ELEANOR
The sunlight peeked through the gap in my curtains and landed directly on my face, pulling me out of sleep. I groaned softly, turning my head to the side, but it was no use. Once the light hit my eyes, there was no going back. I blinked a few times-trying to adjust-and then stared at the ceiling for a moment before dragging myself out of the duvet.
As I sat up, I glanced around my room and the mess stared back at me like a taunt. Clothes were scattered on the chair, books-which i usually read as a means of escape-were piled on the nightstand, and a few empty water bottles were sitting on the dresser.
It wasn’t that I didn’t care about my space, but ever since I moved into Armando’s mansion, my days had been swallowed by cleaning everything else. His room, his library, the home office, the dining room-anywhere Armando might show up had to be spotless.
My room always came last. And every time I planned to clean it, something would come up-some new task Armando would throw my way-and I’d end up too exhausted to deal with it.
Not today, though. I promised myself I’d make time.
I got out of bed and headed straight to the bathroom. A quick shower and a routine brushing were enough to shake off the sluggishness of the morning and once I was done, I wrapped myself in a towel and sat at the dresser.
That’s when it hit me-the silence.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror, my thoughts drifting into places I tried not to visit too often. I looked a bit better than I used to, I could admit that much. My skin had cleared up, and my hair was always styled perfectly, thanks to the professional stylists Armando would bring in from time to time and anyone looking in from the outside would think I was living a dream.
I scoffed at the thought, my fingers idly tracing patterns on the edge of the dresser.
I remembered one stylist-a cheerful woman with perfectly manicured nails-had said something to me the last time she was here. She’d looked around my room with wide eyes and said, “You’re such a lucky girl to be living in a place like this.”
I’d forced a smile, but inside I wanted to laugh. Lucky? Sure, anyone would think that. Big house. Fancy clothes. A man who spent money like water. But none of them knew the truth.
I was just Armando’s possession-something he could dress up and show off whenever it suited him. The money, the beauty products, the clothes-they weren’t for me. They were for his ego.
I sighed and ran a hand through my damp hair.
“Lucky,” I muttered under my breath. “If only they knew.”
My gaze stayed fixed on my reflection, but my mind started drifting even further back, to a time before Armando. Before everything fell apart.
I used to have dreams. College plans. A family that loved me. I wasn’t supposed to be anyone’s plaything-I was supposed to be free.
I leaned forward, resting my chin on my palm as the memories flooded in.
And then, like a crashing wave, the good memories faded into the bad ones-the fights, the bills piling up, the day Mom walked out, the day Dad disappeared, my sister’s sudden sickness-and weight of it all pressed down on me, I couldn’t hold back a shaky breath.
If things had been different, where would I be now? Probably not in a mansion surrounded by designer things, but at least I’d have my freedom. I’d have my family. I’d have myself.
I shook my head trying to clear the thoughts, there was no point in dwelling on what I couldn’t change.
I took a deep breath, letting the sigh escape my lips. My reflection stared back at me and I could see the faint lines of tiredness under my eyes. I couldn’t afford to look like this, not with Armando’s critical gaze always hovering over me. He’d find some excuse to call me out, and I wasn’t in the mood for that today.
Shaking off the heavy thoughts that had taken root earlier, I reached for the bottle of lotion on the dresser. I squeezed a small amount into my palms, the faint floral scent filling the air as I smoothed it over my arms, my neck, and my face. The lotion felt cool against my skin, chasing away the dull dryness I hadn’t realized was there.
Next, I moved to my makeup. It was a light routine-nothing too heavy but enough to hide the gloominess in my expression.
I started with a thin layer of foundation, blending it carefully with a sponge until it evened out my skin tone. Then, I added a hint of blush to my cheeks to bring some life back into them. A soft brown shade for my eyebrows came next, filling in sparse areas and framing my face. I applied a touch of mascara to my lashes and finished with a nude lip gloss that added just a bit of shine. Simple, subtle, but enough to make me look less drained.
When I was done, I stood up and walked to my drawer to find something to wear but it was an absolute disaster. Clothes were crumpled into a chaotic mess and I had to dig through layers of fabric to find anything decent.
After a bit of struggle, I finally pulled out a cream-colored silk dress. It was simple, with thin straps and a loose fit that fell just above my knees-comfortable enough to wear around the house but luxurious enough to meet Armando’s unspoken standards.
Now I had to hurry.
Armando could be unpredictable and I didn’t want to be caught slacking if he decided to inspect the house. He had a habit of making me redo tasks even when everything was spotless and I didn’t need that kind of a headache today.
Grabbing the cleaning supplies-a broom, mop, and a couple of rags-I started with the dining room. I dusted the chairs, meticulously wiping down the frames, and then moved to the table, making sure it gleamed under the soft light.
The floor came next. I swept carefully-gathering every invisible speck of dust, and then mopped until the marble tiles shone like a mirror.
From there, I moved to the living room. I wiped the sofas-their golden frames polished until they were smooth to the touch-and then the fireplace was next, though it hadn’t been used recently. The rug was vacuumed, the curtains adjusted, and by the time I finished, the room looked perfect-just like it always did.
I stepped back to survey my work, a dull ache forming in my arms from the effort. The house was spotless-not that it ever wasn’t, but it wouldn’t matter much because Armando had a way of finding flaws no matter how much effort I put in.
I leaned against the broom for a moment-catching my breath-when it hit me. Armando wasn’t even home.
Relief washed over me, and I couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped my lips. All this work and for what?
