My head throbbed.
Hard.
Maybe because I was too scared… and too damn drunk.
"Ugh…" I groaned, pressing a hand to my temple.
My mouth tasted like regret and bad decisions marinated in cheap liquor. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping that when I opened them, I'd be back in my shitty, cramped apartment.
But no.
The ceiling above me? Stark white. No cracks. No peeling paint. No water stains that looked suspiciously like screaming faces. Nothing screamed 'rental disaster.'
And the bed? Soft. Too soft. Like sinking into a cloud laced with… leather and something darker.
My eyes flew open.
What the…?
I pushed myself up, blinking against the dim lighting. The room was huge and dangerously elegant. Bigger than my—I mean, Alfio's—entire apartment.
The furniture? Immaculate. Expensive. The kind you'd see in magazines that cater to people who can afford gold-plated everything. A sleek black desk sat in the corner, a polished laptop resting on top. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, its crystals gleaming even though the curtains—thick, black, and ominous—were drawn shut, suffocating any sunlight before it could even think of entering.
And… a walk-in closet?
"Woah…" I mumbled, blinking like an idiot.
Where the hell am I?
This wasn't just hell—this was the VIP section. The place where you knew you were doomed, but the accommodations were disturbingly nice.
The last thing I remembered—
The bar. The gun. Running from Riccardo. (Basically running away from the plot of this fucked-up novel.)
And then… falling. Falling into someone. But who?
I didn't remember. All I knew was that I'd blacked out—drunk and terrified.
I groaned and threw the covers off—
WHAT THE FUCK AM I WEARING?!
I blinked down at myself.
Shorts. Way-too-comfy shorts. And a loose shirt that draped off one shoulder, barely covering me. Definitely not mine.
This shirt belonged to someone huge. My brain froze.
No. No, no, no. Don't tell me… I…
I gasped, horror creeping up my spine. "Did I… have a one-night stand?!"
...
"NO!" I slapped my cheeks. "Snap out of it, Luca—I mean, Alfio!"
I did a quick mental check—
Butt? Fine.
Back? Fine.
Nothing hurt where it should if I'd—
"Okay, good. No unexpected… activities." I let out a breath of relief.
But—why the hell am I dressed like this?! And where the hell am I?!
Then, my brain went into overdrive.
P-Please don't tell me this is Riccardo's place.
God, I hoped not. I definitely hoped not.
I paced back and forth, biting my lip. "Okay, let's think."
In the novel… did Riccardo bring Alfio home after the bar incident?
…
…
Nope. Definitely not.
So where the hell am I?!
Just as I was piecing the puzzle together, the door creaked open.
I froze.
A middle-aged woman walked in, dressed in a plain, crisp uniform.
"Ah… you're awake." Her voice was calm. Too calm. Like seeing a half-naked guy in a luxury prison was just another Tuesday for her.
I blinked. "Uhh...Hello."
She smiled gently, hands folded neatly in front of her. "How are you feeling, sir?"
Sir?
"Uhh…" I cleared my throat, trying not to sound like I was on the verge of a heart attack. "I-I'm good, but... who… who are you, ma'am?"
Her smile twitched. "Oh, please. Don't call me ma'am. I'm just a servant here."
Just a servant?
I stared at her, my brain buffering. "Okay… uh… nice to meet you…?"
She nodded politely, as if I hadn't just mumbled like an idiot.
"Please," she said softly, "follow me. The master has asked me to bring you to him once you wake up."
Master?
Wow.
That word sounded… dangerous.
"Master?" I echoed, blinking.
She gave me another polite smile. "Please follow me."
"B-But…" I gestured to my barely-there outfit. "My clothes…"
She tilted her head slightly, eyes twinkling with barely hidden amusement. "Oh, don't worry, sir. The master won't mind."
What do you mean he won't mind?!
Before I could protest, she gave me a gentle nod toward the door. "Please, this way."
I stared at her. Then down at my ridiculous outfit.
Then back at her.
"Looks like I don't have a choice," I muttered under my breath and followed her.
The shorts swished against my thighs as I walked, and I definitely felt like a damn protagonist from a romance drama who'd just woken up after a steamy night with a billionaire.
Except… there was no steamy night.
And yes, I was a protagonist, but this was more tragedy than romance.
As I followed the servant, I realized I was in a fucking big mansion. Everything was black, white, and gold.
Even the air smelled rich.
"Woah…" I mumbled under my breath. This wasn't just a mansion—this was a damn lair.
I glanced around, my heart pounding.
Why does this feel like I'm in the Devil's mansion?
And that's when I froze. A chill ran down my spine.
No… No, no, no.
"Salvo?" I whispered, panic rising.
Don't tell me… don't tell me this is Salvatore Mancini's mansion?!
But… I didn't recall bumping into him.
Right?
"Something wrong, sir?"
I blinked, realizing the servant was watching me. I forced a nervous smile. "N-Nothing."
She nodded, her expression calm. "Please follow me then."
Okay… maybe I'm overthinking. There's no way I'd end up at Salvatore Mancini's mansion.
Right?
RIGHT?!
We stopped outside a door. She knocked gently. "Master… the boy is here."
The boy?
I'm twenty-one, lady!
There was silence for a moment. Then—a cold, menacing voice.
"Come in."
Oh, fuck.
My blood ran cold. She opened the door and gestured inside. I nodded stiffly, feeling ice crawl up my spine as I stepped in.
And there he was.
Salvatore Mancini.
Fuck… I am really at Salvo's mansion.
He leaned against his desk, a cigarette between his fingers, his sharp eyes scanning documents—until they landed on me.
I flinched.
He put out the cigarette, set the papers aside, and then—He scanned me.
Top to bottom.
Lingering.
My skin crawled.
"Well…" His lips curled into a dangerous smile.
Shit.
"I see you've finally woken up."
I am so fucking dead.