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Chapter 6
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2025-11-21 02:28:00I woke to the sound of voices outside my door.
Low. Urgent.
I sat up slowly, heart already racing.
"The schedule has changed." Rocco's voice, tight with barely contained anger. "Volkov's orders. She's not to leave the east wing without clearance."
"Since when does he give orders?" Another guard, younger.
"Since the Don put him in charge." Rocco's footsteps retreated down the hall. "Just follow protocol. Unless you want to end up like the last idiot who questioned him."
Silence.
I pulled my knees to my chest, wrapping the blanket tighter.
What happened to the last person who questioned him?
Twenty minutes later, someone knocked.
"Signorina Luna." Rocco's voice. "I'm coming in."
The door opened before I could respond.
Rocco stepped inside, his injured arm still in a sling. He wouldn't meet my eyes. In his good hand, he held a folded piece of paper.
"New protocols," he said flatly. He crossed the room and dropped the paper on my vanity. "Read it. Memorize it. Volkov doesn't repeat himself."
He turned to leave.
I grabbed the paper with shaking hands and unfolded it.
PROTOCOL 1.02
The text was typed. Clinical. No signature.
Subject: Luna Vitiello
Authorized zones: East wing, library, dining hall (supervised)Unauthorized zones: All other areas without direct escortInteraction protocol: One meter distance from all personnel at all times. This includes family members.Deviation will result in immediate correction.The last line made my blood run cold.
Correction.
What did that mean?
I looked up, but Rocco was already gone.
Thirty minutes later, the door opened again.
No knock. No warning.
Volkov filled the doorway.
He didn't speak. Just stood there, waiting.
I understood immediately. He was here to escort me.
I stood quickly, smoothing my dress with trembling hands.
He stepped back into the hallway, positioning himself slightly behind me and to the left.
I started walking.
The corridor felt longer than usual. The silence was suffocating. I could hear my own heartbeat, the soft rustle of my dress, the faint creak of the floorboards beneath my feet.
Volkov made no sound at all.
I could feel him there. One meter behind. Constant. Inescapable.
We passed the portrait gallery. The library entrance. The—
A door opened ahead.
One of the housemaids stepped out, carrying a tray of teacups. She saw me and froze.
"Signora, I didn't realize—forgive me, I—"
She took a step forward.
Volkov moved.
Not fast. Not aggressive.
Just a single, fluid step that placed his body directly between me and the maid.
A wall of black suit and cold authority.
The maid stumbled backward. The tray slipped from her hands.
Crash.
Porcelain shattered across the marble floor. White shards skittered in every direction.
The maid gasped, dropping to her knees. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—"
Volkov spoke.
"Protocol 1.02, Section B." His voice was low. Cold. Controlled. "Maintain distance. Failure to comply is grounds for immediate termination."
The maid went pale. Tears filled her eyes.
"I didn't know, sir, please, I—"
"Leave."
The single word cut through her stammering like a blade.
She scrambled to her feet and ran.
Volkov turned back to me. His expression hadn't changed. No anger. No emotion at all.
He gestured forward with one hand.
Keep walking.
I forced my legs to move, stepping carefully around the broken porcelain.
Behind us, I heard the maid sobbing in the adjacent hallway.
Termination.
He'd meant it. I knew he had.
One mistake. One broken rule.
And she'd be gone.
We continued walking. My hands shook. I clasped them together in front of me, trying to steady them.
He keeps the others away from me.
But who keeps me safe from him?
We reached Father's study.
Volkov stopped outside the heavy oak doors and knocked once. Sharp. Precise.
"Enter!" Father's voice, muffled.
Volkov pushed the door open and stepped aside.
I walked in.
Father sat behind his massive desk, papers spread in front of him. He looked up and smiled.
"Luna, cara mia! Come, sit."
I sat in the chair across from him, hands folded in my lap.
Volkov remained by the door. Silent. Watching.
Father shuffled through his papers. "The wedding preparations are progressing well. Moretti is very pleased. The date is confirmed for four weeks from now."
My stomach dropped.
four weeks.
"Everything is being handled," Father continued. "The venue, the guest list, your dress. You'll be a beautiful bride."
He looked at me expectantly.
I nodded.
"Good girl." He leaned back in his chair. "Now, Volkov tells me there have been some adjustments to your daily routine. This is for your safety, you understand. We can't risk another breach."
I nodded again.
"Excellent." Father's gaze shifted to Volkov. "Has she been compliant?"
"Yes, Don Vitiello."
"Any issues?"
"None."
Father smiled. "Perfect. You see, Luna? Everything is under control now. You're safe."
Safe.
The word felt like a lie.
Father dismissed us with a wave of his hand. "You may return to your room. I have business to attend to."
I stood and walked to the door.
Volkov fell into step behind me.
The walk back was just as silent.
Just as suffocating.
When we reached my door, I stopped and reached for the handle.
"Wait."
I froze.
Volkov stepped past me and opened the door himself. He entered first, scanning the room with mechanical precision.
Windows. Closet. Bathroom.
After thirty seconds, he returned to the doorway.
"Clear." His eyes swept over me once. "Lock the door. Open it only for your father or myself."
He stepped into the hallway.
I closed the door and turned the lock.
Then I sank to the floor, back against the wood, and pulled my knees to my chest.
Four weeks.
Four weeks until the wedding.
Four weeks of this.
Of Volkov's cold commands. His silent scrutiny. His absolute control.
I wrapped my arms tighter around myself.
The maid's terrified face flashed through my mind.
Failure to comply is grounds for termination.
I was trapped.
Between Father's plans and Volkov's protocol.
Between the devil I knew and the one I didn't.
And I didn't know which one scared me more.
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