4- A Prison of Gold

I stood frozen in the doorway of the grand entrance hall, staring at the opulence that surrounded me. The floors gleamed, polished to perfection, and the high ceilings arched above like the inside of a cathedral. Everything was immaculate, from the sweeping staircase to the ornate chandelier hanging overhead. It was beautiful, yes, but there was something unnerving about it—like a gilded cage, more prison than palace.

The driver nudged me forward. “Move.”

My legs, stiff and unwilling, finally obeyed, and I stepped inside. The cold marble beneath my feet sent a shiver up my spine. The grandeur of the place only amplified how out of place I felt. Everything was too clean, too pristine, like it hadn’t been touched in years. My fingers grazed the edge of the bannister as I walked, but I quickly pulled my hand back. I didn’t belong here.

The driver walked ahead of me, his steps steady, a clear contrast to the hesitant shuffle of my own. I followed him down a hallway, long and lined with closed doors, each one like a silent witness to the secrets this place held.

At the end of the hallway, he stopped in front of a large wooden door. He turned the handle and pushed it open, revealing a room much like the rest of the house—lavish but cold. The bed was massive, with a heavy velvet comforter draped across it, and the curtains were drawn tight, shutting out any trace of the outside world.

“This is where you’ll stay,” he said flatly, stepping aside for me to enter. “Don’t leave unless you’re told otherwise.”

I hovered in the doorway, unsure whether to move or stand still. “What do you mean, ‘told otherwise’?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

The driver’s expression didn’t change. He didn’t look at me like a person, just a task. “You’ll have what you need brought to you. Food, water, clothes. You don’t leave until Dante says you do. Understand?”

I opened my mouth to protest, to argue that I wasn’t some kind of prisoner, but the words caught in my throat. What could I say? I *was* a prisoner here. Even if I didn’t have chains around my wrists, I was trapped, and I knew it.

He raised an eyebrow, waiting for my response.

I nodded slowly, swallowing the rising lump in my throat. “Yeah. I understand.”

Without another word, he turned and left, closing the door behind him with a soft click that somehow felt louder than it should have. I stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door, my mind racing. How had this become my life? Yesterday, I was just another girl trying to make it through the day. Now, I was locked away in the home of one of the most dangerous men in the city.

I walked over to the window and pulled back the heavy curtain just enough to peek outside. The estate stretched out for what seemed like miles, a perfectly manicured garden below and tall iron gates at the far end of the property. Beyond the gates, nothing but darkness. I didn’t even know where we were.

My fingers tightened around the curtain, and I let it fall back into place with a sigh. I turned toward the bed, staring at it like it might swallow me whole. I couldn’t bring myself to lie down, though I was exhausted. The events of the past few hours clung to me like a second skin. I felt dirty. I felt... small.

A knock on the door startled me, and I spun around just as it creaked open. A young woman stepped in, carrying a tray of food. Her eyes flicked toward me briefly, but she quickly averted them, setting the tray down on the small table by the window.

“Your dinner,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. She was gone before I could say a word, the door closing behind her with the same soft, final click as before.

I stood there, staring at the tray. The scent of food wafted through the room—fresh bread, roasted chicken, and some kind of soup—but the thought of eating made my stomach churn. I sank down onto the edge of the bed, running a hand through my hair.

What was I going to do? I had no plan, no way out. And Dante...

I shuddered just thinking about him. The way he looked at me, like I was nothing more than a problem to be dealt with. The cold, calculating way he spoke. It wasn’t like in the movies where the villain would give a monologue, revealing some hidden, tortured soul. Dante Ricci wasn’t that man. He was... empty. At least, that’s how it felt.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, my head in my hands. Maybe there was a way out of this. Maybe if I could prove to him that I was no threat, that I could just disappear and never speak of this again, he’d let me go.

But something told me it wouldn’t be that easy.

The door creaked open again, and I snapped upright. This time, it wasn’t the driver or the girl. It was *him*.

Dante stepped inside, his eyes locking onto me immediately. I felt my pulse quicken, every instinct telling me to get up, to move, but my body refused to obey. He closed the door behind him, the sound of the latch clicking into place making my breath hitch in my throat.

He didn’t say anything at first, just walked slowly toward the table, his movements smooth and deliberate. He glanced at the untouched food, then back at me. “You’re not eating.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, his voice as flat as ever.

I shook my head, my throat too dry to speak.

He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing slightly “You should. You’ll need your strength.”

“For what?” I finally managed to choke out. My voice sounded weak, pathetic, but I couldn’t help it. Fear had taken root deep inside me, and I couldn’t shake it.

Dante’s lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. “Survival.”

The word hung in the air between us, heavy and suffocating. I stared at him, my heart pounding in my chest. Survival. That’s all this was to him—a game of survival. And I was the one who had to prove myself.

“I don’t know how to survive in your world,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

His smile faded, and he tilted his head slightly, studying me like he was trying to decide if I was worth answering. “Then you’ll learn. Or you’ll die.”

A cold chill ran down my spine. The way he said it, so matter-of-fact, like it wasn’t even up for debate—it made my blood run cold.

“What do you want from me?” I asked, my voice trembling. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

Dante’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, something flickered behind them—something I couldn’t quite place. But just as quickly, it was gone. He turned away from me, pacing slowly toward the window, his hands slipping into his pockets.

“You’re right,” he said quietly, almost too quietly. “You didn’t ask for this.” He turned back to face me, his gaze sharp and cold again. “But now you’re in it. And there’s no going back.”

I felt the weight of his words settle in my chest like a lead weight. No going back. This wasn’t just some temporary nightmare I could wake up from. I was stuck here, in his world, with no way out.

He took a step closer, and I instinctively leaned back, the edge of the bed digging into my thighs “You want to survive? Then prove you have a reason to. Prove you’re more than just a liability.”

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. “I don’t even know what that means.”

Dante’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, I thought he might lash out, might do something to remind me exactly who he was. But instead, he leaned in, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “It means, Elena, that in my world, everyone has a purpose. If you don’t find yours... then you’re nothing.”

The words hit me like a slap to the face. I stared at him, my mind racing, trying to process what he was saying. How was I supposed to find a purpose in this world? A world of violence and power that I didn’t understand?

He straightened up, turning away from me once more. “Tomorrow,” he said, his voice cold and final. “You’ll start learning.”

Learning. I didn’t know what that meant, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t be anything good.

As he left the room, closing the door behind him with the same deliberate care, I finally let out the breath I’d been holding. My body trembled, my mind racing. I was trapped in a world I didn’t understand, with a man who didn’t care whether I lived or died.

But one thing was clear: if I didn’t figure out how to survive, I wouldn’t make it out of here alive.

And Dante Ricci wouldn’t lose a second of sleep over it.