The Meeting

Lilith’s Pov Everyone in my city envies and calls me the Don’s wife, but no one really knows that I am a hostage. It's been like this for six years now and today too was not any different. I was currently sitting in one of the rooms, gazing straight into one of the full-length mirrors. Preparing for a party. The maids around me were fastening the pearls at the back of my neck with careful fingers, cautious not to touch my skin more than necessary. Everyone of them kept their silence. I kept staring at the mirror before me, watching them work, the gown adhered to my body so tightly I could hardly breathe. It was just like Lucian wanted it…it was how he liked to see me….contained, flawless, and always visible. I never chose the clothes I wore. Sometimes, I wondered if he dressed me like this to remind me that even my skin belonged to him. And sometimes, when the gown was tight enough to hurt, I let it, just to feel something that was mine, even if it was pain. My reflection shone under the chandeliers, just like the building itself. Everything in Verona Estate was built to be admired. Every single object was a display. Every person, a piece of performance. And the main attraction…was…. was me. I hummed and allowed my eyes to meet those of one of the maids through the mirror. The middle aged woman looked away quickly. And in that second, I found myself wondering if she could also see what I was seeing in myself: I was nothing but a woman dressed like a queen but breathing like a prisoner. That is what I am…. prisoner of war, I mean….of some sort. Six years ago, when Lucian and I first met, I did not mistake him for a savior. I was only nineteen when the fire claimed the lives of the Laurent's, my foster parents. The news had called it an accident, but it had not felt like one. I used to think about a boy from the orphanage back then… quiet, a little older, always sharing what little he had. He once told me he’d come back for me. I don’t know why I still remember that. Maybe because, that night, as I hid under the stairs waiting for the fire to reach me, I thought it finally had. I still remembered the way the smoke had filled the hallway that night, the way I had screamed until my voice broke, hiding under the stairs as the heat drew closer and closer. Somehow, it stopped before it reached me and I lived, and now, sometimes, I wished I hadn’t. A few months later, Lucian had appeared from the blues. He claimed the Laurent's owed him money, a debt that now belonged to me. The way he spoke, it was he was the law, like he was judgment itself. When he first mentioned marriage, I thought I had misheard. He didn't even suggest it as an offer, it was a verdict. And so, in the days that followed, I tried to run. I could still picture the night I did. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely hold the bus ticket. I ran until I reached the place that used to be my home before the lovely Laurent took me in…it was the orphanage where I grew up. But that choice… that single act of defiance… was the one I will regret till the end of my life. Lucian found me. Not in person…not yet. He had sent men instead. They came before dawn. I remember the screaming, the gunfire, the smell of blood. I remember Sister Elena trying to shield the children, and the sound of her own body later hitting the floor. Five of them died that night, five souls who had never known cruelty until my mistake brought it to their doorstep. When Lucian finally came for me, I was still in shock with blood on my shoes, tears that had already dried. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. “If you want to protect what’s left,” he said softly, his tone almost kind. “You know what to do. Unless you’d like me to return... and make fifty corpses instead of five.” (“Il sangue sarà sulle tue mani, e sulla testa dei tuoi genitori.”) The blood will be on your hands, and on your parents’ heads. I realized then that I no longer had a choice if I wanted to save the others. The switch that twisted wasn't just for survival; it was a cold, hard knot of hatred for the man who had planned the slaughter of the only innocents I had left. So I said yes. Not to love, not to safety, but to survive and to wait, though I didn't know for what. And when I became his wife, I also became his property: a luxurious hostage, trained to smile, and taught to disappear behind my own reflection. But lately, something restless had begun to stir in my heart, a thought I hadn’t dared touch. What if being perfect was just another way of dying? The mirror was still before me when the memory faded, my reflection as pale as the girl under the stairs, scared to death. The maids had just begun to step back when the door suddenly opened. And when we turned to check, it was the sight of Lucian walking in. Immediately, they froze…heads bowed, hands folded, bodies bending low. He didn’t need to say a word. His presence alone bore the energy of command. And in a matter of seconds, they were gone. Lucian’s reflection filled the mirror after that. He didn’t speak at first; he simply walked around me slowly, like a sculptor inspecting his creation. When his eyes met mine through the mirror, there was no warmth there as usual…..only possession. “Turn around,” he ordered quietly. “Let me get a good look.” My body obeyed before my mind could catch up. He adjusted a strap that didn’t need adjusting, The contact gave me goosebumps not from passion but from memory. My skin did not need much to remember the marks these same fingers once left on it ... bruises shaped like maps. His hand soon found my chin, forcing my face upward. My eyes shifted to the painting behind him….a Renaissance Madonna