The breakfast table in the penthouse was set with quiet luxury — fresh fruit, warm croissants, strong espresso, and eggs prepared exactly how Liora preferred them. Maria moved silently, serving the food before disappearing with a respectful nod. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, making the scene look almost normal.
Almost.
Liora sat across from Vittorio, wearing a simple silk robe he had chosen for her. Every movement reminded her of the night before — the ache between her thighs, the faint marks on her skin, the way he had claimed her again and again until her voice grew hoarse from screaming his name.
Vittorio watched her over the rim of his espresso cup, his steel-gray eyes calm but sharp. He had dressed in a crisp black shirt and trousers, looking every inch the powerful Don once more. The graze on his shoulder from last night's chaos was bandaged, but he wore it like a badge of victory.
"Eat," he said softly. It wasn't a request.
Liora picked at her food, appetite nonexistent. The weight of her choices pressed down on her. Luca was somewhere in this tower — locked in the basement, according to what Vittorio had let slip. Her brother, who had risked everything to save her, was now a prisoner because of her weakness.
"What are you going to do to him?" she asked quietly, unable to hold the question back any longer.
Vittorio set his cup down with deliberate care. "That depends entirely on you, little flame."
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, his gaze locking onto hers with that unnerving intensity. "Your brother fired at me. He tried to steal what is mine. In my world, that is a death sentence. But I am willing to be… merciful. For you."
Liora's heart clenched. "Please. He's my only real family left. He was just trying to protect me."
"Protect you?" Vittorio's laugh was low and cold. "He dragged you into a shootout. He handed you over to the Sicilians like a bargaining chip. That is not protection. That is desperation."
He stood and circled the table, coming to stand behind her. His hands rested on her shoulders, thumbs stroking the sides of her neck in a deceptively gentle motion.
"I will keep him alive," he continued, voice dropping. "But he will remain in the basement. He will watch on camera as you learn to accept your place here. And if you ever try to run again… I will make him pay for your mistake. Slowly."
Liora closed her eyes, tears threatening. The threat was clear — and terrifyingly effective. She nodded, swallowing hard. "I won't run."
Vittorio leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Good girl."
He returned to his seat, picking up his espresso again as if they were discussing the weather. "Now eat. You need your strength. Today, I have meetings, but tonight you will join me for dinner. And tomorrow… we begin the next phase."
Liora forced herself to take a few bites, her mind racing. Luca was alive — for now. But the price was her complete surrender. The worst part was how a dark, secret part of her didn't entirely hate the idea.
After breakfast, Vittorio left for his meetings, leaving two guards stationed discreetly outside the penthouse. Liora was given limited freedom — the garden, the library, the gym — but always under watch.
She spent the afternoon in the library, pretending to read while her thoughts spiraled. The burner phone was gone — Vittorio must have found it during the night. She was truly trapped now, with no way to contact Luca or the outside world.
When evening came, Maria escorted her to the dining room. Vittorio was already there, dressed in a tailored black suit, looking devastatingly handsome and dangerous. Candles flickered on the table, casting warm light over the elegant meal.
He stood when she entered, pulling out her chair with mock chivalry. As she sat, he leaned down and whispered against her ear, "You look beautiful in that dress. But I prefer you in nothing at all."
Liora flushed, the silk dress he had chosen for her suddenly feeling too revealing. Dinner was tense but civilized. Vittorio spoke of business in vague terms — shipments, alliances, the growing Sicilian threat. He asked about her day, about what she had read. He acted almost like a normal lover.
But underneath every word was the reminder: she was his.
After dessert, he took her hand and led her to the bedroom without asking. This time there was no punishment — only slow, deliberate seduction. He undressed her piece by piece, kissing every inch of skin he revealed. He laid her on the bed and worshipped her with his mouth until she was writhing and begging. Only then did he enter her, slow and deep, eyes locked on hers the entire time.
"You're mine," he whispered as he moved inside her. "Say it."
"I'm yours," Liora breathed, tears slipping down her cheeks even as pleasure built.
He rewarded her with deeper thrusts, bringing her to climax twice before finally allowing his own release.
Afterward, as they lay tangled together, Vittorio stroked her hair.
"Tomorrow I will let you see your brother," he said quietly. "Through glass. You will tell him you have chosen to stay. You will tell him the war is over for you."
Liora's heart ached, but she nodded against his chest.
She had made her choice.
Or perhaps the choice had been made for her the moment she first looked into those steel-gray eyes.
Outside the tower, unknown to them both, Luca sat in a dimly lit cell, staring at a security camera in the corner.
"I'm coming for you, sis," he whispered to the lens. "Hold on. The Sicilians aren't finished yet."
The war was far from over.
And Liora stood at its burning center — caught between the brother who would die for her and the mafia king who would kill for her.