table. Ottavia drank tea by the window, reading a book, saying nothing else.
Then the door creaked open again.
Vittoria turned by instinct—and froze.
Luciano stood at the entrance, wearing a black shirt with his sleeves rolled up, his eyes scanning the room lazily. He didn't look surprised to see Vittoria there.
Ottavia smiled and walked up to him. "You're early."
He kissed her cheek lightly, then looked at Vittoria.
"She's already working?" he asked.
"She's learning," Ottavia replied.
Luciano stepped toward Vittoria, his eyes unreadable. "Name?"
"Vittoria," she whispered.
"Look at me."
She did, slowly.
He stared at her, quiet, unreadable.
Then he turned away. "Good. Keep her busy."
And just like that, he was gone.
Ottavia watched the door for a second, then turned back to Vittoria with a strange look in her eyes.
"You really should be careful," she said softly. "When Luciano looks at someone like that, it means something."
Vittoria didn't know what to say.
But she knew one thing.
She had just stepped deeper into a world she didn't understand.
And there was no way out.
Vittoria continued to clean in silence, her hands shaking slightly as she wiped down the edge of a glass shelf. Ottavia hadn't moved much since Luciano left, but Vittoria could feel her eyes—cold and watching.
Then, footsteps.
Vittoria turned just in time to see Ottavia approaching her slowly, a glint of amusement—or perhaps cruelty—in her eyes. She crouched slightly, bringing herself to Vittoria's level, then reached out and grabbed her by the chin.
Her touch was soft at first, but firm enough to hold Vittoria still.
"I don't like your pretty face," she said with a low, dangerous smile. "Apologize."
Vittoria blinked, confused, lips parting slightly.
Ottavia laughed—a sharp, mocking sound. "What a puppy. Scared, but still trying to be brave."
She straightened up and took a step back. "I like it."
Then her voice dropped, calm but sharp as a blade. "Would you mind bending down to lick my feet as your lady?"
Vittoria's heart dropped.
She stared up at Ottavia, stunned, unsure if she heard correctly.
Ottavia raised one brow. "Well?"
Vittoria shook her head slowly, eyes wide. "I'll never do that," she said, voice firm but quiet.
Ottavia's smile vanished.
Her eyes darkened.
"Are you trying to disobey me, Vittoria?" she asked, stepping closer again.
Vittoria didn't answer.
Her silence was enough.
Ottavia's voice rose. "I said—lick my feet!"
The silence in the room shattered with her scream.
Vittoria clenched her fists at her sides, staring into Ottavia's eyes with a new kind of fire. "I'd rather die than lick your feet!" she yelled back.
The words echoed through the room.
Ottavia stepped back, stunned.
For a heartbeat, all was still.
Then, hurried footsteps and gasps broke the tension as the door swung open. Several girls rushed to the entrance, peeking in.
Lucrezia entered quickly, her eyes scanning the room before settling on Ottavia. "What's going on here?" she demanded.
Ottavia pointed straight at Vittoria. "She refused a direct order. I told her to show respect. She refused. She yelled at me."
Lucrezia turned to Vittoria, her face unreadable. "Is that true?"
Vittoria stood tall, her chest rising and falling fast. "Yes."
Lucrezia stepped closer, voice calm but full of warning. "Do it, Vittoria."
Vittoria shook her head.
"No," she said softly.
Lucrezia's face tightened. "Do it," she repeated, louder now.
Vittoria stood her ground.
"I said no."
Without another word, Lucrezia turned to the guards waiting by the door. One of them stepped in, holding a long leather whip curled at his side. Vittoria's eyes widened as he approached.
Lucrezia's voice was cold. "If she refuses again… whip her."
The guard nodded once.
Lucrezia looked back at Vittoria. "Last chance."
Vittoria took a breath, her eyes shining with defiance. "I won't."
Crack!
The sound tore through the room like thunder. The first lash struck her back, and Vittoria cried out, her knees buckling.
Another whip landed, harder this time.
She fell to the ground, her fingers clawing at the rug as pain burned through her spine.
The other girls at the doorway gasped, some covering their mouths, others looking away in pity. But no one dared move.
The guard didn't stop.
Again.
And again.
Vittoria's back was torn, the skin split open as blood stained her dress.
Her vision blurred.
Her breath hitched.
The pain was too much.
She heard Lucrezia's voice shouting again, but the words were muffled.
And then—just as the whip rose once more
A voice rang out. Calm. Cold.
"Stop."
Everything froze.
The whip didn't fall.
Vittoria tried to lift her head, to see who had spoken—but her body gave out.
Her world tilted.
And then, darkness.
She collapsed to the floor, bleeding and broken.
The last thing she heard was the sound of heavy footsteps approaching.
And a whisper through the silence:
"Take her to the east wing. Now."