The following days blurred into a tense routine inside Calderone Tower. Liora moved through the penthouse like a ghost in silk — beautiful, pampered, and quietly breaking. Vittorio kept his promise: no more running, no more secrets. He watched her constantly, even when he was away handling business. Guards followed at a respectful distance, and Maria reported every small change in her mood.
Each night he claimed her with the same relentless passion. Sometimes slow and almost tender, whispering Sicilian endearments as he moved deep inside her. Sometimes hard and possessive, reminding her with every thrust that she belonged to him. Liora gave herself over to the pleasure, letting it drown the guilt and the growing fear. But in the quiet hours before dawn, when Vittorio slept with his arm locked around her waist, she lay awake thinking of Luca's heartbroken face behind the glass.
On the fourth morning after her recapture, Vittorio joined her for breakfast on the rooftop garden. The olive trees rustled in the breeze, and the city sprawled below them like a kingdom he ruled with blood and iron.
"You've been quiet," he observed, cutting into his eggs with precise movements. His steel-gray eyes studied her over the table. "Still thinking about your brother?"
Liora set her fork down, appetite gone. "How could I not? He's locked in your basement because of me."
Vittorio reached across the table and took her hand, his thumb stroking her knuckles. "He's alive. Fed. Unharmed. That is more mercy than most men who shoot at me ever receive. Be grateful."
"I am," she whispered. But the words felt hollow.
He studied her for a long moment, then stood and pulled her to her feet. "Come. There is something you need to see."
He led her down to the secure observation room outside Luca's cell. The glass was one-way this time — they could see him, but he couldn't see them. Luca sat on the metal bench, staring at the floor, his face gaunt and bruised. He looked thinner, defeated.
Liora's heart cracked. "Please… let me talk to him again. Just once."
Vittorio's jaw tightened. "No. The last visit was enough. He needs to accept that you have chosen me. The sooner he does, the safer he stays."
As they watched, Luca suddenly looked up toward the camera in the corner of his cell. His voice was hoarse but steady as he spoke directly to it.
"Liora… if you can hear me, hold on. The Sicilians haven't forgotten. They're coming. Stronger this time. They have allies in the city now. When they hit the tower, I'll find a way to get to you. You're still a Rossi. Don't let him break you completely."
Liora's breath caught. Vittorio's hand tightened on her shoulder, hard enough to bruise.
"So," he said softly, dangerously calm. "They're planning another attack."
He turned her to face him, cupping her jaw firmly. "You will tell me everything you know about their plans. Every message your brother sent you. Every name he mentioned."
"I don't know anything," she lied, voice trembling. "He only said they were coming. That's all."
Vittorio's eyes darkened. He backed her against the wall of the observation room, pressing his body against hers. "Do not lie to me, little flame. Not after everything I've given you. Not after I spared his life."
His hand slid down her body, slipping under her dress and between her thighs. He stroked her slowly, teasingly, even as his voice remained cold. "Tell me the truth… or I'll take you right here, against this glass, while your brother watches on the camera and learns exactly what his sister has become."
Liora gasped as his fingers found her already damp. Shame and unwanted arousal warred inside her. "Vittorio… please…"
"Tell me," he repeated, sliding two fingers inside her, curling them perfectly. "Or I start the lesson right now."
Tears slipped down her cheeks. The pressure was too much — the pleasure, the guilt, the fear for Luca.
"They mentioned a ship," she whispered brokenly. "A shipment arriving in three days at the old docks. They said it would bring more men. That's all I know. I swear."
Vittorio's fingers stilled. He studied her face, searching for any sign of deception. Then he kissed her — hard, claiming, rewarding her honesty.
"Good girl," he murmured against her lips. "That wasn't so difficult, was it?"
He withdrew his hand, straightened her dress, and pulled her into his arms. "You did the right thing. Now your brother lives another day."
As they left the observation room, Vittorio's expression turned cold and calculating. He pulled out his phone and fired off a message to Marco.
"Double security on the old docks. Prepare an ambush. If the Sicilians want war, we'll give them one they'll never forget."
That night, Vittorio was gentler with her. He took her slowly in the big bed, whispering praises as he moved deep inside her. "You chose correctly today," he told her between kisses. "You're learning. Soon you'll understand that loyalty to me is the only loyalty that matters."
Liora clung to him, moaning softly as pleasure built. But in the back of her mind, Luca's words echoed like a warning:
When they hit the tower…
The Sicilians were coming.
And when the war finally reached the penthouse, Liora would have to decide once and for all which side she truly stood on — the brother who would die for her, or the mafia king who would burn the world to keep her.