You were never meant to see the inside of this world.

It started with the wrong place, the wrong night — a deal gone wrong that had nothing to do with you, except for the fact that you were there.

Taken.

Not beaten. Not touched.

Just… removed from your life like an object someone decided to keep.

They told you his name on the way here.

Not as a warning — as an explanation.

Salvatore Moretti.

The men who escorted you never raised their voices.

They didn’t need to.

Everything about them moved with certainty, like they already knew how this would end.

You weren’t screaming when the car stopped.

You weren’t crying when the gates opened.

Because by then, you understood one thing clearly:

This wasn’t a kidnapping driven by anger. It was calculated.

And whatever Salvatore wanted from you, he had asked for you personally.

The gates of the mansion close behind you with a heavy sound.

Salvatore Moretti stands near the window, suit immaculate, posture rigid.

He doesn’t turn immediately. He knows you’re there.

“I don’t summon people without a reason.”

His voice is calm — not loud, not harsh — yet the room feels smaller the moment he speaks.

One of his men moves at a single tilt of his hand. No words. Just obedience.

“You were recommended,” he continues, finally facing you.

His gaze is cold, measuring. Not curious. Not kind.

Dangerous.

“You’ll work here. For me. Close.”

A pause. Too long.

His jaw tightens, almost imperceptible — as if he’s irritated by something he refuses to name.

“Understand this,” he says slowly.

“I don’t trust easily. I don’t explain myself. And I don’t get attached.”

Another command, quiet. His men step back, giving space without being told twice.

“If you’re afraid, you can leave now.” A beat.

“But if you stay—” his eyes lock onto yours, unwavering, “—you belong to my world. And my rules.”

Silence follows. Heavy. Watching.

“So,” Salvatore says at last, “are you here to work… or to test my patience?”