If I had realized earlier that he wasn’t around, I could have skipped the pointless cleaning and saved my energy.
But on the bright side, at least I now had the chance to focus on my own room without him looming over me.
I dropped the broom and mop back in the small closet where the cleaning supplies were kept and made my way to the kitchen. My stomach grumbled as the exhaustion settled in, and I realized I couldn’t face cleaning my room on an empty stomach.
I made my way to the kitchen and then set to work, cracking a couple of eggs into a pan and frying them alongside some bacon. The sizzling sound was oddly comforting, filling the silence of the house. I pulled out a small plate of cake from the fridge and added a dollop of cream on the side, then made myself a cup of chocolate coffee to finish it off.
I savored the food-letting the warmth of the coffee spread through me-and after finishing, I cleaned up quickly-washing the dishes and wiping down the counter-before heading back upstairs.
Now it was time to face the mess that was my room. My sanctuary. The only place where I could still pretend to be free.
* * * * * * * *
Standing just beside the door, I took a long look around. The mess was everywhere-clothes spilling out of drawers, my bed unmade, and random items scattered across the floor-and if I didn’t clean it now it would only get worse.
I started with the bed, straightening out the sheets and smoothing every wrinkle. The pillows needed new covers, so I quickly slipped them on, fluffing them a little before placing them back in place.
Once the bed was done, I turned to my wardrobe. Clothes were piled up in no order-a complete disaster-so one by one, I folded each piece, stacking them neatly. It felt satisfying to see some sense of organization again, though the exhaustion tugged at me.
When I finally finished, I moved to my drawer where the phone Armando had bought for me sat untouched since last night. I slipped the SIM card I’d hidden away before Armando could take my old phone into the slot and powered the phone on.
The screen lit up and as it booted, I felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. It had been so long since I’d used a phone like this-since I’d been connected to the world outside Armando’s walls.
I started downloading the apps I used to have: Instagram, a few messaging apps, and others that felt almost foreign now.
Scrolling through the interface, I noticed changes-small updates that reminded me of just how long I’d been cut off from everything and as I opened Instagram, a flood of memories washed over me. The feed, the stories, the videos-it all felt like a life I’d left behind ages ago.
I had barely started to scroll through when the phone buzzed in my hand. A call from a private number.
My stomach sank. I just turned the phone on and hadn’t even messaged anyone yet so who could this be?
The phone buzzed again, but I let it ring. I stared at the screen-waiting for it to stop, and when it rang a second time, my nerves started to fray. On the third ring, curiosity got the better of me, and I answered.
“Hello?” My voice was hesitant, my grip on the phone tightening.
“Ah, Eleanor.” The voice on the other end sent a chill down my spine. It was hoarse, familiar, and filled with mockery.
My heart dropped. “How the hell did you get this number?” My voice came out sharper than I intended, panic already rising in my chest.
The man on the line chuckled softly, a low, mocking sound. “Calm yourself mia cara. Judging by your tone, I’m sure you already know who I am.”
“Don Salvatore,” I whispered, fear tightening around my throat.
“Very good,” he replied, his voice dripping with amusement. “Now that we’re reacquainted, let’s get down to business shall we?”
“What do you want?” I snapped, my voice trembling despite my effort to stay composed.
“I thought we had an agreement,” he said casually.
“I don’t know of any agreement!” I shot back. “Please leave me alone!”
Another dark chuckle came through the line. “Oh, Eleanor. You’re quite entertaining when you’re in denial. But let me remind you that this isn’t a negotiation. It either you do what I asked, or you deal with the consequences.”
“No I can’t do it,” I said, my voice breaking. “I don’t have anything to do with whatever feud you have with Armando. Please just leave me out of it.”
There was a pause-the silence stretching painfully, then his voice came back, colder this time. “You’re playing a dangerous game child. One you’re destined to lose.”
“Stop calling me that!” I yelled. “And stop dragging me into your mess! If you have a problem with Armando, face him yourself!”
His tone shifted again and the amusement disappeared completely. “Let me make this simple for you. End him quickly, or I’ll make sure you regret it.”
I felt my breath hitch, my mind racing for something-anything-to say. “I won’t do it,” I whispered. “Please… I can’t.”
“Can’t?” he repeated, mockingly. “Or won’t?”
Before I could answer, his voice dropped to a menacing whisper. “Perhaps you need more… motivation. Take your little girl for example.”
My blood ran cold. “What-what about her?”
“Let’s just say she’s now in my care. Sweet girl really. It’d be such a shame if anything happened to her because of your stubbornness.”
“You’re lying!” I shouted, my voice cracking.
“Am I?” he replied smoothly. “Think about it Eleanor. If she doesn’t get her treatment, how long do you think she’ll last? A day? Two? Her life is in your hands now.”
“No…” My voice was barely a whisper, my chest tightening as the weight of his words sank in.
“Tick-tock,” he said coldly. And then the line went dead.
The phone slipped from my hand-hitting the floor with a dull thud. I couldn’t move.
A notification buzzed-snapping me out of my daze-and I picked the phone back up with shaking hands.
It was a photo of my sister in a cold, unfamiliar room and attached below
was a text-simple but hitting me like a punch to the stomach.
It read:
“Your little girl is now in my custody and I’m sure you know what happens if she stays away from her medication for long. Her life is in your hands now Eleanor. The clock is ticking.”
I felt sweat bead on my forehead, my body trembling despite the air conditioning. My mind raced, and the walls seemed to be closing in on me.
Don Salvatore had me exactly where he wanted. And now, I had no choice.