Chapter 4

Rosa’s POV

The walk back to my apartment feels longer than usual.

The streets are quieter at this hour, but the silence does nothing to soothe the chaos in my mind. My heels click against the pavement as I pull my coat tighter around me, a weak attempt to shake the cold that has settled deep inside my bones.

I don’t have enough money.

The thought plays over and over in my head, each repetition pressing down on me like a crushing weight.

The hospital visit had drained me. Not just emotionally, but financially. The cash I had managed to grab at the club wasn’t even half of what I needed. The surgery, the hospital bills, the medicine—it was too much.

I need more.

And I know exactly where to get it.

A sick feeling coils in my stomach as I consider going back to the club. The idea of stepping onto that stage again, of letting men leer at me, touch me; it makes me want to crawl out of my own skin.

But I don’t have a choice.

I would do anything for my daughter.

Even this.

I push the thought away as I reach my apartment building, climbing the stairs quickly, desperate to shut out the night. My fingers shake as I unlock the door, my mind already racing through the details; who to talk to at the club, how to make the most in one night, how to…

I freeze.

Something is wrong.

The air inside is thick, charged with an energy that wasn’t there before. My pulse spikes as my gaze sweeps over the room, my fingers still clutching the doorknob. The single lamp near the window casts a dim glow, barely cutting through the shadows.

Then, I see him.

A dark figure sitting in the corner, legs crossed, posture too relaxed. A glass of whiskey glints in the faint light, the amber liquid swirling lazily as he lifts it to his lips.

My stomach drops.

Vincenzo.

He’s been waiting for me.

I barely suppress a shudder as I step back, but the door clicks shut behind me before I can make a run for it.

My mouth is dry. “What are you doing here?”

Vincenzo exhales, setting the glass down on the table beside him. His movements are slow, deliberate, like a predator savoring the moment before the kill. The gun resting near his fingers is just as casual as the smirk on his lips.

“That was a quick visit,” he muses, voice smooth but laced with something sharper. He tilts his head slightly, studying me the way a man studies a puzzle he already knows how to solve. “Tell me, dolcezza, did you enjoy your time at the hospital?”

The floor tilts beneath me.

I can’t breathe.

My lips part, but no words come out. My mind races, scrambling for an answer, an excuse, something—but nothing comes.

His gaze darkens, amusement flickering into something dangerous. “Did you really think I wouldn’t have my men watching you?”

A chill spreads through me.

I know Vincenzo. He doesn’t make idle threats.

“They’re still there, you know.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “At the hospital.” His voice is calm, controlled. “My men.”

My heart pounds against my ribs.

No.

No, no, no.

A sharp, wounded gasp rips from my lips. My stomach clenches as my nails bite into my palms.

He knows.

Not everything but enough.

“They won’t touch her,” he continues, his voice softer now, almost cruel in its gentleness. “Not unless I say so.”

The room spins.

I feel sick.

Bile rises in my throat, but I force it down, force myself to keep standing even as my knees threaten to give out.

“You…” My voice shakes, but I swallow the fear. “You wouldn’t.”

He arches a brow, his expression unreadable. “Wouldn’t I?”

The words are a knife to my chest.

I know the answer. I know what he is capable of.

And that terrifies me more than anything.

“What do you want?” I force the words out, barely above a whisper.

Vincenzo stands. The movement is unhurried, controlled, like he has all the time in the world. The tension in the room thickens as he closes the distance between us.

“You.”

I flinch.

His fingers ghost over my jaw, tilting my chin up so I have no choice but to meet his gaze. “You were supposed to be mine, dolcezza.” His voice is lower now, rougher, edged with something bitter, something unforgiving. “You were going to be my bride.”

My throat tightens.

Memories crash into me, unbidden. The church. The white dress. The way his hands had trembled when he reached for me. The look in his eyes when I turned my back on him and ran.

I had destroyed him that day.

Now, he was returning the favor.

“You left me at the altar,” he murmurs, his fingers tightening just slightly against my skin. “Now, you’ll make it up to me.”

My breath hitches. “How?”

His lips tilt into something dark. “By being my mistress.”

The word slams into me like a slap. I wrench away from him, but he catches my wrist, yanking me back against his chest. His grip is firm but not painful, his scent overwhelming; dark spice and whiskey, pure temptation wrapped in danger.

I glare up at him. “Go to hell.”

He chuckles, but there’s no warmth in it. “Oh, bella, I’m already there. And now, you are too.”

I want to scream at him, to fight, to call him a liar—because this isn’t the man I once loved. This isn’t the Vincenzo who had whispered promises against my skin, who had kissed me like I was his salvation.

But I know better.

This is who he has become.

This is the man I created when I left him.

And now, he holds all the power.

My mind races. I have to get out of here. I have to take Sofia and leave this city before he finds out the truth, that she is his.

I inhale shakily, forcing my body to relax. I can’t fight him now. Not when he has all the control.

I lower my gaze. “Fine.”

His grip lingers for a second longer before he lets go, his smirk deepening like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

“Good girl.”

I feel my stomach churn.

Because this is only the beginning.

And I have no idea how to survive it.