Dinner with the Devil

The sound of a soft bell echoed through the hallway and I knew it was announcing dinner. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the door. Part of me wanted to stay here, pretend I hadn't heard it. But deep down, I knew better. Ignoring Giovanni wouldn't be brave, it was stupid. A gentle knock followed. "Miss?" The voice was unfamiliar so I walked to the door and opened it to find a middle-aged woman in a crisp black uniform, her graying hair pulled back in a neat bun. Her eyes were kind but guarded, the look of someone who'd learned to keep her head down and her mouth shut. "Mr. De Santis requests your presence in the dining room," she said quietly, her gaze dropping to the floor as if looking at me directly might be dangerous. I took a slow breath, pushing a few loose strands of hair behind my ear. "Tell him I'll be there soon." She nodded quickly, stepping aside as I walked past. The hallway felt endless, lined with paintings that seemed to watch as I moved. My footsteps