Kidnapped by The Mafia Prince

Chapter 2: Just Ivy

Ivy~

When the ferry finally docked at Isola del Rame, we stepped off onto the island. The beauty of the place was undeniable, but I couldn’t appreciate it. Christmas lights glittered everywhere—on the trees, on the houses, on the streets—and I felt a knot in my chest. It was all too much. Too... happy.

I almost choked on the bile rising in my throat. It was supposed to be an escape, but the holiday decorations were my biggest nightmare.

Dante stepped off the ferry first, his hand extended toward me with an exaggerated flourish.

"Welcome to paradise, cara mia," he said with a grin.

I rolled my eyes but took his hand, grateful for his presence even if I wouldn’t admit it aloud.

"Paradise? It’s a pit stop, that’s all," I muttered, stepping onto the cobblestone streets.

The plan was simple: stay a couple of nights until I felt safe enough to return to New York and face the wreckage of my life. Dante was only helping me settle down before he left for whatever business he had to handle. At least, that was the plan. Yet, as he walked beside me, cracking jokes and flashing that easy grin, I wondered if he was stalling, too.

We wandered through the heart of the island, weaving past charming shops and quaint hotels wrapped in festive garlands. It was the kind of place that could fool you into thinking the world wasn’t falling apart, that everything was brighter and simpler here.

But every time we approached a hotel, the response was the same.

"I’m sorry, but we’re fully booked."

"Too busy, signora."

"Perhaps another night, but not today."

I frowned as yet another hotel turned us away, my irritation bubbling beneath the surface.

"How is this even possible?" I demanded, turning to Dante, who seemed far too amused by my frustration. "Isn’t this place supposed to be quiet?"

He shrugged, his grin unwavering.

"Christmas coming up, cara. Even paradise gets crowded."

I shot him a glare but said nothing, clutching my coat tighter against the cool breeze. My hope for a quiet escape was quickly unraveling, and the weight of my exhaustion settled heavier on my shoulders with each rejection.

Finally, we reached a villa perched near the edge of the town, its warm lights spilling onto the cobblestones. A small sign read Villa Serena, and next to it, the enticing aroma of freshly baked bread wafted from a restaurant called Il Rifugio.

"Last chance," Dante said, pushing open the villa’s door.

Inside, a striking woman with fiery ginger hair stood behind the counter, her green eyes bright but sharp. She looked up as we entered, her gaze assessing.

"Buongiorno," she greeted, her voice smooth but firm.

"We’re looking for a room," Dante said, his charm dialed up to full effect. "Two, if possible."

Lucia—her name was etched elegantly on a nameplate—arched an eyebrow.

"We’re nearly full. I only have one room left, and it’s small. I don’t allow more than one occupant per room."

I opened my mouth to argue, but Dante beat me to it, his grin widening.

"Perfect. She’ll take it," he said, nudging me forward.

"What?" I shot him a look, but he was already stepping back toward the door.

"You need it more than I do," he said smoothly. "I’ll find another place."

"Where? Everywhere else is booked!"

He shrugged, unfazed. "I have my ways. Besides, I can’t cramp your style."

Lucia handed me a key, her lips quirking into a half-smile.

"Third floor. Room 307. Up the elevator, last door on the left."

I hesitated, glancing back at Dante, who gave me a little wave.

"Go on, Ivy. I’ll catch up with you later."

Reluctantly, I took the key and made my way upstairs. The room was small but cozy, the kind of space that invited you to breathe deeply and let go.

When I stepped out of the shower, a towel wrapped tightly around me, my gaze caught on the mirror again. The garnet necklace still hung around my neck, its ruby-red stones gleaming against my damp skin. I reached up to touch it, the cool metal grounding me, but my fingers froze as I noticed something else.

