The doors slammed shut behind her. The sound echoed through the long, cold hallway.
Vittoria stood still.
The woman in black—the one who had put the collar on her—turned sharply. "Follow me."
She didn't wait to see if Vittoria obeyed. She just walked.
Vittoria's legs moved, even though her mind screamed to run.
They passed tall walls, expensive paintings, and silent guards. Everything was too clean. Too cold. Like a prison made of glass.
They reached a small room. White walls. A metal table. No windows.
"Inside," the woman said.
Vittoria stepped in, heart pounding.
Two other maids were waiting. One young, one older—gray hair, sharp eyes. The older one stepped forward.
The door shut behind her with a heavy click.
"Strip," the older maid said.
Vittoria blinked. "W-What?"
"Clothes off. Now."
"No," Vittoria said, stepping back. "You can't—"
The other two maids moved fast. They grabbed her arms. Tight.
"Stop! Let me go!" she shouted.
The older woman came closer. She didn't yell. Her voice was calm. "You belong to him now. He doesn't want damaged goods. I need to check you."
She reached out, touched Vittoria's collarbone. Her fingers were cold.
Vittoria squirmed. "Don't touch me!"
But the maids held her still.
The older woman didn't stop. She moved her hands over Vittoria's arms, her stomach, her back. Checking her like she was nothing more than a thing.
"She's thin," the woman muttered. "But strong. And no marks."
She nodded to the others. "Bathe her."
The younger maid stepped out. She returned with a bucket of warm water, a sponge, and a small bottle of soap.
"Please," Vittoria whispered. "I can do it myself."
"No," the older maid said. "We clean you. We dress you. That's the rule."
She didn't fight anymore. Just stood there, stiff and shaking, as they removed her clothes and wiped her down like she was furniture.
After what felt like forever, they handed her a thin black dress and soft slippers.
"Put it on."
She did, her hands trembling.
The older maid stepped back. "I'm Lucrezia. I manage the girls. You speak when spoken to. You eat when told. You don't run. You don't cry. And you don't try to be clever."
Vittoria didn't answer.
Lucrezia stepped close again. "What's your name?"
She hesitated. "Lavinia."
Lucrezia slapped her.
It wasn't hard. But it shocked her.
"That's the last time you say that name," she said coldly. "Your name is Vittoria."
"I didn't choose that name," Vittoria said, blinking back tears.
"You don't choose anything anymore."
Lucrezia turned. "Follow me."
They walked again. This time through a narrower hallway. The lights were dimmer here. Cameras lined the corners of the ceiling.
At the end was a row of doors. Small ones. Each with a lock.
Lucrezia opened one.
"This is yours."
Vittoria looked inside. A narrow bed. A blanket. A sink. A toilet. That was all.
"Do you lock us in here?" she asked.
Lucrezia shrugged. "Only if you cause problems."
From somewhere nearby, a scream echoed. A girl's voice. Sharp and full of pain.
Vittoria froze.
"What was that?" she asked.
Lucrezia didn't answer.
The other maids didn't flinch.
The scream stopped as suddenly as it came.
"You'll be given food soon," Lucrezia said. "Until then, stay quiet. Don't talk to the others. Don't try to escape. You won't get far."
Lucrezia turned to leave, her sharp heels clicking against the floor. "Stay quiet. Don't talk to the others. Don't try to escape. You won't get far."
She stepped out without another word. The door closed behind her with a soft but final click.
Vittoria sat on the edge of the bed, her body still trembling from the cold wipe-down and Lucrezia's words.
A few minutes passed.
Then the door opened again—softly, this time.
It was a younger maid. Petite, silent, eyes cast downward. She didn't say a word as she walked in and laid a folded robe on the bed beside Vittoria.
Black. Silky. Expensive.
"She said to wear this," the maid whispered. "Now."
Vittoria didn't ask who she was. She already knew.
She slipped the robe on, the fabric smooth against her skin. Too soft for how sharp her nerves felt.
Just as she tied the sash, the door creaked open again.
Lucrezia stood there.
Her eyes scanned Vittoria from head to toe.
"Luciano wants to see you," she said, voice flat. "Now." Lucrezia opened the door for her to step out as another woman stood there.
The hallway was silent as Vittoria followed the woman in black. Her bare feet padded against the cold floor, each step echoing like a countdown.
"Keep your head down," the woman ordered. "Don't speak unless spoken to."
Vittoria didn't answer. Her hands were clenched at her sides. The collar around her neck felt heavier with every step.
They stopped in front of a tall black door at the end of the corridor.
The woman knocked once, then pushed it open.
"Go," she said.
Vittoria stepped inside slowly.
The room was dimly lit. Heavy curtains blocked the windows. A faint smell of musk and something darker—cologne, maybe—hung in the air.
Luciano sat at the edge of the bed. His black shirt was unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He didn't look up right away. He poured himself a drink, slow and steady.
"Close the door."
Vittoria turned back and hesitated.
"Now."
She shut it.
"Come here."
She walked forward. Every step felt wrong. Like walking into a lion's den with no weapon, no chance.
Luciano finally looked up.
His eyes trailed over her body—not lustful, but like he was inspecting property. His gaze stopped at her face.
"You clean up well," he said.
Vittoria said nothing.
"Speak."
"…Thank you," she said quietly.
He tilted his head. "That wasn't a compliment. It was an observation."
She lowered her eyes.
Luciano took a sip from his glass, then stood.
He moved slowly, circling her once.
"How old did your mother say you were again?"
"Seventeen," she replied.
He stood behind her now. "And your real age?"
She hesitated. "…Eighteen."
"Hm. At least she didn't lie all the way."
Vittoria flinched as he brushed a finger down the back of her neck, just above the collar.
"She gave you up too easily. Makes me think you were already broken."
"I'm not," she whispered.
He stepped in front of her again, close. His voice dropped lower. "You will be."
She clenched her jaw, refusing to look away.
That made him smile—just a little.
"You hate me already, don't you?"
Vittoria didn't answer.
He stepped back. "Good."
Luciano walked to a nearby table and placed his glass down.
"You'll learn my rules. You'll learn when to speak, how to walk, what to wear, how to breathe around me. I don't like noise. I don't like disobedience. You'll learn fast… or not at all."
Vittoria stood frozen.
Then he turned to her fully. "Take off the robe."
She stiffened.
He raised an eyebrow. "Problem?"
"No."
She slipped the robe off her shoulders. Her skin prickled in the cold air.
Luciano looked—but not like a man admiring. More like a king evaluating tribute.
He stepped forward and lifted her chin again. "You don't speak of this room. You don't look anyone in the eye unless I say. And from now on, you answer to me. No one else."
Her throat tightened.
"Say it," he said.
"…Yes, sir."
Luciano watched her for a moment longer, then turned away.
"You'll be sent back to your room. Tomorrow, we begin."
He sat again, like she was dismissed.
A knock sounded at the door. The same woman from before opened it slightly.
"She's done?"
Luciano didn't even look at her. "Take her."
The door closed again behind Vittoria.
But this time, she didn't feel like she was leaving a room.
She felt like she was leaving herself behind.