Chapter 5 — The Iron Shed

Morning made Dante cruel again.

He woke with the hangover of a king and the memory of a butcher.

His eyes opened, met mine, and the softness vanished.

He pushed off me like I was dirt on his sheets.

“Get up,” he said.

I sat slowly, throat sore, skin stinging where the collar had torn me. “You called me her name.”

Dante’s expression didn’t change. “I was drunk.”

“I was five years,” I said, and my voice shook with quiet rage. “You don’t get to be careless with me.”

His gaze narrowed. “Careful? You think you deserve careful?”

I stood, barefoot on cold marble. “I deserve human.”

For a second, something flickered—something he buried so fast I almost doubted it existed.

Then he leaned in, voice low. “You’re alive because I allow it. Don’t confuse that with love.”

He left me there and walked out like he’d just finished a meeting.

I dressed quickly and forced my legs to move, to get out of the room before my fear turned me into stone.

The hallway was full of men today—security, servants, guests preparing for the upcoming engagement banquet. The villa smelled like polish and money and blood hidden under perfume.

I turned the corner and collided with Katerina.

She wore silk, red like a warning. Her hair was perfect. Her eyes were bright with a predator’s amusement.

“Well,” she purred, looking at my throat. “He finally removed it. How generous.”

I didn’t step back. “You almost killed me.”

She shrugged. “You didn’t die. That’s the point.”

Anger surged. “Why are you doing this?”

Katerina tilted her head. “Because you exist. And because my future husband cannot have a weakness that breathes.”

Men nearby slowed, listening.

I lowered my voice. “He is not your husband yet.”

Her smile turned sharp. “He is mine. And you—”

She reached out and brushed my torn skin with one finger.

“—are a lesson.”

I slapped her hand away.

The sound cracked through the hall.

Silence fell.

Katerina’s eyes widened a fraction, then cooled to something terrifying.

She turned her head slightly. “Dante.”

His footsteps appeared almost immediately, as if he’d been waiting in the walls.

He looked at Katerina, then at me. His gaze slid over my bruises without pause.

Katerina spoke softly, sweetly. “Your pet is confused. She forgot her place.”

Dante’s jaw tightened. He didn’t ask what happened.

He didn’t ask why my hands were shaking.

He looked at the men around us and said, “Take her outside.”

My stomach dropped. “Dante—”

“Outside,” he repeated, and his voice was final.

They dragged me out the front doors into the rain.

It was cold, heavy, relentless. Within minutes, my dress clung to my skin like a second punishment.

The men left me there while laughter drifted from inside—warm, safe laughter that had nothing to do with me.

Hours passed.

I lost feeling in my fingers. My teeth chattered until my jaw hurt.

Finally, someone opened the door—not to let me in, but to shove me toward the back of the property.

To the iron shed.

It sat beyond the manicured gardens like an afterthought, a rusted metal box used for tools and storage. The door was thick. The lock old.

They pushed me inside and slammed it shut.

The darkness swallowed me.

I pounded the door until my palms burned. “Please! Francesca!”

No answer.

Only the sound of rain hitting metal like applause.

The first night, I curled in the corner and tried to keep my body warm by breathing.

The second day, fever hit. My throat swelled again, my skin itching where the collar had torn it. I vomited bile onto the dirt floor and cried silently because sound was wasted.

By the third day, time became a blur of cold and hunger and hallucinations. I heard Dante’s voice sometimes, calling my name like he used to when he wanted me.

Then I remembered he’d called me hers.

And the sound turned into poison.

I didn’t know if I was dying until the door shook.

Metal screeched.

Light exploded into the shed.

A man in a dark coat stood in the opening, rain slicking his hair, his eyes hard.

He looked at me like I was something precious he’d found buried.

“Serafina?” he said carefully.

My lips barely moved. “Who—”

“Rossi,” he answered. “Your father sent me.”

My vision swam. “I don’t have—”

“You do,” he cut in, stepping closer. He shrugged off his coat and wrapped it around me, the warmth shocking. “And you’re coming home.”

He lifted me like I weighed nothing.

As he carried me out into the rain, I stared at the villa—the lights, the warmth, the life continuing as if I’d never existed.

I didn’t scream.

I didn’t curse.

I just let it go.

Because somewhere inside me, something had finally made a decision.

I was done being kept alive by someone else’s permission.