Leona woke before the sun had fully claimed the sky, the stillness of the house pressing down on her chest like an uninvited weight. The mansion felt colder in the early hours, its walls more oppressive. She didn't know what time it was didn't care but she knew that if she stayed in that room any longer, the suffocating silence would drive her mad.
She slipped out of bed, moved quietly through the dark, and made her way to the window. The garden beyond the estate was bathed in soft moonlight, the manicured hedges casting long shadows. She could see the distant path that wound its way toward the eastern edge of the property. A glimmer of curiosity sparked in her chest, what was beyond that gate?
She had been forbidden to go near the east wing. Lucien had made that clear. But what would happen if she disobeyed?
She dressed quickly in the simple white gown left for her more a nightdress than anything else and pulled on a pair of slippers before slipping out the door. The hallway was dark, and the house still. No guards had been posted near her door. No cameras had checked her every movement yet.
She took a deep breath and headed toward the back stairs, as if sneaking out of a house she didn't belong to. The cool marble floors were cold beneath her feet, but she didn't stop. At the back door, she hesitated for a moment. What if she was being watched?
But the temptation of freedom tugged harder.
She opened the door gently, stepping out into the crisp air. The garden was peaceful—nothing like the cold stone of the mansion. The scent of fresh flowers and dew mixed with the earthy fragrance of grass. Her fingers grazed the top of the hedges as she made her way toward the back fence, her eyes fixed on the black gate in the distance.
It was locked, of course. Everything here was locked. But she was determined to test it.
Leona reached the gate and gripped the cold metal. It was old-fashioned, with intricate curls and designs. The kind of gate you'd see in a movie, standing guard against an ancient secret. She twisted the handle, and of course, it didn't budge. It was reinforced with a heavy lock.
She stared at the lock for a few moments. Then, in defiance, she tried to climb it.
Halfway up the gate, her foot slipped.
A voice interrupted her efforts.
"You're not supposed to be here."
Leona froze. She looked down to find a guard standing at the edge of the garden, watching her with an expression as cold as the stone walls surrounding the estate.
The guard wasn't even looking at her with suspicion he was looking at her with something more detached, like a malfunctioning machine that had been programmed to follow orders.
She straightened, brushing off the dirt from her gown and standing tall, giving him a cool look in return. "I'm just admiring the view."
"I'm afraid you'll need to return to the main house, Miss Romano." The guard's voice was polite but firm. "It's not safe to wander this far without permission."
"Not safe? It's a garden," she shot back, though the words came out sharper than she meant. "Am I not allowed to take a walk now?"
The guard's gaze didn't change. His stance remained rigid, like a statue of discipline. "The east wing is off-limits, Miss Romano. I'm afraid I'll have to escort you back to the house."
Her blood boiled for a second, but she forced the tension from her shoulders. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of showing fear—or worse, embarrassment.
She swung her legs down from the gate and stood in front of him, meeting his eyes with defiance. "Fine. But don't think for a second I've forgotten."
The guard said nothing, simply turned and started back toward the house, leading her like a pet on a leash. Leona followed, though every step felt like a betrayal of her pride.
As they walked, she glanced over her shoulder once more at the gate, the one thing on this property she couldn't get past. It was a reminder that she was still caged.
When they arrived back at the door, the guard didn't wait for her to enter. He just turned and left, disappearing into the darkness.
Leona stood there for a long moment, staring at the locked door behind her. But there would be other chances.
She wasn't done.
PART 2: THE BREAKFAST TRAP
The dining room looked different in daylight.
Sunlight poured in through high arched windows, gilding the marble floors in warm gold. A long table stretched across the center of the room, already set with silverware too polished to have been touched. Crystal carafes held fresh juice. A single plate sat at the far end with fresh fruit, eggs, toast, and coffee—still steaming.
Leona stood in the doorway barefoot, arms crossed, in a fitted black blouse and slacks she'd taken from the closet. She looked less like a mafia bride and more like a vengeful widow.
She took her seat at the table slowly. Not at the head, not at the foot—right in the middle. Like a landmine daring someone to step near.
She ate in silence.
Ten minutes later, Lucien arrived.
He didn't announce himself. He walked in like a ripple in the room's atmosphere, dressed in another immaculate dark suit, no tie, sleeves rolled halfway.
"Good morning," he said as he passed her. He didn't sit beside her. He sat two chairs away.
She didn't respond.
He served himself toast. A single slice. Ate it plain.
Leona sipped her coffee, then said lightly, "Is there a camera in the shower, too? Or just the bedroom?"
Lucien didn't look up. "Would you have changed in the closet if you thought there was?"
"Maybe I wanted to put on a show."
That earned her the faintest smile. "Noted."
She set her fork down, metal clinking softly. "So you're not even going to deny it?"
"There's no reason to," he said. "I like to know what's mine is safe."
"Safe," she repeated. "Is that what we're calling surveillance now?"
"I don't think you fully understand where you are," he said, finally turning to face her. "This isn't a marriage. This is a ceasefire. You are the collateral."
"And you're the war criminal."
He looked amused. "I'm the one keeping you alive. I'm the reason your brothers aren't being gutted in an alley right now."
"Touching."
Lucien leaned back, arms resting on either side of the chair. "You're free to move throughout the house. You'll be treated with respect—as long as you earn it."
"Oh?" Her eyes narrowed. "And what does earning respect from you involve?"
"Obedience," he said simply.
