Chapter 4 She Belongs To Me

Elara's pov

Just as I lifted the knife, a firm hand grabbed my arm, distracting me from my thoughts.  

I gasped as the knife fell from my hand and clattered to the floor.  

I turned and saw a figure standing there, his face filled with concern.  

“Hey! Stop,” he said, his voice soothing but steady.  

A man in his late twenties, wearing a plain white chef's coat that fit his strong build. His bright eyes gleamed with deep concern.

At that moment, a mixture of gratitude and disappointment washed over me.  

Without hesitation, he guided me away from the countertop, picked up the knife, and placed it back in its place.  

He didn’t ask me questions; instead, he understood that silence was what I needed.  

He placed his hand on my shoulder and guided me to a chair nearby.  

“Just breathe,” he suggested softly.  

I tried to focus on my breath, but the tears that wanted to escape my eyes wouldn't let me.  

He knelt before me, his gentle taps on my shoulder reassuring as he waited patiently for me to regain my balance.

After a few moments, he helped me up and walked me toward my room. The silence between us shifted from heavy to understanding.  

At my door, he paused, his face still filled with concern. “Are you okay now?” he asked quietly.  

I shook my head, realizing I wasn’t quite okay yet, but his presence alone had comforted me. 

He stayed with me for a few minutes longer, scanning my small space with compassion before he turned to leave.  

He paused at my door, turning to me with a hint of a smile. "I'm Léo, by the way," he said, his voice low and smooth. "Sorry for the late introduction.”

I didn't say anything, I just watched as he stepped away. 

I felt a bit of comfort knowing that someone cared for me.  

As he stepped into the hallway, I noticed a familiar figure emerging from the shadows—the boss.  

His intense presence filled the space as his cold gaze lingered on me and Léo.  

Something was unsettling about the way he looked at us.  

Léo seemed a bit uneasy under his stare, his body language indicating discomfort.  

Without saying a word, the boss strolled past us, taking his time, his eyes meeting mine for a moment.  

Léo looked at me again with concern before heading down the hall.  

I quickly closed the door behind me and sank to the floor, my mind uneasy, still feeling like his cold gaze was upon me.  

---

The next morning, I was called to serve the boss. I felt nervous as I balanced the tray in my hands, my heart racing with each step.  

At the door of his study, I knocked. “Who is it?” a familiar voice asked from inside.  

“I’ve brought tea,” I replied, my heart pounding in my chest.  

I overheard a foreign language, probably Italian. Most people in this house were Italians, including some workers.  

“Come in,” the voice said again.  

Balancing the tray, I used my wrist to grab the door handle, pushing it open.  

Inside, I saw a man I had hated since the day we met—the same man who dragged me from my house, treating me like some animal.

I looked away before he could meet my gaze.

The boss sat on a couch at the edge of the room, his legs crossed, a cigarette in hand.  

I rushed over to where the boss was seated and lowered myself to the floor. Avoiding eye contact as I held the tray up.

He didn’t seem to care about my presence. 

He puts out his cigarette in the ashtray on the table beside him.  

He turned to the other man and said, “Vittorio, che cosa vuoi?” (“Victor, what do you want?”)  

I felt fear in his voice as he spoke "Capo, le merci sono state sequestrate." ("Boss, the goods have been seized.”)

I felt a chill as they spoke in Italian, a language I didn’t understand. What if they were talking about me—how to make me disappear? The thought sent shivers down my spine.  

The boss stood and moved closer to Vittorio, who trembled with fear as the boss approached.  

“Cosa hai detto, Vittorio?” (“What did you say, Victor?”) he demanded, his face inches from the man’s.  

Vittorio was silent, his face filled with fear.  

“How could you let that happen!?” the boss shouted, withdrawing from him.  

“Shit!” he exclaimed, smashing the ashtray against the wall.

My heart nearly stopped, but I didn’t dare move or make a sound.  

After a moment of tense silence, he waved his hand to dismiss us—or so I thought.  

“Dispiace, Capo.” (“I’m sorry, Boss.”) Vittorio mumbled before quickly leaving the room. 

I followed close behind, moving as fast as I could.  

“Fermo lì!” (“Stop right there!”) he bellowed, freezing me in my tracks.  

I turned slowly, and he was already behind me.  

Before I could react, he grabbed my wrist and shoved me against the wall beside the door.  

Pain shot through me, but I didn’t dare show it.  

“You owe me, don’t you?” he asked, his voice cold and steady.  

My heart raced, and my lips felt too heavy to move.  

“Answer me!” he shouted, his tone like a death sentence.  

“Ti sparo in testa se non rispondi.” (“I’ll blow your head off if you don’t respond.”)  

Though I didn’t understand the words, their tone was unmistakably threatening.  

His eyes locked onto mine, his cigarette-scented breath close enough to suffocate me.  

“What is this?” a woman’s voice interrupted.  

He turned to the doorway—it was his wife, Rosina.  

Workers whispered about her being even more dangerous than him, though I had my doubts.  

“Marco, Cosa fai con questo servo?” (Marco, what are you doing with this servant?)

The room fell silent.  

He let go of me and turned to her. “She belongs to me. I do what I want with her,” he said firmly.  

Her gaze shifted to me, filled with hatred and menace. As she approached, her hand struck my cheek, the pain settling in my whole face.  

I ignored the pain and kept my head bowed, not daring to look at her.  

“Leave,” she hissed.  

I stumbled away, my body feeling too heavy for my legs to carry.  

---

That night, I lay awake, replaying the day’s events in my mind—the boss’s cold words, his wife’s slap, and their tense interaction.  

A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts.  

“Hey,” Léo greeted.

“Hey,” I replied softly. 

“Can I come in?”  

“Yeah, sure,” I said, stepping aside.  

“How are you feeling?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.  

“I’m alive,” I replied with a small laugh.  

He smiled faintly. “I’m glad to hear that.”  

We sat in silence, our eyes locked into each other and I got carried away. He leaned closer, his lips brushing against mine.  

I didn’t react; I just watched in awe.  

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” he began.  

“Um…,” I stammered, unsure of what to say.  

He stood, his gaze searching mine for answers.  

“I’ll leave,” he said quietly.  

“Yeah,” I whispered.  

His footsteps echoed down the hall as I sat there, overwhelmed by my inability to respond. I had almost slapped myself.

After a cold shower, I returned to my room, drying myself with a towel wrapped around me.  

The door creaked open.  

I turned, startled, as a figure stood at my door.

What!? I’d forgotten to lock the door after Léo left.  

The figure stepped closer, and his face came into view.  

I gasped and staggered backward; my towel slipping from my grasp, leaving me exposed before him.