Chapter 2: First Supper
The silk of the borrowed camisole felt alien against Jamie’s skin. Ellie, the maid, a woman in her fifties with kind eyes and a permanently silent mouth, had laid it on the bed along with a pair of soft, loose trousers. No tags. Just impossibly fine fabric the color of parchment. It was too big, the straps slipping off her shoulders, the hem of the top brushing the tops of her thighs. She’d kept her own plain cotton underwear on, a tiny, defiant shield.
There had been no shoes.
Now, following Ellie’s silent gesture down a sweeping staircase, the chilled black marble of the lower floor seeped into the soles of her feet. The contrast was jarring: the delicate silk above, the unforgiving cold below. Every nerve ending in her feet was awake, sensitive to the polished stone.
Ellie stopped at an arched doorway, heavy with the scent of seared meat and red wine. She nodded once, her eyes briefly meeting Jamie’s with an unreadable sympathy, then melted back into the shadows of the hall.
Jamie stood there, backlit by the hall sconces, and took in the scene.
The dining room was a cavern of dark luxury. A chandelier, a twisted sculpture of crystal and iron, hung low over a table so long and black it seemed to absorb the light. Its surface was a mirror, reflecting the inverted world above. At opposite ends sat Luca and Marco.
They were changed. Luca wore a dark charcoal shirt, open at the collar, sleeves rolled to his forearms. Marco was in a simple black t-shirt. They looked like brothers, blond and severe, focused on their plates. The clink of silverware on porcelain was the only sound.
A feast was laid out between them: thick steaks bleeding pink, roasted vegetables glistening with oil, a crusty loaf of bread. Simple, masculine, expensive.
Marco saw her first. His eyes lifted from his plate, tracking her hesitant silhouette in the doorway. A slow, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. He nudged Luca’s foot under the table.
Luca looked up.
His fork, spearing a piece of steak, stilled mid-air. His cobalt eyes swept from her face, down the draped silk that did little to conceal the shape of her, to the floor. To her bare feet on his black marble.
The silence stretched, taut as a wire.
“Ellie didn’t tell you about the shoes,” Luca said, his voice neutral. It wasn’t a question.
Jamie shook her head, her throat tight. She felt wildly exposed. The clothes, the bare feet—it all felt like a calculated part of the undressing.
“House rule,” Marco said, his voice warmer, as if explaining a quirky tradition. “No shoes past the foyer. Keeps the floors clean.” He gestured to an empty chair positioned midway between them. “Sit. You must be hungry.”
She walked forward, the cold shooting up her legs. Pulling out the heavy chair was a struggle; it scraped against the marble with a sharp, echoing cry. She sank into it, the silk whispering against the leather seat. The table was so wide she felt miles from either man.
“Wine?” Luca asked, already reaching for a bottle of something dark and red.
“Water, please,” she managed.
He paused, then gave a slight shrug, pouring a glass of sparkling water from another carafe and sliding it toward her. The glass was thin, crystal, cold against her fingers.
“Eat,” Marco commanded gently, pushing a platter of bread and butter toward her.
She took a small piece, her appetite a shriveled thing in her gut. She tore off a corner, the butter rich and salty on her tongue. The simple act of eating felt like a surrender.
“We’ve been talking,” Luca began, cutting into his steak with precise, efficient movements. “About your situation.”
Jamie watched the red juice pool on his plate.
“The Velluto Rosso is off the table for now,” Marco said, leaning back. “Your… inexperience makes you a liability there. My father’s clients are pigs. They’d break a new toy without a second thought, and broken toys lose their value.”
Luca shot him a warning look. “Marco.”
“What? It’s the truth.” Marco took a sip of wine. “She should hear it. She’s smart.” He looked at Jamie. “You understand value, don’t you? An asset’s worth is protected, cultivated.”
Jamie put the bread down. “So what does that mean for me? I just live here? In that room?” She hated the tremble in her voice.
“You live here,” Luca confirmed. “You continue your studies. You will, however, have additional tuition. From us.”
Her eyes flicked between them. “Tuition.”
“In the room Marco showed you,” Luca said, his gaze holding hers. “You are a blank slate, Jamie. That presents a unique opportunity. We can train you properly. From the ground up. No bad habits. No… preconceptions.”
The food in Jamie’s mouth turned to ash. “Train me for what?”
Marco leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his green eyes capturing hers. “To understand power. To understand pleasure. To understand service. To be, for us, what we need you to be.” His voice dropped, intimate. “Your nurses’ training—it’s about anatomy, response, care. This isn’t so different. It’s just a different application.”
“It’s entirely different,” she whispered.
