EMMA'S POV

He was the devil.

Even the darkness cannot hide him.

His hand clutched my throat, pinning me to the wall.

Screams of anguish and terror reverberated through the night, till an agonizing numbness crept into my consciousness.

Suddenly, I'm floating in the air, or perhaps along with the waves in the middle of the deep blue ocean.

However, I am safe.

I feel something. I'm being engulfed by a wave of warmth. A feeling of certainty. Something out of the ordinary, yet in a pleasant way.

The sensation is like a warm ray of sunlight waking up my spirit.

For the first time in my life, I feel like I'm home.

Even if the night is melancholic, I want to live.

This is not real. These are just my hallucinations.

Wait, something moved. Someone is squeezing my waist.

I slowly and steadily opened my eyes and noticed a huge arm wrapped around my waist. The warmth of the body was consuming me to my very core. My heart began to accelerate as I examined the surroundings. The space was enormous, with dark grey walls and dark brown furniture. I slowly turned around to see the person I least expected to see. It was the same Italian man who came to the chocolate factory yesterday to compliment me on my dove bars and then kissed me on the cheek instead of paying the money. He was sleeping peacefully. His hands were wrapped around my waist, and I realized I'd spent the entire night sleeping on his chest. Words and symbols in Italian were permanently tattooed on his right forearm. I clutched my forehead as a wave of searing pain swept across the back of my head.

How did I end up here? Did he kidnap me? Why can't I recall anything?

I looked at him, and he was still sleeping. He's very handsome. His lips are the hue of luscious plums. He appeared to be a Greek God.

"If you kept staring at me like this for the rest of the day, you'd probably lose control," he smirked, his eyes still closed.

"No, I'm not staring; I'm just a little puzzled," I answered, nervously scratching my ear. I'm not sure why, but this man makes me nervous as if he's about to devour me. This man has a dark air, and I can sense it. I'm completely intimidated by him.

"What are you puzzled about?" He inquired as he fluttered his eyelids open and set his sight on me.

"I don't know how I ended up here. I feel a throbbing pain in my neck as if I've been strangled, and my head hurts like hell as if my skull has been smashed into bits." I let out a frustrated scream as I clenched my aching forehead.

"You have no recollection of what happened yesterday or how you ended up here?" He queried, looking taken aback by my assertions, which was a reasonable response for him given his lack of knowledge of my condition.

"Oh, my God! I neglected to take my medication." As the knowledge dawned on me, my body shuddered at the prospect of what was to befall.

"What kind of medications are you referring to?" With his eyes widened, he inquired.

"Why do you care about me or my life? Who are you? How did I end up here on your bed with you? Did you kidnap me? What happened?" I blurted out all of the queries at once since I was flabbergasted and the prospect of sharing a bed with a man I had just met concerned me.

"How do you talk for so long without pausing to take a breath?" I rolled my eyes in annoyance as he mocked me. He squeezed my waist and drew me closer to him. I looked him in the eyes and my heartbeat slowed down to a halt. "Don't ever roll your eyes at me, or I'll punish you the next time." He warned me, and it frightened me to no end.

"Did you understand?" He inquired, and I merely nodded in response since my voice was entombed in my throat.

"I want words, Emma."

"Y...Yes, Sir. I understood."

"Good."

He let go of my waist, and I breathed a sigh of relief. He got out of bed and started to unbutton his shirt. I averted my gaze from him and fixed my sight on the alabaster grey wall. He was being extremely inconsiderate by intimidating me when I was already afraid of him. How can he treat me this way when it was his own doing? I have every right to question him since he is the one who knows all the answers, yet he doesn't even bother to enlighten me. I don't even know what his name is, and yet he believes he can rule over me as if he's a king or something, with the authority to do whatever he wants in the world. I'm not even sure what his true colors are. He could be a criminal, a serial killer, or, worst of all, a rapist. But if he had been a rapist or a sexual predator, he would have done anything he wanted with me while I was sleeping on his chest, completely at his mercy and unconscious of the universe I was drifting in.

"Would you mind telling me what your name is?" I queried, my gaze transfixed on the alabaster grey wall.

"I won't mind, but I prefer to be addressed as Sir." He answered, and all I wanted to do was punch him in the face.

"Yes, Sir. I'll refer to you as Sir. I mean, you're the king, and a king needs to be respected." I giggled as I mocked him. "However, I'm curious about your name."

"Mio Angelo," he whispered in my ear, and my heart stalled for a second as I realized the intimacy between us. His chest was brushing up against my back, and I believe he was not wearing a shirt. I got myself out of bed and was going to rush out the door when he grabbed my wrist tightly and pulled me in, and I landed on his naked chest. My hands instinctively clutched his shoulders for support. I glanced him in the eyes and attempted to figure him out, but his eyes were lifeless. Eyes are mirrors to the soul, but when I looked him in the eyes, I couldn't see anything—no emotions or feelings, just darkness, gloom, and something evil. Even amidst the morning sunshine, he was a dark cloud.

His hands were wrapped around my waist, and he was lost staring at me, while I was lost staring at him. The inexplicable sense of belonging is preposterous, but why do his arms feel something I felt a long time ago and something I was intended to feel? I put all thoughts of this strange sensation aside and concentrated on the possibility that he was a serial killer or a criminal who kidnapped me.

