Salvo's eyes dragged over me like a blade slicing through soft flesh—slow, deliberate, savoring every inch. I felt like a rabbit in a wolf's den, except this wolf? He wasn't just dangerous. He was the kind that played with his food, let it run, let it hope, just to rip it apart when the thrill was at its peak.
My throat turned into a desert.
Then, without looking away from me, he addressed the servant who had the absolute audacity to bring me here in the first place. His voice was calm, but it carried the kind of authority that made my stomach twist.
"You can leave."
She nodded, her face blank—too blank—and left without hesitation, shutting the door behind her with a finality that rang in my bones.
Leaving me.
Alone.
With him.
Aunty… please take me with you. I screamed internally, but the only sound in the room was my own breathing—uneven, shallow, pathetic.
Then, he spoke.
"So…" His voice was smooth, almost lazy, like he had all the time in the world to ruin me. "I hope you had a good sleep, little boy."
Fuck.
Think. Say something smart. Something that doesn't make you sound like a helpless idiot standing half-naked in front of a man who could probably snap your neck with a flick of his wrist.
"Um… yes, sir." I tugged at the oversized shirt drowning my frame, trying—and failing—to cover more skin. "And… thank you for bringing me here and letting me sleep in… in your house, and… I hope… I didn't cause any trouble."
Nailed it.
Or so I thought.
Salvo's eyes darkened—not with anger, but something worse. Amusement. The cruel kind. The kind that made you wonder if you'd leave this room in one piece—or if you'd even be allowed to leave at all.
"Don't worry… little boy."
My stomach plummeted to hell.
"I wanted you to be here," he murmured, voice soft—too soft.
His gaze locked onto mine, and suddenly, I felt like a mouse caught between a cat's claws, twitching, helpless, knowing exactly how this would end but still praying for a miracle.
Wanted me here? My brain screamed at me to run, but my body? Useless. A goddamn statue.
Then, he moved.
Slow.
Measured.
Predatory.
I took a step back.
Mistake.
His smirk sharpened. He'd noticed. Of course, he fucking noticed.
"But… you're welcome, I suppose," he drawled, his voice dripping with something unholy—danger? Amusement? Both?
He took another step forward, his gaze trailing downward—lingering at my legs where the cursed shorts barely covered anything.
"So," he murmured, eyes flicking back to my face, "you don't remember how you got here, do you?"
I froze.
"N-No," I admitted, forcing a casual tone that failed miserably when my voice cracked like a prepubescent teenager.
"Hmm." He tilted his head, eyes pinning me down like a butterfly on a collector's board. "Interesting."
Interesting? What the fuck was so interesting about me being an idiot and blacking out?!
Fine. Whatever. Just get out of here.
I licked my lips, nerves fraying at the edges. "Look, uh… Salvo—Mr. Mancini... Sir." I corrected myself quickly, because, yeah, pissing him off? Not on my to-do list. "If there's nothing more… I can… I mean… I wish to leave."
"Leave?" His voice was soft. Too soft. "And go back to that cozy, dirty, filthy room?"
Ice poured through my veins.
Fuck.
So he knew.
My body tensed, fight-or-flight kicking in, but before I could even process it, he was in front of me. Too close. The heat radiating from him sent my nerves into full-blown panic mode.
"Why don't we have a talk...?" His lips curled into something wicked, something that promised nothing good. "Alfio Russo."
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Someone… save me.
I wanted to run. God, I wanted to bolt out of that room and never look back.
But I didn't. Because my body had turned to goddamn stone. Because his presence was suffocating, pressing down on me like an iron fist around my throat. And he was too close, too damn close—like he was about to reach into my chest, rip my heart out, and crush it under his shoe just to see what sound it made.
Then, just as the pressure became unbearable, he stepped back. Not out of kindness, no—out of calculation. He moved toward his desk with the slow, measured pace of a predator that already knew its prey had nowhere to run. His voice, low and sharp, sliced through the thick air.
"Take a seat."
And I… yeah. I sat. No hesitation. No questions. Because if I so much as breathed wrong, I had a feeling he'd have no problem rearranging my ribs.
So… yeah. Better safe than strangled.
