Chapter 11

•HAZEL SANTORO• I woke up on the fifth day of my imprisonment in a bed that was far too large for just me. A soft, plush comforter covered me, the cool air from the air conditioner making the silk sheets feel like ice on my skin. I had never felt so alienated, not even when I was sent away to live with relatives after my mother died. This time, I wasn’t even in a foreign country, but I was surrounded by strange faces. This time, I was in his mansion, where everything had been calculated, planned, and controlled by none other than Raffaele Mancini.