Bound To Triplets

The sound of her heels clicking against the cold marble floor was drowned out by the hum of voices and the occasional clinking of glasses. Elena Santorini plastered on her most charming smile, the kind that hid the unease bubbling beneath her surface. Her first solo exhibition was meant to be a dream come true-a step toward freedom from the shadow of her father's failures. Instead, she felt like a pawn in a game she didn't fully understand.

She adjusted the neckline of her modest yet elegant black dress, wishing the material could shield her from the weight of prying eyes. As she moved through the crowded gallery, she caught snippets of praise for her artwork. Normally, the comments would have filled her with pride, but tonight, they barely registered. Her father's frantic voice earlier that afternoon echoed in her mind.

"Just trust me, Elena. Everything will be fine. You'll barely notice anything's wrong."

That should have been her first warning. With Vincent Santorini, "fine" was a word stretched thinner than her patience.

Elena stopped in front of her favorite piece, a canvas dominated by swirling shades of crimson and black, her emotions poured into every brushstroke. She had named it Broken Promises. It felt ironic now, standing there while the promise of a stable life slipped further out of reach.

"Miss Santorini?"

The deep, gravelly voice startled her, and she turned to face its source. Her breath caught. The man standing before her was nothing short of striking-sharp jawline, tailored charcoal suit that screamed wealth, and piercing green eyes that seemed to pin her in place. His dark hair was slicked back, giving him an air of ruthless authority.

"Yes?" she replied, her voice steady despite her racing heart.

"I'm Luca DeLorenzo," he said, extending a hand. When she hesitated, he let it fall back to his side with a faint smirk. "Your work is... captivating."

Elena blinked. People often complimented her art, but the way his gaze lingered on her made her feel like she was the one on display. "Thank you, Mr. DeLorenzo."

"Luca," he corrected. "I don't stand on formalities."

"Well, I do," she said briskly, taking a step back. Something about him set off alarms in her mind. He was too polished, too composed, and his presence felt more like a storm cloud than a compliment.

"I admire your independence," Luca said, his smirk deepening as if he could read her thoughts. "It's rare to find someone so... defiant."

Her eyes narrowed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Not yet."

Before she could respond, the lights flickered. A moment later, the gallery went dark. Gasps rippled through the crowd, followed by the murmur of confusion. Elena's stomach twisted. This wasn't a simple power outage-it felt deliberate.

"Elena," Luca said, his voice low and close now, sending a shiver down her spine. "Stay calm."

"Calm?" she snapped, instinctively stepping away. "What the hell is going on?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he pulled out his phone, his expression darkening as he glanced at the screen.

"Time's up," he muttered, almost to himself.

Before she could process his words, chaos erupted. The doors to the gallery burst open, and men in dark suits flooded the space, their movements swift and coordinated. Someone screamed, and the crowd scattered like panicked sheep.

"Elena!" Luca's voice cut through the noise, commanding and urgent.

But she wasn't about to wait around to find out what he wanted. Heart pounding, she turned and bolted toward the back exit. She had no idea who these men were or what they wanted, but she wasn't going to stick around to be their next victim.

She barely made it ten steps before a strong hand clamped around her wrist, yanking her to a halt. She twisted, ready to fight, but froze when she saw Luca.

"Let me go!" she hissed, struggling against his iron grip.

"Do you have any idea what you've just walked into?" he growled, his calm façade cracking.

"I don't care! I'm leaving!"

"No," he said firmly, pulling her closer. "You're coming with me."

Her protest died in her throat as two men in ski masks appeared in the hallway ahead, blocking her path. They didn't say a word, but the guns in their hands spoke volumes.

"Change of plans," Luca muttered, his voice icy as he shoved her behind him.