“Is it?” Luca countered. “You learn to read a body’s signals. To anticipate need. To provide relief. To exert control in a crisis. The fundamentals are about observation and response.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Your first lesson starts now.”
Jamie froze. “Now?”
“Relax,” Marco chuckled. “Not in the playroom. Here. At the table. Lesson one: presence.”
Luca pushed his plate away slightly. “Look at you. You’re sitting there like you’re waiting for a bus. Shoulders hunched. Eyes on your plate. You are in a room with two men who hold your life in their hands. You should be aware of every breath we take. Every glance. You should be projecting something, even if it’s just the defiance you’re trying so hard to hide.”
“I don’t know what you want me to do,” she said, anger finally spiking through the fear.
“Sit up,” Marco said, his tone shifting from warm to instructive. “Back straight. Look at me.”
The command was undeniable. Almost against her will, her spine straightened. She lifted her chin, meeting his deep green eyes across the mirror-like table.
“Better,” Luca murmured from her other side. She hadn’t realized he was watching her so closely. “Now, look at me.”
She turned her head, meeting his pale blue stare. It was like looking into a winter sky—vast, cold, clear.
“You’re afraid,” he stated. “Good. Fear keeps you alert. But don’t let it drown you. Channel it. Now, tell me, what do you see when you look at us?”
The question was absurd. Terrifying. She saw her captors. Her owners. Two beautiful, dangerous predators.
“I see…” she began, her voice thin. She forced a breath, tried to think like he said. Observing. “I see that you’re both left-handed. You both watch each other when the other isn’t looking. You,” she said to Marco, “you tap your ring finger on the table when you’re thinking.” She shifted her gaze to Luca. “You don’t like the fat on your steak. You cut around it.”
A profound silence filled the room.
Marco’s tapping stopped.
Luca slowly set his knife and fork down, the click-click on the marble loud in the quiet.
“Well,” Marco said, a genuine smile spreading across his face. He looked at Luca. “I told you she was smart.”
Luca didn’t smile. His expression was one of intense reevaluation. “Why nursing?” he asked abruptly.
The shift threw her. “What?”
“Why did you choose it? The truth.”
She folded her hands in her lap, under the table where they couldn’t see them clench. “My Nonna. She had a stroke when I was twelve. The nurses… they were the only ones who were kind. They didn’t just treat the chart, they treated her. They saw her. I wanted to be that for someone. To see the person, not just the problem.”
The answer hung in the air, honest and vulnerable.
Luca exchanged a long look with Marco. Something passed between them, a whole conversation in a glance.
“Seeing the person,” Luca echoed softly. He stood up, his chair scraping back. He walked around the table, stopping behind her chair. She stiffened, feeling his presence like a change in atmospheric pressure.
He placed his hands on her shoulders. They were warm, heavy. She could feel the latent strength in them, the same hands that had held a gun to her chin hours before.
“Lesson two,” he said, his voice low by her ear. “Your body is an instrument. Tension is the enemy. You are sitting like a statue. Breathe.”
She inhaled, a shallow, shaky thing.
“Deeper,” Marco encouraged from across the table, his eyes fixed on her face.
She tried again, filling her lungs. Luca’s thumbs began to move in slow circles on the tight muscles of her shoulders. The touch was clinical at first, then gradually more deliberate, seeking out the knots. It was shocking. It was… effective. A small, traitorous part of her responded to the simple human contact, the relief of the pressure.
“Good,” Luca murmured. His breath stirred her hair. “You have no idea what we’re going to ask of you, Jamie. But the first thing, the foundational thing, is trust. Not your trust in us. That will come later, or it won’t. Our trust in you. That you can learn. That you can adapt. That you can… belong here.”
His hands stilled, then lifted. He walked back to his seat, leaving her skin tingling where he’d touched her.
“Finish your food,” Marco said, his voice back to its casual warmth. “Ellie will show you to the library after. You can study there. Your books are already downstairs.”
The rest of the meal passed in a blur. They talked around her, about business she didn’t understand, people with nicknames like “The Eel” and “Old Man Carbone.” It was bizarrely normal. As if she were a new, quiet pet allowed at the table.
When Ellie appeared to clear the plates, Jamie stood on shaky legs.
“Jamie,” Luca said. She turned. He was still seated, swirling the last of his wine. “Tomorrow, after your classes, your real training begins. With Marco. In the playroom.”
She nodded, unable to speak.
“And Jamie?” Marco added. He stood and came around to her side of the table. He reached out, not touching her, but tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with a startling tenderness. His fingertips grazed her cheek. “Wear the silk. Nothing else. Understood?”
The command, delivered with such gentle affection, sent a bolt of pure, confusing heat straight through her core. It was fear. It was shame.
It was something else entirely.
