Chapter 6: The Villa Feels Like A Cage

“It’s beautiful… and terrifying.”

That was the first thing Mara whispered as the iron gates swung open, revealing a villa.

The villa stood at the edge of the Mediterranean cliffs, a silent place where waves crashed fiercely, and shadows surrounded the place. It wasn't just any house; it was a luxurious fortress with sturdy stone walls covered in ivy, balconies adorned with black iron, and windows that mirrored nothing but secrets.

Damon didn’t say a word. As he stepped out of the sleek black SUV, his presence was cold and commanding. Isla followed closely behind, discreetly ready for anything, while Elias remained in the car, his sharp gaze scanning the surroundings like a hawk.

“This is where I’m supposed to feel safe?” Mara asked as she stepped out of the car, the wind whipping her curly hair around her face.

Damon finally glanced at her, his jaw clenched tightly. “This is the only place where I can keep you alive.”

She swallowed hard and looked back at the roiling sea. Safety didn’t feel like this—it felt like a gilded cage on the edge of nowhere.

Inside, the villa was even more stunning. Marble floors reflected the glow of chandeliers that hung like frozen stars from above. The hallways seemed endless, decorated with stunning artwork that felt too haunted to be admired.

Mara walked slowly, trying to take it in. Trying to make sense of the fact that less than a week ago, she was still living in a one-bedroom apartment, worried about her rent. Now, she was under mafia protection… married by contract to her childhood friend, a man who held power and ruthlessly defeated his enemies.

“This way,” Isla said gently, pointing down at a long corridor. “You’ll be staying in the East Wing. The Boss's rooms are in the West.”

Of course. They are not going to be in the same room. She was his responsibility—not his wife.

Mara stopped suddenly as they passed a thick wooden door. It was unlike the others. It was older, darker, and locked with a brass bolt.

“What’s in there?” she asked, curiously pointing at the door.

Isla hesitated, her lips parting then closing again. “It’s not anything you need to worry about.”

Mara stared at the door a moment longer before nodding. But something about it pulled at her chest like a string.

The next morning, she found Damon in the courtyard, dressed in black joggers and a tight grey shirt that showed his strong physique. He was barefoot on the stone tiles, striking punches to a hanging bag hung from an iron frame. His movements were clean, precise… deadly.

“You train every morning?” she asked from the doorway.

He didn’t stop. “Survival doesn’t sleep.”

With sweat glistening on his brow and blood on his knuckles, he finished his workout and turned to face her. “Come.”

“Me?”

“You're not just here to be protected. You need to learn how to defend yourself.”

Mara blinked in disbelief. “But I’ve never hit anyone before.”

“You’ll learn.”

The next thirty minutes were a whirlwind of awkward movements, slipping feet, and falling on her butt more times than she could count. But Damon was different from what she had expected; he was patient. He adjusted her hands, showed her how to balance her weight, and even smiled once when she managed a decent jab.

“You’ve got fire,” he said softly, brushing a lock of hair from her face. “You just don’t know how to aim it yet.”

Their eyes lingered on each other for too long, and Mara felt her breath hitch, but he stepped back.

“That’s enough for today.”

That night, she couldn’t sleep. The villa creaked as if it were alive. Shadows moved under her door, making her feel uneasy. The locked room kept invading her thoughts.

She stood from her bed and tiptoed barefoot down the hall, passing by priceless statues and luxurious curtains. She stood in front of the door. Her hand hovered over the bolt.

Then…

She heard it.

A sound.

A low whimper. A muffled voice. Crying.

Her heart raced.

She pressed her ear against the door. The sobs were faint, but real; they were definitely human.

“Hello?” she whispered.

But no response, only silence.

Then, she heard footsteps. Heavy ones, coming down the hall.

In a panic, she rushed back to her room just in time.

The next morning, she confronted Isla in the hallway. “There’s someone in that room, isn’t there?”

Isla looked weary. “Don’t dig where the Boss has buried the truth.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only answer I can give without breaking his trust.” Isla’s expression softened. “You’re not ready for that room.”

Mara clenched her fists. “Maybe I deserve to know. He says he’s protecting me, but from what? Or who?”

Isla looked away. “Sometimes… from himself.”

Later that day, Damon sat on the edge of the villa’s cliffside balcony, holding a glass of whiskey. Favour approached him slowly.

“Why this place?” she asked, folding her arms. “Why so far away from everyone?”

“Because no one comes here,” he answered simply. “Not even the devils I deal with.”

She sat beside him. “I heard something last night. From the locked room.”

He didn’t flinch.

“Damon… is there someone in there?”

“No,” he said.

“But—”

“Drop it.”

Silence fell between them.

“I don’t want to be afraid of you,” she whispered.

“You shouldn’t be,” he replied softly.

“But you hide too much.”

He looked at her, a hint of pain in his eyes. “Do you think knowing everything will make it easier?”

“I think hiding it makes it worse.”

He stood. “Some rooms stay locked because what’s inside could hurt us both.”

That night, she dreamed of a door swinging open, blood dripping down its frame, and a girl’s voice whispering, "Run."

She woke up in a sweat. The villa felt colder than before.