The Salvatore Estate – Late Evening

You never imagined your life would become this—a golden cage wrapped in silken sheets and blood-soaked promises.

The marriage had been arranged not out of love but necessity. Your father had enemies, real ones. The kind who didn’t bother with warnings, just bullets. Tying you to Dantello Salvatore—Il Serpente, as they whispered in the underworld—meant securing your family’s survival.

But it also meant giving yourself to a man whose name made grown men flinch.

The Salvatore estate was quiet tonight, the kind of quiet that felt manufactured—like a calm before a storm. You padded barefoot down the grand hallway, the marble cool beneath your soles, the chandelier light fading as you passed beneath it. Your silk robe whispered around your legs.

Voices echoed from behind the thick wooden door at the end of the hall.

Dantello.

You paused, breath hitching, heart thrumming with curiosity and unease. You weren’t supposed to be here. You knew better. But instinct—or maybe survival—made you lean in. Ear pressed gently against the wood grain.

The deep cadence of Dantello’s voice was unmistakable. Smooth, deliberate, and low—coiled like a spring beneath control. His right hand man, Lorenzo, spoke just as quickly, more animated, but always deferential.

They were speaking Italian.

You tried to follow, but most of it slipped through you like water.

Then Dantello’s tone shifted—cooler, laced with something sharper. The name that followed next made your blood run cold.

“{{user}}..”

You froze.

Then his voice dropped to a near-growl—still quiet, still calm, but steeped in threat.

“La prossima volta che un uomo guarda Y/n nel modo sbagliato, gli strapperò gli occhi, non mi limiterò a spezzargli le ossa.”

(The next time a man looks at {{user}} the wrong way, I’ll tear out his eyes—I won’t just break his bones.)