She fled the room, her bare feet slapping softly on the cold marble, feeling their eyes on her back all the way out the door. The memory of Luca’s hands on her shoulders and Marco’s fingers on her skin warred with the dread of tomorrow, painting her dreams in shades of silk and shadow.
The memory of Luca’s hands on her shoulders and Marco’s fingers on her skin warred with the dread of tomorrow, painting her dreams in shades of silk and shadow. She woke tangled in the fine sheets, her body humming with a confused energy that made her hate herself a little. Sunlight streamed into the unfamiliar room, and for a blurred moment, she thought she was in her own bed.
Then Ellie entered without knocking, her arms laden with fabric. "The masters require you downstairs in twenty minutes," she said, her voice flat. She laid the dress across the foot of the bed. "You are to wear this."
Jamie sat up, the silk of the borrowed camisole sticking to her skin. The gown Ellie had brought was nothing like the simple silk from last night. It was a slip of deep emerald green, crafted from a liquid satin that caught the light. It was stunning, deceptively simple. The straps were thin, the neckline a deep plunge. The back, as she lifted it, was nearly nonexistent, just two narrow bands meeting at the base of her spine. The side seams were held together by a series of tiny, intricate hooks.
"It's beautiful," Jamie breathed, the words escaping before she could stop them.
"It is designed for access," Ellie replied, her tone devoid of judgment. She pointed a blunt finger at the side hooks. "Twenty minutes. Your toiletries are in the bathroom."
The door clicked shut.
Beautiful, and easy. The two words circled in Jamie’s mind as she stood under the scalding shower, trying to scrub the feeling of their gazes from her skin. Easy access for what they intended. She dried off, her hands trembling slightly as she worked the lotion Ellie had provided into her legs, her arms. The scent was clean, expensive, and not her own.
She stepped into the gown. It slid over her hips like water, cool and heavy. The material clung to every curve before falling in a straight, shimmering line to the floor. She managed the side hooks with fumbling fingers. They held the dress together, yet one firm tug and the whole side would open. She understood the design now. It was a beautiful cage.
Her reflection in the full-length mirror was a stranger. The green made her hair look fierier, her skin paler. She looked like a trophy waiting to be presented.
A soft knock preceded Ellie’s re-entry. The older woman held a pair of slender, high-heeled sandals. "For the car only," she said. "You will remove them when you arrive."
"Arrive where?"
Ellie just knelt, helping Jamie into the shoes. "Do not speak unless they ask you a direct question. Do not make eye contact with anyone else. Your only job is to stand between them and observe. See everything. Say nothing."
Twenty minutes on the dot, Jamie walked unsteadily on the heels into the foyer. Luca and Marco were waiting, both in impeccably tailored suits, Luca in navy, Marco in charcoal. They were two sharp blades in the soft light.
Marco let out a low, appreciative whistle. Luca’s gaze was a physical scan, head to toe and back up, lingering on the precise line of the plunging neckline. "It fits," he said, which sounded like the highest praise.
"She understands the rules?" Luca asked, though his eyes stayed on Jamie.
"She does," Marco answered for her, stepping forward. He adjusted one of her straps, his knuckles brushing her collarbone. "Remember, piccolina. Watch. Learn. This is the world you belong to now."
The car was a different one, longer and quieter. Jamie sat between them in the back, the gown pooling around her. The city lights streaked by, blurring into ribbons of gold and white. Neither man spoke. Luca stared ahead, his jaw set. Marco watched the window, his hand resting casually on his thigh, inches from her leg.
They drove into an industrial part of the city she’d never seen, warehouses like hulking beasts in the darkness. The car stopped at a non-descript loading dock. A man with a neck like a tree trunk nodded at Luca and swung open a large metal door.
Inside, the air changed. It was cool, dry, smelling of concrete and a faint, cloying perfume. The floor was polished concrete. Harsh industrial lights hung from chains far above, illuminating a vast, empty space. At its center was a raised platform.
Around it stood perhaps two dozen men, and a few severe-looking women, all dressed in a silent, expensive uniformity. The atmosphere was not one of excitement, but of assessment. A livestock auction of a different kind.
Luca guided her forward with a light touch at the small of her back, his fingers resting precisely on the bare skin between the back bands of her dress. Marco flanked her other side. They positioned themselves at the edge of the crowd, a statement in themselves.
No one acknowledged them directly, but Jamie felt the space around them, the subtle shift. These people knew who Luca was.
A door on the far side of the platform opened. A man in a crisp suit led out a young woman. She wore a simple black dress. Her walk was poised, her face a careful mask of vacant invitation. She was stunning, with waves of dark hair and eyes that held no light.