"Mio Angelo, my name is Sergio." He spoke in my ear, and my entire body shuddered with an incomprehensible sensation.

"Do you know that if my friend Jenna had been here, she would have told you how fortunate you are to have the same name as the reigning monarch of Italy?" I guffawed and took my hands off his shoulders. He pulled his hand off my waist and stood there like a sculptor while I took five paces away from him. It is always preferable to be safe than sorry.

"Are you talking about Sergio Fiorentino?" He wondered, yet there was a tinge of amusement in his grave expressions.

"Yes. My friend has a huge crush on him. I mean, he's just a king, and it was his destiny. It's not like he deserved it. By the way, I adore his great grandfather's contribution to Renaissance architecture and literature. I'm fascinated by his work. His versification of Amore Mio (My Love) in Italian, of which I read the English translation, was phenomenal. His painting's enchantment is out of this universe. His painting of Mother Mary cradling baby Jesus was breathtaking and one-of-a-kind. I am his biggest admirer." I blabbered every detail until I noticed Sergio standing five paces away, his arms folded across his chest and his attention fixed on me.

"Please accept my apologies, Sir. This time, I got carried away with Giuseppe Fiorentino." I said, lowering my gaze.

"It's fine, Mio Angelo. My great grandfather was indeed a phenomenal person." He said.

"Yes, you're right," I murmured, but my tongue came to a standstill as I let his words sink into my brain.

"G...Great...Grand...Father?" I inquired again, just to make sure I hadn't misheard.

"Yes, I am Sergio Fiorentino, great-grandson of Giuseppe Fiorentino, grandson of Leonardo Fiorentino and son of Lorenzo Fiorentino." My entire universe came crashing down around me as I discovered he is the king of Italy and that I had insulted him.

"Oopsie!" I murmured as I facepalmed myself for being such a nonstop blabbering bitch.

The atmosphere in the room was uncomfortable, and it was a natural ambiance that I created by my constant yammering. Instead of saying anything, he turned away from me and proceeded toward his closet. My eyes widened in disbelief as I discovered a tattoo on the nape of his neck.

"Oh, my God! How did you acquire the tattoo at the nape of your neck?" I was taken aback and wondered. "This is an intimate symbol."

"Which symbol?" He asked as he approached me, and I took a few steps back till I hit the wall. He tightened his grip on my shoulder and tugged me in closer to himself. "Where have you seen this symbol?" He inquired indignantly. "My father got the same tattoo in the same spot as you." For a few moments, he stared at me relentlessly, as if he was trying to figure out something.

"I remember everything now, but I need to learn more." He said, completely perplexing me.

He abruptly walked away from me toward the restroom, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I sat on the bed and endeavored to recall the events of the previous night, but the more I tried, the more I felt an aching all over my head, especially at the back of my head, as if someone had smacked me over there with something.

Sergio came out of the restroom a few minutes later with a towel wrapped around his waist. He's hot, and there was no point in denying the obvious. Those ridges above the abdominal muscles were flawless. The drops of water were still gliding down those ridges, making my mind go numb with the notion of the Greek God standing right in front of me with his well-toned physique.

"What, after all, does this man eat?" I whispered to myself. I quickly averted my sight from him and concentrated on my musings. He was a little distracting.

After a few moments, he stood in front of my eyes, immaculately clothed in a black tuxedo suit with a white shirt underneath. He was looking quite seductive.

"Now, go and take a quick bath because we're going for a little drive." He said authoritatively and I nodded in response. I scratched my ear and looked him in the eyes. "I don't have anything to wear. I mean I need a spare brush and—" I stopped as he gestured for me to put a finger on my lips.

"The spare brush is in the third cabinet, near the counter. Regarding clothing, this is my mother's mansion, and I'm sure I'll be able to find something for you to wear." He remarked, and I simply nodded as I pulled myself out of bed and walked into the restroom.

I hurriedly searched the third cabinet for the toothbrush, which I thankfully located. I brushed my teeth and took a quick shower. I put a towel around my body and stood at the bathroom door. There was no one in the room as I looked around. I noticed a black bodycon dress and a makeup box on the bed. Sergio was not in the room, so I exited the bathroom wearing a towel.

I grasped the dress in my hands; it was exquisite and appeared to be horrendously overpriced. The material was soft and delicate. I quickly put on the dress and looked in the mirror; it was perfect, and the size was correct. I brushed and blow-dried my hair. I applied some moisturizer on my skin and used a nude lip shade for my lips.

"Are you ready?" Sergio entered the room. He scrutinized me from head to toe and said, "you look really beautiful, Mio Angelo." I nervously scratched my ear and blushed at the compliment.

"Come on, let's have breakfast. We're already running late," he said.

I grabbed my handbag from the shelf and was about to leave when I felt a pulsating pain in the back of my head. I cast a glimpse at Sergio, who was walking in front of me; he was on the phone with someone, communicating in Italian. I tried calling out his name, but it was in vain. My vision became murky, and I couldn't see unmistakably. My body was whirling elsewhere, but I held my grip on the doorknob to prevent myself from collapsing on the floor. My grip on the doorknob weakened as darkness appeared in front of me. Sergio was no longer visible to me. My body slumped with a loud thud on the marble floor, and I was swallowed by the dreadful nothingness.