Faint marks trailed along the curve of my neck and collarbone—reddish-purple reminders of last night. My cheeks flushed as the memories surged back, unbidden. Caleb’s stormy eyes, his hands on my skin, the way he’d whispered against my throat like he owned me.

~~~~ Last night~~~~~~

The door to the hotel room clicked shut, the noise louder in the suffocating silence. My eyes swept over the room, and my stomach twisted. One bed.

I turned to Nathaniel, who was already unbuttoning his cuffs as if this was normal, as if we hadn’t spent the last week carefully arranging separate rooms.

“You didn’t book another room?” I asked, my tone clipped.

He glanced at me, shrugging dismissively.

“Dante handled the reservations. He assumed...” His voice trailed off like it didn’t matter.

“You could have told him,” I pressed. “But then again, you keep calling me your wife.”

Nathaniel sighed, exasperated. “No need to alarm our clients with unnecessary drama.”

“Unnecessary drama?” I shot back. “Like the paperwork you’re ignoring?”

His expression sharpened, his presence suddenly looming as he stepped closer.

“You know what you have to do if you really want that divorce, Ivy.”

His voice was sharp, calculated, and his body pressed against mine, his crotch grinding into my hip. My stomach churned, disgust and fury battling for dominance.

“And yet, you’re still here,” he hissed, his breath hot against my ear. “That tells me you don’t want it that bad.”

My pulse thundered, my voice trembling with anger.

“Maybe I’m still here because I’m not done fighting for what’s mine—not you.”

His lips curled into a mocking smile as he reached for the red scarf wrapped loosely around my chest. His fingers brushed my skin, igniting not desire but revulsion.

"We can still fight for this, Ivy." His voice was low, seductive - but all I heard were the words echoing in my mind like a cruel joke: give up half my father's firm, my legacy, my birthright.

I clenched my fists, resisting the urge to push him away and run as far as I could.

He leaned in closer, his breath brushing against my temple.

“‘Til death do us part, remember?”

His lips brushed against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. I could feel his arousal through our clothes, a filthy reminder of his intentions.

I stepped back, breaking the contact, my body rigid.

“I need to get ready,” I said, my voice tighter than I intended. I slipped into the bathroom, shutting the door with more force than necessary. Leaning against it, I exhaled sharply, trying to shake off the unease that clung to me like static.

“This has dragged on long enough, Ivy,” he hissed, closer to the door, his presence suffocating. “You can push and pull all you want, but we’re not ending this. Not now. Not ever. Your father trusted me—with you, with the firm, with everything. And I’m not going to betray that trust.”

I turned on the shower to mute his voice.

After shower, I wrapped myself in a towel, but even then, I couldn’t bring myself to step out with Nathaniel still in the room.

Hours passed.

“Ivy,” he called, his voice tinged with annoyance. “Stop wasting time. This isn’t just some party—it’s the deal of the year for the firm.”

Fuck. The. Firm.

“And after this,” he continued, his tone softening with feigned warmth, “we can finally spend Christmas together. Like we used to.”

And. f**k. Christmas.

“I’ll be downstairs. Don’t keep me waiting,” he said, his voice sharp again.

The door clicked shut, and I waited a moment before stepping out.

How did I ever think I loved him?

My eyes landed on the bar, a small collection of unopened bottles gleaming under the dim light.

I grabbed one, pouring myself a glass without hesitation. The alcohol burned going down, but it numbed the edges of my frustration.

A knock at the door startled me. Wrapping a towel tightly around myself, I opened the door cautiously. No one was there. Just a sleek black box resting on the floor.

My heart raced as I carried it to the bed, the note on top catching my eye: Color suits you better.

I traced the bold handwriting, my chest tightening. Caleb.

Inside the box was a dress—bold, unapologetically red, daring in all the ways I wasn’t. My breath hitched. It was the same dress I’d reached for in the boutique earlier. The neckline plunged low, teasing the curve of my breasts, while the back dipped dangerously, leaving my shoulders and most of my back exposed. The slit on the side was bold enough to bare my leg with every step.

The fabric shimmered under the light, soft and cool against my skin as I slipped it on. It hugged every curve, demanding attention, power, freedom.

Beside the dress was a small velvet pouch. My fingers trembled as I opened it, revealing a necklace of fine gold strands adorned with garnet drops, cascading like liquid fire. At its center hung an antique locket, intricate and delicate.

I fastened it around my neck, the cool metal resting against my skin. It felt like a challenge—like Caleb’s stormy gray eyes daring me to reclaim something I thought I’d lost.

Fuck it.

I wasn’t Nathaniel’s wife tonight. I wasn’t a lawyer or a dutiful daughter. Tonight, I was Just Ivy.

And with that, I stepped out of the suite.