"Boss wants you to clean up and join him for dinner. In ten minutes. You shouldn't waste his time before he loses his appetite."
The escort said it flatly, already turning to leave Celia alone in the room.
"Wait."
The man stopped and turned back slowly, waiting.
"I want to know your name… just in case I need something," Celia said.
The guard looked at him, eyebrows lowering slightly, clearly not expecting that question.
Shouldn't this boy be scared?
He was about to have dinner with, the Don. One of the most powerful and well-known men in Italy. Men twice his size trembled when they heard that name. Yet here Celia was, casually asking for a name.
If it weren't for the boss, this good-for-nothing kid would have been buried six feet under already.
The guard cleared his throat, pushing the thought aside.
"Cassel," he said shortly. "Cassel Moretti. But people call me Cas."
His voice was lifeless, almost bored.
He checked the expensive watch on his wrist.
"You've got eight minutes. And don't get comfortable here," Cas muttered. Without another word, he turned and walked out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him.
Celia stood there for a second, slightly stunned.
"Are you all just… rude and nonchalant?" he called out, raising his voice so Cas could hear him through the hallway.
There was no reply.
Celia sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Great," he muttered.
He finally walked toward the bathroom.
The moment he pushed the door open, warm light spilled across polished marble floors. The bathroom was almost as large as his entire apartment back home. A glass shower stood in the corner, beside a deep white bathtub that looked like it belonged in a luxury hotel.
Everything smelled clean and expensive. He was shocked that they got everything ready for him.
Celia stared at the mirror above the sink. For the first time today, he really looked at himself.
His clothes were wrinkled. There were faint bruises forming along his arms where the men had grabbed him earlier. His hair was messy, his eyes tired and slightly red.
He looked like someone who had just had his entire life stolen from him. And maybe he had.
He leaned closer to the mirror, gripping the sink. "Pull yourself together," he whispered to his reflection.
Tonight he was sitting at the same table as the man who had killed his cousin. The same man who now owned his life.
Celia turned on the faucet, splashing cold water onto his face. He had eight minutes before facing Alessandro again.
And somehow… that felt even more terrifying than when he had pressed the gun against his face.
Celia slowly lifted his hand and touched his right cheek, his fingers brushing the skin where the cold metal had rested earlier. Even now, he could almost feel it—the chilling pressure, the silent threat behind it.
His jaw tightened.
"Bastard…" he muttered under his breath.
His reflection stared back at him from the bathroom mirror, tired eyes filled with anger and something darker.
"He killed my cousin… and he thinks I wouldn't try to get revenge?" Celia scoffed quietly. "Or escape?"
His fingers curled into a fist before relaxing again.
"He really thinks I'll just stay here like some obedient pet."
Celia exhaled slowly, trying to steady the storm brewing inside his chest.
Without another word, he began removing the clothes from his body. The fabric felt heavy, suffocating like it still carried the smell of that building, the blood on the floor, the screams that echoed in his head.
He dropped the shirt onto the marble floor and ran a hand through his hair. For a brief second, his shoulders sagged. The exhaustion hit him all at once. His life had changed in a single night.
His cousin, dead and now he belonged to a mafia Don who looked at him like a toy he hadn't decided how to break yet.
Celia clenched his jaw again and turned toward the shower. "Just wait," he murmured quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper.
"One day… I'll get out of here."
Saying that, he stepped into the tub and turned on the shower.
Warm water poured down over him, sliding across his skin. Celia let out a low groan of relief as the heat soaked into his tense muscles.
For the first time since that nightmare began, his body started to relax.
The water ran down his shoulders, washing away the dirt and dried blood clinging to his skin. Thin streams of red circled the drain before disappearing.
Celia closed his eyes for a moment, letting the warmth fall over his face.
It felt… good, so damn good.
Almost like the water was trying to wash away everything that had happened.
But it couldn't. The sound of the gunshot still echoed faintly in his head.
He opened his eyes again and reached for the bath shampoo resting on the glass shelf. Squeezing some onto the scrub, he began washing his body slowly.
Foam spread across his skin as he scrubbed his arms and shoulders.
The scent immediately caught his attention. Mint… mixed with honey.
Fresh and cool, but strangely warm at the same time. Celia inhaled slightly, surprised by how much he liked it.
"Rich bastard," he muttered quietly.
Done with bathing, Celia stepped out of the shower. Steam still clung to his damp skin as he grabbed a towel and quickly dried himself.
"Now what clothes am I supposed to wear?" he muttered, glancing around the room.
He turned slowly, expecting to see something laid out for him on the bed or chair.
Nothing, he frowned.
Just then an idea crossed his mind.
Celia walked toward the wardrobe and pulled the door open. His eyes widened slightly when he saw rows of clothes neatly arranged inside. Shirts, trousers, jackets—everything looked expensive… and strangely enough, they looked like his size.
He hesitated for a moment before reaching in and pulling out a shirt from one of the hangers.
"Of course," he muttered quietly. "The bastard already prepared everything."
He slipped the shirt over his shoulders, pulling it down his torso. But when he looked down, he noticed it didn't fully cover his defined abs. The fabric stopped just a little too high, exposing part of his stomach.
Celia sighed.
"Seriously?"
He ran a hand through his damp hair before checking the wardrobe again. After a few seconds of searching, he spotted a pair of sweatpants folded neatly on one of the shelves.
"Finally… ."
Fortunately, they looked comfortable. He pulled them on quickly and adjusted the waistband.
For a moment, he just stood there in the quiet room. And glanced at his reflection in the mirror again.
Everything was settled. Just then, a knock came at the door.
"Come in," Celia said, already knowing who it was.
The door opened and Cas stepped inside. His sharp eyes immediately went to the watch on his wrist before lifting to look at Celia.
"There's no more time," he said.
Then he paused, briefly nodding his head in approval. The young man had actually finished getting ready within the time given.
Celia noticed the small reaction but said nothing.
"Follow me," Cas continued flatly. "The boss is already waiting for you." He turned around without another word.
Celia rolled his shoulders slightly before stepping forward and following behind him.
The moment they stepped into the hallway, the quiet of the mansion wrapped around them again. Their footsteps echoed softly against the polished floor as they walked through the long corridor.
Celia couldn't help glancing around.
Tall paintings hung on the walls, expensive and old-looking. Soft golden lights illuminated the hallway, giving the entire place an almost royal feeling.
It didn't feel like a house but like a kingdom.
And Alessandro was clearly the one sitting on its throne. Celia swallowed slightly as they continued walking. The deeper they went into the mansion, the heavier the air felt around him.
His heart began beating faster. He was about to dine with his cousin's murderer. What was the use of killing his cousin when he had already accepted that he would pay the debt? He thought to himself. He wanted to know why the bastard had done that.