He picked up a file from his desk, flipping through it like it contained the details of my execution.
"Alfio Russo..."
Shit.
I flinched again. Couldn't help it.
"Son of a taxi driver. Mother is a housewife. Father took out a massive loan from some very unfriendly people to fund your education... and conveniently died before he could pay it back. Now your mother breaks her back working as a servant, chipping away at the debt, while you, the ever-dutiful son, juggle college and soul-crushing part-time jobs just to survive."
A slow smirk tugged at his lips as he looked up. "That sounds about you right?"
My fists clenched. Every word dug into me like a blade, carving out pieces I hadn't even known were missing. I never realized Alfio Russo's backstory was this miserable. Hell, the novel never even bothered mentioning it.
My jaw tightened, but I kept my mouth shut.
Because the way he was watching me—like a cat toying with a half-dead mouse—told me that he was just waiting for me to break.
"Hmm…" He tilted his head, studying me with something that was almost... amusement. "You must be suffering a lot."
Well… technically not. But yeah, sure, let's go with that.
I exhaled sharply and forced my voice to remain steady. "What do you want?"
His smirk widened, slow and deliberate. "Everything."
A cold knot twisted in my gut. "What?"
He moved closer—slow, unhurried steps that felt like the countdown to my doom. When he stopped, he was towering over me, looking down as if I were something small, something fragile, something he could break just for fun.
"I won't waste time sugarcoating it, Alfio…" His voice was smooth and dangerous. "I WANT YOU."
My breath hitched.
It was happening. Just like the novel. Just like the fucking novel.
I furrowed my brows, ignoring the way my pulse hammered in my ears. "What… do you mean?"
His smirk turned sharp. Dark. Almost amused. "My words were pretty clear, Alfio. I'm making an offer." He leaned in slightly. "Be mine. Be my boy."
My stomach dropped.
He turned and sank into the chair across from me, crossing his legs like he had all the time in the world, like I was some pet he was considering adopting.
"I'll give you everything," he continued, his voice silk and steel. "I'll clear your debts. Get your mother out of that hellhole. Pay your tuition fees. Whatever you want. In return..." His smirk returned, razor-sharp. "I will own you."
The air in the room turned thick. Heavy.
Own me? Like some possession?
I swallowed, forcing my voice to come out, even if it barely did. "What... if I refuse?"
His dark gaze locked onto mine, unwavering, like a predator amused by the struggles of its prey. Then, slowly, his head tilted, his smirk widening just a fraction.
"Then... I will make sure to do everything to make you mine."
A sharp chill ran down my spine.
So that was it. Whether I accepted or not, I was already his. He had already decided.
I was nothing more than a prize, a toy he had set his sights on.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers tapping lazily against the armrest. "That's why I'm being nice and making a peace offer. And I'd suggest you accept it."
Peace offer?
Funny.
I exhaled, trying to find a foothold in this nightmare. "Why… why me?"
SILENCE.
His gaze darkened, something possessive flickering in those sharp eyes. "I like beautiful things, Alfio. And I make sure everything beautiful and... smooth belongs only to me."
Liar.
I knew why he was really doing this. It wasn't about beauty. It wasn't about me.
To him, I was nothing but Riccardo Costa's love interest in this fucked-up story. This was about Riccardo. About making him suffer.
Salvo leaned in, close enough that I could see the amusement playing at the corners of his mouth.
"Choose wisely, Alfio…" he whispered. "You have nothing out there. No money. No safety. Just an empty, roach-infested room that barely qualifies as a home. But here… with me…"
His eyes glinted, his voice a deadly promise. "You could have everything. Money. Comfort. And… protection."
Protection?
My breath hitched. "Protection?" I echoed, barely processing the word.
His smirk deepened, triumphant. "That's right. I protect what belongs to me, and that will include you… my dear Alfio."
A shiver ran through me.
Because as terrifying as he was, as twisted as this situation was… he wasn't wrong.
Riccardo Costa was the hero of this story. The hero who would sacrifice his love for the greater good.
And if the novel followed its course, he would let me die.
But Salvo?
He was the villain.
And a villain would burn the whole damn world to keep what was his.
And if I was his…
He would protect me.