with lifeless eyes. I focused on her instead of him. I always did. Lucian smirked at my submission, satisfied, and started to turn away. I followed, as expected. The room he led me to smelled faintly of scotch. And so, when he started to touch me, my body moved only because it had learned to. My lips parted when he leaned in because that was what they were trained to do. Inside, I felt nothing. I had forgotten what pleasure was supposed to feel like. Forgotten what it meant to exist outside his hands. I have never actually felt pleasure before. I kept staring at the ceiling blankly. He groaned at some point, burying his face in my neck. I have memorized every sound he made, every breath he took, and every one of his commands. I had grown to be so good at this. It was a strange thing to be proud of. “Come on, Say it, doll!” Lucian barked suddenly. “You know the fucking line.” He whispered again in my ear. I swallowed, blinking once before I murmured without feeling, “I belong to you.” He did not like the way it sounded so he tightened his hands around my hair to snarl, “Don’t whisper it like some scared little thing….say it like your life fucking depends on it. Capisce?” (You get it) I closed my eyes. “I belong to you,” I said again. This time, louder and surer. It was only then that he let out a sound of approval before he continued thrusting, faster and deeper. When it was over, he pulled away. I didn't move. I knew better than to cover myself. He buttoned his shirt slowly, adjusting and fixing his buttons like nothing just happened. He went on to pour himself a drink. I remained on the bed, naked and with red marks blooming on my skin. He didn't glance back as the door went shut. Moments later, I soon changed into a black dress, this one was longer, it was for the gala night we were to attend tonight. I passed by Lucian’s study on the way downstairs; the whisper of Italian made me stop. Lucian was inside with his underboss, a man called Enzo. “Controlla le telecamere. Tutte.” (Check all the cameras) His voice followed, harder. “Se quel figlio di puttana mette piede qui, lo voglio sapere prima di tutti. Capisci?” (If that son of a bitch sets foot here, I want to know before anyone else. Understand?) The rumor rushed back. He was making a reference to his exiled half-brother, the traitor. My heartbeat quickened as I slipped away unseen. When the set time came, the ballroom glowed twice as much. I assumed by position beside Lucian, my arm linked into his own, my smile as flawless as a diamond on my neck. Close to us, was a man by the name…. Dons from Naples, arms dealers from Berlin, and Russian ex-royalty. They all gathered around him, laughing at his stupid jokes, and eagerly shaking his hand at every chance they got. I stood there, like a silent ornament, beautiful and untouchable. Enzo walked up and whispered something in Lucian's ear. And whatever he told him made him withdraw from me sharply without even a glance at my way. And for the first time since the evening started, I was able to breathe again. I stepped away and took a glass of wine from a passing server. It was cold, crisp, and tasted like nothing. I was just at the point of turning when I was greeted by the unexpected sight of a man walking in. He was remarkably tall, in a dark suit, with no tie, and an attitude of careless elegance. When his eyes met mine, something stirred within me, not recognition, exactly, but a strange, old ache. Maybe it was the way he looked; unafraid to really see me. Most men averted their eyes, but this one didn’t. Something in his gaze felt too steady… too certain. Like he already knew who I was long before I looked at him. Like remembering a promise someone once made and never kept. He continued to walk past without stopping. However, my skin felt pricked and my chest tightened. I moved over to the garden balcony seconds later. The gentle breeze brushed my bare shoulders. The scent of the sea rose in the air. I inhaled deeply. I had taken a break from Lucian's perfect world, and for once today, I felt almost human again. Then, out of nowhere…. I heard a deep voice behind me. My first instinct was to turn away, but something in me stayed still this time. “This is where the Don keeps his prettiest collection?” I turned sharply and almost gasped. It was him. The same man from the ballroom. He leaned against the rail, casual, like he belonged here. He didn’t smile. Didn’t try to charm, he just watched me. “You are not like them,” He remarked, I blinked twice, “What?” “You don’t blink like the rest of them. You look like a woman who’s been polished so long no one remembers what she looked like before,” I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. His words didn't just settle over my skin; they slipped beneath it, hooking into a part of me I kept locked away. It was heavy, strange, and unnervingly true. My heart beat, not with fluttering anxiety, but with the hard, sudden thump of a door being unlocked. In my silence, he stepped closer, stopping at a dangerously intimate distance. He only tilted his head at me—a tall, broad-shouldered man in a sharp suit making a childish gesture. It should’ve been funny. But the moment my gaze caught his face, any trace of a smile drained away. His expression… how could it be the same as his? “Nice to finally meet you,” he cut in, then strode away. “Wait”No one answered me. Only the faint scent of green moss drifted through the air, identical to the smell I remembered from that little boy long ago. I had to ask. I had to know. But I couldn’t. Lucian’s presence was already closing in around me again. I stared at the place where the man had vanished, as if he had never stood there at all.