"Lot 47," a voice announced, smooth and devoid of inflection over a hidden speaker. "Extensive training in compliance and entertainment. Health documentation verified. Bidding starts at one-fifty."
Jamie’s stomach twisted. The numbers flew, voices calling out increments with cold efficiency. Luca watched, his face impassive. Marco leaned close, his lips near Jamie’s ear. "This one’s for my father’s club. She’ll be working the gold rooms. High-end clients only."
Luca raised his hand once, a slight gesture. "Two-eighty."
A beat of silence. The gavel hit with a sharp crack. "Sold to the gentleman in the navy suit."
The girl’s eyes flickered toward Luca for a millisecond, a flash of understanding, then went blank again. She was led away without a sound.
"Don’t feel sorry for her," Marco murmured, his breath warm on Jamie’s ear. "She’s been in the life since she was sixteen. This is a promotion for her. Safer room, better pay."
Another girl was led out. This one was different. Younger, maybe Jamie’s age. She wore a plain white shift dress. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, and her entire body trembled. Her eyes were wide, darting around the room in panic, lip caught between her teeth. She was all delicate angles and fear.
"Lot 48," the voice announced. "Minimal conditioning. Verified virgin. Robust genetic history on file. Bidding starts at two."
Jamie’s breath caught. Minimal conditioning. A raw thing. The men stirred, interest sharpening the air.
Luca and Marco exchanged a look. Luca gave an almost imperceptible nod.
Marco’s hand settled on Jamie’s waist, just above the hook at her side, as the bidding climbed. Three hundred. Three-fifty. The bids came from different corners, clinical and quick.
When it reached four-twenty, Luca spoke. His voice cut through the murmur, clean and absolute. "Five hundred."
A hush fell. The other bidders hesitated. The price was steep for an untrained girl, no matter her genetics.
"Five hundred," the voice confirmed. The gavel fell. "Sold."
The girl on the platform flinched at the sound. Her terrified eyes swept the crowd, landing on Luca, then Marco, then finally, locking with Jamie’s. In that shared glance, Jamie saw a reflection of her own terror, her own brutal uprooting. A bizarre, painful connection snapped into place.
Marco’s hand squeezed Jamie’s waist. "Say hello to your new friend," he whispered, his voice a mix of triumph and promise. "She’ll be keeping you company. You’ll train together. Learn together."
Luca was already turning, his business complete. "Ellie will have her cleaned up and prepped. We'll collect her on the way out."
As they moved to leave, the first girl, Lot 47, was being handed over to one of Luca’s men near the door. Luca paused, giving her a final, appraising look. "Have her at the club by midnight. Tell Vinnie she’s for the gold floor. Full protocol."
Then his attention returned to Jamie. He reached out and hooked a finger under her chin, tilting her face up. His blue eyes were chips of ice in the harsh light. "You see how this works? You see the value of an asset that is cared for, privately held?" His thumb brushed her jaw. "That one," he said, with a slight jerk of his head toward the platform where the trembling girl was being led away, "is for show. For business. A public toy. Yours will be for us. A private pursuit."
He leaned closer, his words only for her. "When we put a child in you, Jamie, it will be ours. Mine and Marco's. We’ll know whose seed took root. The bloodline will be clear. That is the prize we are cultivating."
The words landed like physical blows. Breeding vessel. Private pursuit. The pieces of their horrising, logical plan clicked into a dreadful whole. The trembling girl was a companion, a shield, a surrogate. Jamie was something else entirely.
Marco took her arm, guiding her back toward the door. As they passed a dimly lit alcove, Jamie saw the two purchased girls standing with an attendant. The experienced one, Lot 47, stared ahead with empty professionalism. The other, Lot 48, was weeping silently, her shoulders shaking in the simple white dress.
Jamie looked down at her own emerald satin, then at the white dress of the terrified girl. They were mirrors. Two sides of the same coin, bought and paid for in the same cold, concrete room.
The metal door groaned shut behind them, sealing the silence and the perfumed air inside. The night outside felt vast and empty. Luca was already on his phone, his voice low and sharp, discussing delivery and payments.
Marco opened the car door for her. Before she climbed in, he stopped her, his hands on her arms. He searched her face, his green eyes intense in the dim dock light. "You did perfectly," he said, his tone softening into something that felt, terrifyingly, like genuine affection. "You saw the machinery. Now you understand your place within it. You're not like them."
He helped her into the car, his hand lingering on the bare skin of her back where the dress opened. As the engine purred to life, Jamie watched the warehouse shrink behind them. She saw not a building, but a mouth. It had opened, swallowed two more girls, and closed again without a sound.
And she was driving away in the belly of the beast, wearing its colors, its plans sitting cold and heavy in her chest alongside the memory of a stranger’s terrified, connecting eyes.