Page 20 of Beneath the Shadows

“Please stop the car,” I say quickly, my voice a little too eager.

“Scusami?” the driver asks, confused.

I fumble through my rusty Italian. “Ferma la macchina, per favore.”

He slows to a stop, and before anyone can react, I grab my camera, fling the door open, and jump out. The cool air rushes against my face as I begin snapping pictures, drawn to the volcano's raw beauty, eager to capture every detail.

“La strada è pericolosa. Devi tornare in macchina,” the driver calls, but I barely register the words.

Behind me, Dante exchanges words with the driver, their voices low. He doesn’t force me back into the car, though. It seems he’s allowing me this moment, whether out of patience or reluctance, I’m not sure. Either way, I continue snapping until I have all the photographs I want.

Once I’m back in the car, I murmur, “Grazie,” as a small smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. It’s the first time I’ve felt anything close to joy in days.

The driver shakes his head as he pulls back onto the busy road. This time, instead of wallowing in self-pity, I roll my window down and focus on the breathtaking views. The narrow road twists and turns along the cliffsides overlooking the sea.

I’m in awe as we drive through arched tunnels that look as though they were hand-carved through the mountain. Much to the annoyance of my driver, I ask him to stop the car several times so I can take photos of the panoramic views.

By the time we arrive at the luxurious villa perched on the hillside, I almost forget why I’m here. The view is stunning, and the villa itself is a masterpiece of Mediterranean architecture. For a moment, I ignore everything and allow myself to appreciate the beauty surrounding me.

“Mrs. Comiso,” a voice says, interrupting my daydream. I turn to see a man in a crisp suit standing by the entrance. “I’m Paolo, your concierge. Please allow me to show you to your suite.”

* * *

Three weeks have passed since I last saw or heard from Valentino. The staff and Valentino’s men are the only company I’ve had. It’s a strange, almost surreal existence—living in such luxury, yet knowing that any sense of freedom is nothing more than an illusion.

As the days blur together, I try to find moments of escape. Each morning, I explore the villa grounds, strolling along the cliffside paths with the cerulean water stretching out endlessly below. The beauty of the Amalfi Coast is undeniable. In those moments, I almost forget the circumstances that brought me here.

Photography has always been my escape. My camera is a constant companion, rarely leaving my side. I lose myself for hours, capturing the stunning vistas and vibrant colors of Italy. With each click of the shutter, I claim a small victory—a way to hold onto something that’s truly mine, a quiet act of defiance.

The staff are kind and courteous. Paolo, in particular, has been attentive, bringing me books from local shops and treating me with a consideration that makes me wonder if he pities me, though he never lets it show. Despite the grandeur, it’s the simple pleasures that bring me the most joy—reading a book on the terrace, sipping espresso in the garden, or feeling the warmth of the sun on my face.

Dante and Rico have been extremely accommodating. On several occasions, they allowed me to venture into the nearby town, staying just far enough away that I easily blend in with the tourists and locals. It’s in these moments, wandering the markets, tasting fresh produce, and indulging in gelato by the sea, that I feel a semblance of normalcy. As if I’m just another visitor enjoying the charm of Italy.

The evenings are quiet, spent watching the sunset paint the sky in hues of pink and gold. I dine on exquisite food at a table set for one. Afterward, I retreat to my suite, enjoying the quiet and solitude the villa provides.

Just as I start to settle into this rhythm, my peace is abruptly shattered.

I’m on the balcony, lost in the view, when the distant thrum of a helicopter reaches my ears. My stomach tightens. I glance up, watching as it descends onto the helipad at the far end of the estate. A figure steps out, and even from this distance, the way he walks is unmistakable.

Valentino.

He’s back.

I steady myself as he enters the villa, his presence immediately suffocating. He strides toward the balcony, his eyes finding mine, and the weight of his gaze is like a tightening grip, making it hard to breathe. “Enjoying yourself, Alessia?” he asks, a hint of amusement playing on his lips.

Swallowing hard, I meet his gaze. “I was, until now.”

His smile widens, a predatory gleam in his eyes. “Good. I wouldn’t want you to get too comfortable. Don’t ever forget who holds the power here, princess.”

"How could I forget?"

His eyes narrow slightly. “My men told me you’ve behaved very well.” He pauses, gesturing toward the bed. “As a reward, I brought you something. You’ll wear it tonight.”

I say nothing, refusing to acknowledge his so-called gift.

He steps closer, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “It’s been three weeks since I’ve touched a woman. After dinner, I plan to make up for lost time.”

Valentino’s return means the game resumes, and this time, he’s going to take something I’ve held onto for years—something I always thought would be Antonio’s. Instead, tonight, my virginity will be stolen by a man who will never appreciate its significance. To him, I'm just another object, something he can own and control.

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