She stared at him across the table, and it struck her—he wasn't being cruel. He wasn't trying to provoke her. He was just stating facts, like gravity or death. There was no passion in his threats. Just certainty.
Lucien stood.
"I'll be out until late tonight," he said. "I expect you'll stay out of trouble."
Leona smiled at him sweetly. "I expect you'll be disappointed."
He didn't answer.
The moment he was gone, she stopped pretending to be calm.
She sat back in her chair and looked at the untouched food in front of her. Her appetite vanished.
She wasn't just being watched.
She was being handled.
And it was time to start fighting back.
PART 3: THE SECOND OFFENSE
The mansion was too quiet.
Every step Leona took echoed. No music. No chatter. Just the faint hum of luxury—air vents, filtered silence, distant footsteps.
She spent the rest of the morning wandering, mapping out corners of the house like a thief casing a museum. She stayed out of sight, avoiding the main halls, watching the staff as they moved like ghosts. Everyone here was trained to avoid eye contact. Everyone knew she was untouchable—but not in the way that meant power.
She was too visible to be real.
And that made her dangerous.
Eventually, her curiosity led her down a hallway she hadn't tried before—long, narrow, quieter than the rest. She counted four doors on each side, all closed. And at the end, another hallway veering left. The one that curved toward the east wing.
Her pace slowed.
A single camera sat high in the corner. She stopped beneath it, standing still, then smiled directly up at the lens. A small, deliberate act of defiance.
Then she walked.
Just three steps down the east wing corridor.
That was all it took.
A second later, footsteps thundered behind her. Not measured, not polite—fast, aggressive.
A hand clamped around her upper arm.
She spun with instinct, wrenching herself free—but not fast enough.
The guard who grabbed her wasn't the one from the garden. This one was younger. Bigger. No softness in his face.
"Miss Romano," he said, his tone clipped. "I need you to come with me."
She yanked her arm back. "Unhand me."
He didn't let go. "You were warned."
"And you clearly don't know who you're touching."
The guard's grip tightened—not painfully, but firm enough to remind her that politeness wasn't permanent here.
He didn't drag her, but he didn't let her walk free either. She was escorted like a prisoner who hadn't yet been charged.
They reached the stairs without a word.
Leona's pulse was calm, but her jaw ached from how tightly she was clenching it.
They reached her room. The door was already open. The message was clear: someone expected this.
The guard released her at the threshold. "For your safety," he said, "don't let there be a third time."
Then he walked away.
Leona stared at the open door for a moment before stepping inside.
She shut it behind her.
Then, without looking, she raised her middle finger toward the nearest camera.
PART 4: THE PRICE OF DISOBEDIENCE
The lock clicked just after midnight.
Leona didn't turn when she heard it. She was sitting on the windowsill, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them, gazing out at the dark lawn like it might offer an escape.
Lucien stepped inside, slow and quiet, as if he owned the silence too.
She didn't look at him. "Coming to scold me, husband?"
"No." His voice was casual. "I came to adjust your privileges."
That made her turn.
He stood near the door, dressed in black again—black shirt, black slacks, sleeves rolled to his elbows, no jacket. His hair was slightly mussed, like he'd come straight from somewhere important and brought the chill of it with him.
She narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean, privileges?"
Lucien pulled a phone from his pocket and tapped the screen once. "Your credit cards are frozen."
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You'll be given a weekly allowance from now on."
"I'm not a child."
"No," he said. "You're worse. Children listen."
She stood up slowly, anger like heat creeping up her throat. "So what, you're cutting off my money until I act like a good little mafia bride?"
"I'm cutting off your options," he said. "You want to test limits? I'll show you where they are."
"You think money controls me?"
"No," Lucien replied. "But isolation does."
His words hit like ice water.
He didn't raise his voice. Didn't threaten. He was too controlled for that. But something in the way he said isolation made her stomach twist.
"Next time," he said, "you won't get a warning."
She crossed her arms. "Is that a promise?"
"It's a pattern," he said. "One you're not smart enough to break."
Then he turned to leave.
But before he stepped out, he added without looking back, "And don't bother trying the door tomorrow. It'll be locked until I say otherwise."
He left.
The door closed with a soft click.
She was alone again. Only this time, she was truly caged. No cards. No freedom. No lock on her side of the door.
And the worst part?
Lucien hadn't done it out of rage.
He'd done it with strategy.
As if breaking her wasn't personal.
It was routine.
PART 5: A VOW IN REVERSE
She waited a full minute after the door locked again.
Waited for the silence to settle, for the tension to drain.
Then she walked to the center of the room, slowly, calmly, like she wasn't shaking on the inside. Like she hadn't just been stripped of her access, her movement, her illusion of control.
She tilted her face up toward the nearest corner of the ceiling.
The camera lens stared back—still, blank, probably already transmitting everything to some little room where Lucien sat with his damn sleeves rolled and his god complex intact.
Leona smiled.
Not sweetly.
Not softly.
But with teeth.
"If you think locking me in this room will break me," she said, voice low but clear, "you don't know who the hell you married."
She stepped closer, staring directly into the lens now.
"I wasn't raised to obey, Lucien. I was raised to survive."
The red light blinked once.
Still watching.
Still listening.
Leona backed away, lips curling.
"You want war, Romano?" she whispered. "I'll give you one."
Then she turned out the lights, crawled into bed fully clothed, and faced the door.
She didn't sleep.
She waited.