The next morning, the penthouse felt heavier than usual. Liora stood in front of the full-length mirror, staring at her reflection. The simple black dress Vittorio had chosen for her hugged her curves, modest yet elegant. Her dark wavy hair was loose, and faint marks from the previous night still lingered on her neck and wrists — visible reminders of his claim.
Vittorio appeared behind her, already dressed in a sharp charcoal suit. He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, pulling her back against his chest. His steel-gray eyes met hers in the mirror.
"You look perfect," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck. "Remember what we discussed. You will tell your brother the truth. You have chosen to stay. The war ends for you here."
Liora's stomach twisted, but she nodded. "I remember."
He turned her in his arms and kissed her deeply, slow and possessive, as if sealing the promise. When he pulled back, his expression was calm but unyielding.
"Ten minutes. That's all I'm giving you. Guards will be watching. If you say anything that sounds like a code or a plea for help, the visit ends immediately — and your brother pays the price."
Liora swallowed hard. "I understand."
He led her down to the secure basement level, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back the entire way. The corridor was cold and sterile, lined with heavy steel doors. One door stood open, revealing a small observation room with thick glass separating it from the cell beyond.
Luca sat on a metal bench inside the cell, hands cuffed in front of him. He looked exhausted, bruised, but his eyes lit up with fierce determination the moment he saw her.
"Liora!" He shot to his feet and rushed to the glass, pressing his palms against it. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"
Liora stepped closer, placing her hand on the glass opposite his. Tears welled in her eyes. "I'm… I'm okay, Luca. He hasn't hurt me. Not like that."
Luca's face twisted with anger and disbelief. "Not like that? Look at you — you're wearing his clothes, standing next to him like you belong here. What did he do to you? Did he threaten you? Brainwash you?"
Vittorio stood a few feet behind her, arms crossed, watching silently. His presence was a heavy weight at her back.
Liora took a shaky breath. "Luca… I'm staying. I've chosen to stay with him."
The words felt like knives in her throat.
Luca slammed his cuffed hands against the glass. "No! You're lying. He's forcing you to say that. Fight, Liora! The Sicilians are still coming. We can get you out. You don't have to live like this — like his whore!"
The word stung. Liora flinched, but Vittorio's hand settled on her shoulder, steady and warm.
"Time's almost up," Vittorio said calmly, his voice carrying clear warning.
Liora leaned closer to the glass, lowering her voice. "Luca, please… stop fighting. I'm safe here. He protects me. I'm not… I'm not suffering. Just stay alive. Please."
Luca stared at her, eyes wide with betrayal and heartbreak. "You're really choosing him? After everything? After he bought you like meat?"
Tears spilled down Liora's cheeks. "It's complicated. I… I care about him. I don't expect you to understand."
Luca backed away from the glass, shaking his head. "Then you're already lost. When the Sicilians come — and they will — I hope you remember who your real family is."
Vittorio signaled the guards. The visit was over.
As Luca was led away deeper into the cell block, he shouted one last time: "I won't stop, Liora! Blood calls to blood!"
The heavy door slammed shut.
Liora stood frozen, tears streaming silently. Vittorio turned her gently to face him, wiping her cheeks with his thumbs.
"You did well," he said softly. "That was difficult, but necessary. He needed to hear it from your own mouth."
He pulled her into his arms, holding her against his chest. "You're mine now, little flame. Completely. No more running. No more secrets. Understand?"
Liora nodded against him, her voice barely a whisper. "I understand."
But as he led her back upstairs, one thought refused to die in her mind:
Luca was right about one thing.
The Sicilians were still coming.
And when they did, she would have to make the hardest choice of all.
That night, Vittorio took her again — slower this time, almost tender. He whispered praises against her skin as he moved inside her, calling her his queen, his obsession, his everything. Liora clung to him, letting the pleasure drown out the guilt and fear.
But in the quiet hours after he fell asleep, she lay awake staring at the ceiling, Luca's heartbroken face burned into her memory.
The war was far from over.
And she was trapped in the eye of the storm — loved by the devil, hunted by her own blood.