Claimed by the Devil of Russo

Chapter One: The Price on My Name The first thing I learn about being sold is that no one asks if you consent. They just tell you the price. I’m standing in my father’s study when I heard the number—quietly spoken, like it’s nothing more than the cost of a used car. The kind of number men say when they think women are furniture. “Two million,” the voice says. Calm. Male. Unhurried. Like he’s ordering wine. I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. I didn’t blink. “Two million?.” My father clears his throat, the sound brittle. “And the debt?” “Cleared,” the man replies. “Tonight.” That’s when I laugh. It bursts out of me, sharp and ugly, cutting through the thick cigar smoke hanging in the room. Both men turn to look at me like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have. “Wow,” I say, clapping slowly. “You could’ve at least asked what I’m worth. I might’ve negotiated.” “Aria.” My father says my name like a warning, like I’m the problem he created and never learned to handle.“Enough.” The stranger finally looks at me properly. Dark suit. No tie. Expensive watch. Still posture. The kind of man who doesn’t need to raise his voice because the world already leans toward him. His eyes are cold. Not cruel—worse. Indifferent. That’s when I know. This man isn’t buying a wife. He’s buying control. “So,” I say, tilting my head, meeting his stare head-on, “do I come with a warranty, or am I final sale?” My father stands up so fast his chair scrapes the floor. “Go to your room. Now.” I smile sweetly at the stranger. “Nice doing business with you.” He doesn’t smile back. “Sit,” he says. Not loudly. Not angrily. Just… certain. My father freezes. I didn’t. I crossed my arms. “No.” The stranger’s gaze flicks to my father. “You didn’t mention she’d be difficult.” My father avoids my eyes. Coward. “She’ll learn,” he mutters. “She always does.” Something dark flickers in the man’s eyes then. Not anger. Interest. “Good,” he says. “I enjoy lessons.” I should be afraid. Instead, I feel something twist low in my stomach—anger, sharp and burning. “I’m not a lesson. I’m a person.” He finally stands. The room seems smaller when he does. He walks toward me slowly, like he has all the time in the world. Like I’m not going anywhere. He stops an arm’s length away. “Your name,” he says. I lift my chin. “You didn’t buy that yet.” A pause. Then—quiet amusement. “Alessandro De Luca,” he says. “And you are?” I hesitate just long enough to make it a challenge. “The problem.” His lips twitch. “That,” he says softly, “we’ll see.” My father finally finds his voice. “She’ll go with you tonight. The contract—” “—has already been signed,” Alessandro cuts in. “By you.” He turns to me. “You belong to me now.” I laugh again, but this time it’s hollow. “That’s not how the world works.” He leans closer, his voice dropping low enough that only I can hear. “It is mine.” Something about the way he says it sends a chill straight down my spine. I step back. “I’m not marrying you.” “I never said marriage.” My stomach drops. “What?” His eyes darken, just a fraction. “You’re collateral. Insurance. You stay with me until your father’s debts are repaid.” I look at my father. “Tell him this is a joke.” Silence. That’s my answer. I turn back to Alessandro, my hands shaking now. “If you think I’m going to play obedient hostage—” He grips my chin suddenly, firm but not rough, forcing me to look at him. “Careful,” he murmurs. “I didn’t pay two million to be entertained.” My heart slams against my ribs, but I didn’t look away. “Then you wasted your money.” For a moment, we just stare at each other—defiance versus possession. Then he releases me. “Pack,” he says. “You leave in ten minutes.” I laugh, breathless. “You’re insane.” “Yes,” he agrees. “And now you’re mine.” Guards appear at the door like shadows. I should have screamed. I should have cried. I should have begged. Instead, I smiled. Slow. Sharp. Dangerous. “You can’t own me,” I tell him. “No matter how much you paid.” Alessandro De Luca steps closer, close enough that I can smell smoke and something darker beneath it. His voice drops, intimate and lethal. “Oh, Aria,” he says softly. “I don’t buy things I can’t break.” Something cold coils around my spine. My father still won’t look at me. I walked out without saying goodbye. Because whatever this is— It’s not love. It’s war. And as Alessandro De Luca watches me leave, his eyes follow me like he’s already planning how to break me. Too bad for him. I’ve never been easy to own. As they led me towards the door, Alessandro’s voice followed me—calm, assured, final. “By morning,” he says, “you’ll understand exactly what two million bought me means.” The door closes behind me. And for the first time that night, fear finally wins. Because I don’t know what he plans to do with me— Only that Alessandro De Luca never wastes what he owns.