2 - Panic Comes With the Silence

Alina

The silence was deafening.

Even with the soft crackle of the fireplace, the ticking of an old clock somewhere in the room, the silence weighed heavier than any loud sound. It seeped through the pores, lodged itself in the bones, made the mind scream.

And me? I was frozen.

My hands, still tied, tingled from poor circulation. My neck ached. My knees, still scraped from falling in the street, throbbed in protest. But nothing hurt more than the loss of control. The certainty that I didn’t know where I was. That he—that man—knew everything about me.

And I, nothing about him.

Dante Morelli. That was the name I heard murmured among the guards. Whispered as if it were a sin to say it aloud.

Dante. The devil in a suit.

My gaze searched the dimly lit room, even though my legs trembled too much to stand. It was a large space, far too wide. The windows were covered by thick burgundy curtains. There was an enormous bed in one corner, made as if no one dared to lie on it. And I was on the floor. Like an animal.

I took a deep breath, trying to contain the knot forming in my throat. But it was useless.

Panic hit me like a brutal wave.

— Let me go! — I screamed suddenly. My voice came out hoarse, too loud. — Someone! Is anyone there? Please!

I started to struggle, as if the simple act of moving could break the restraints. My wrists burned from the friction of the rope. My chest heaved up and down frantically. I began to cry without realizing.

— Help! Please! — I yelled.

Nothing.

Minutes later, a door slammed open. He walked in.

Dante.

The man who looked like he had stepped straight out of an elegant nightmare. Dark hair slicked back, eyes so deep they looked like cracks. A demon in mourning.

— Stop that — he ordered, his voice low and grave.

— Go to hell! — I shouted, tears streaming down my face. — Let me go! I didn’t do anything! You’re insane!

He approached calmly, as if my screams, my furious and frightened eyes, didn’t matter. He just knelt in front of me and watched. Like a scientist before a wild creature.

— Panic is irrational — he said, almost like he was thinking out loud. — But necessary.

— You’re sick! — I spat, twisting away. — You’ll end up in jail like your brother!

The shift was instant. His gaze darkened, his jaw clenched. His hand came fast, firm, and grabbed my chin tightly.

— Don’t you dare speak about my brother — he growled, his mouth far too close to mine. — He was innocent. Your father condemned him for politics. For power. And paid with his life. Now, you’ll pay with your freedom.

My body trembled.

— I’m just a girl — I whispered, my rage giving way to pure despair. — I didn’t do anything…

— You were chosen because of your name, yes. But… — he brushed a tear from my face with his thumb. — Now I want to find out who you are beyond that. And what else you can become.

— I’m no one! — I cried. — I’m a regular student! I do my own laundry, I eat ramen when I’m lazy! I have a normal life!

— Not anymore — he said, rising to his feet. — Your normal died the moment your heel snapped on the sidewalk.

The words hit me like a slap. My breathing sped up until it started to hurt.

The door closed behind him with a sharp click.

And then I collapsed.

---

The minutes that followed—maybe hours, I can’t tell—were a blur of sobs, desperate thoughts, and failed attempts to calm myself.

I thought of my mom. The last message I didn’t reply to. How she would hate me for this. I thought of my brother, who followed in our father’s footsteps so loyally, always so critical, and how he’d call me dramatic if he saw me like this. I thought of the books on my shelf, my college assignments, the series I had left paused halfway through.

Stupid things. Normal things. Things that felt like they belonged to another life.

I looked up. The window.

I crawled to it, knees scraping the floor. It was locked. Of course it was. And even if it wasn’t, there were iron bars on the outside. This wasn’t just a house. It was a golden prison.

I looked at the wardrobe mirror. I saw myself for the first time.

Mascara streaked. Deep eye bags. Hair messy. My eyes—the eyes of my father, as Dante had said—were red, hollow, dimmed. I saw myself and didn’t recognize the girl looking back.

What did he want to do to me?

My mind filled with possibilities. None of them good. None rational. And then the panic came back, this time in silence. A dry, internal panic that left me frozen. Only the sound of my heavy breathing filled the room.

Until the door opened again.

— Go take a shower — said a woman, entering. Blonde. Young. Pretty. Blank face. Black uniform. An employee.

— I’m not going anywhere — I hissed.

— You are. If you want to eat today. If you want to survive here. — Her voice was cold, but with a note of… pity? No. Not pity. A warning.

She walked to me and cut the bindings with a small curved-blade knife. My wrists were purple. I could barely stand.

She guided me down a long hallway to a luxurious bathroom. Everything was bright, clean, enormous. The contrast with my state was almost comical.

— Ten minutes. — And she left, locking the door behind her.

I looked around, panting. Hot water. White towels. A robe.

Ten minutes.

I undressed with difficulty. Every movement hurt. I stepped into the shower. The water flowed over my body and with it came the sobs. I cried under that stream until I felt empty.

Until I remembered who I was.

I was Alina Ribeiro.

I wouldn’t break. Not like this. Not because of him.

---

When I returned to the room, I found a tray of food on the table. Rice, vegetables, grilled steak. Nothing that seemed poisoned. Nothing that seemed… cruel. It was a trap, I knew that. A subtle gesture of “taming.”

I ate anyway. My body needed it.

Then I lay on the bed—clean now, wearing the robe—and tried to sleep. But sleep didn’t come. Only the void.

That’s when I heard the door open again.

Dante entered.

This time without the jacket. Just a white shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms. Black tattoos winding across tanned skin. A leather bracelet on his wrist. A man made of shadows and control.

— Feeling better? — he asked, like it was a normal question.

— Go fuck yourself — I replied, sitting up on the bed with difficulty.

He chuckled. A low, almost amused sound.

— Still full of fire. I like that.

— You could’ve chosen any other way to get revenge.

He approached. Sat in the armchair near the fireplace and crossed his legs, as if this were a casual conversation.

— Because you’re the living reminder of everything I lost.

— That doesn’t justify anything.

— It doesn’t have to. It just has to happen.

I closed my eyes. Exhaustion pulled me down, but fear kept me up.

— Do you hate me that much?

Silence.

— No — he finally replied. — I hate what you represent. But you… you intrigue me.

— Great. How exciting to be “intriguing” to the man who kidnapped me.

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.

— You’ll learn that, in this world, intriguing someone like me can be dangerous. But also… useful.

— What’s that supposed to mean?

— That you still have choices, Alina. Not freedom, but choices.

— Like what? Kneeling down and thanking you for letting me live?

He smiled, slow and drawn out.

— Not yet.

His gaze burned.

And in that moment, as he stared at me, I knew the war between us had just begun.

I could panic. I could hide.

Or I could do something far more dangerous.

Watch. Wait. Understand.

Because if Dante Morelli thought he could mold me, dominate me, transform me…

He had no idea who he had kidnapped.