Chapter Five – The Family’s Warning.

The morning sun crept through the velvet curtains, stabbing at my tired eyes. I hadn’t slept. Not really. Every time I closed them, I saw him again. Damian Rossi, stepping out of the shadows like the night itself had delivered him to me. His voice, his words—I want to free you—looped endlessly in my head until the lines between dream and reality blurred.

I dragged myself from bed, pulling on a silk robe. My reflection in the mirror startled me; my eyes were ringed with shadows, my hair a wild mess. I looked like someone carrying a secret—and wasn’t I?

Because if Father ever found out where I’d been last night, who I’d seen, he would lose his mind.

Downstairs, the house buzzed with the rhythm of a normal morning: dishes clinking, footsteps rushing, the faint smell of coffee in the air. I tried to slip past unnoticed, but a voice cut through the hall.

“Elena. My office. Now.”

I froze. Father’s tone wasn’t the casual command he often used with me. This one was sharper, colder. The kind of voice he reserved for his business dealings—the one that left men twice his size trembling.

My stomach knotted as I walked down the hall toward his office.

The door was already open, a deliberate choice. He wanted everyone to see that his daughter obeyed.

I stepped inside. The room was dim despite the sunlight fighting to push through heavy drapes. Shelves lined with leather-bound books covered the walls, though I doubted Father had read half of them. His desk dominated the space—dark wood, polished to a mirror shine, littered with papers he never left unattended. He sat behind it, perfectly composed in a tailored suit, a glass of espresso steaming at his elbow.

“Close the door,” he said without looking up.

The latch clicked behind me, and suddenly the room felt smaller, tighter.

Father finally lifted his gaze. His eyes were the same dark brown as mine, but his carried a weight mine never could—the weight of decades spent building power, making enemies, surviving wars. And today, they burned with something sharper.

“Sit.”

I sank into the chair opposite him, my palms damp against the armrests.

He steepled his fingers, studying me in silence. It was a tactic—let the other person squirm, let them reveal themselves.

I refused to squirm. I lifted my chin, meeting his stare.

Finally, he spoke. “What were you doing in the garden last night?”

My heart lurched. He knew.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I said carefully. “I went for some air. Is that a crime now?”

His jaw ticked. “It’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” I forced a laugh. “In our own home?”

His eyes narrowed, catching the edge in my voice. “Don’t play games with me, Elena. You were seen.”

I stiffened. “Seen by who?”

“That doesn’t matter.” He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a tone that made the air feel heavy. “What matters is who else was in that garden.”

I looked away too quickly, betraying myself.

“Damian Rossi,” he said flatly.

The name dropped between us like a stone in water.

I swallowed hard. “He didn’t—”

“Don’t defend him.” Father’s tone cracked like a whip. “You have no idea who that man is, what he’s capable of.”

I met his eyes again, heat flaring in my chest. “Then tell me. What is he capable of? Because all I hear are whispers and rumors. No one ever tells me the truth.”

For a moment, something flickered across Father’s face—fear, anger, maybe both. He stood abruptly, pacing behind his desk like a lion in a cage.

“The Rossis are poison,” he said. “Always have been. His father was ruthless, and Damian is worse. Men like him smile while they plan your funeral.”

I shivered despite myself, but I pushed back. “You talk about him like he’s a monster. But what if he’s not? What if he’s—”

“Stop.” Father’s voice thundered through the room. He slammed a hand on the desk, making the espresso cup rattle. “You will not speak of him like that. You will not think of him like that.”

My breath caught, but my anger only grew. “Why? Because you said so? Because you hate him?”

“Because I know him!” Father roared. His hand curled into a fist on the desk. “I knew his father. I knew the blood they spilled. I know the kind of empire Damian has built—an empire that feeds on weakness, on fear. And I’ll be damned if I let him sink his claws into my daughter.”

The room trembled with his fury. For the first time, I saw not just my father, but the man behind the empire, the man who had clawed his way through rivals to stand where he was.

I shrank back, but only for a second. Then I straightened, my voice low but steady. “You’re not protecting me. You’re controlling me. There’s a difference.”

His eyes blazed. “You think I don’t see the way he looks at you? The way you look back?”

I froze. The way I look back. Did I?

Father leaned across the desk, his face inches from mine. “Listen to me, Elena. Whatever ideas you have about him—erase them. Damian Rossi is not a man. He is a weapon. And weapons destroy everything they touch.”

I sat in silence, my heart pounding.

Finally, he straightened, adjusting his cufflinks as though the outburst hadn’t happened. His voice returned to its usual cool authority. “This conversation is over. Stay away from him. That’s an order.”

And just like that, he dismissed me.

I rose on shaky legs, my head spinning, my chest tight with emotions I couldn’t name. Anger. Curiosity. Fear. Something else.

I walked out of the office, closing the door behind me. The hallway stretched before me, lined with portraits of Moretti men who had all followed orders, obeyed the rules of the family.

But as I stood there, Father’s words echoing in my mind, a new thought took root.

If Damian Rossi was truly a weapon… why did I feel like I was the one about to be destroyed?