A BRIDE FOR THE DEVIL

Chapter 3: The Cage

My lungs completely lock up.

The interior of the limousine is freezing, but the spot where Luca’s heavy palm is pinned against my inner thigh feels like liquid fire. His thumb stays pressed hard against the silver handle of my stiletto blade, forcing the metal into my skin through the silk of my dress.

He isn't taking it. He isn't calling the guards to drag me out and execute me. He’s just holding it. Holding me.

"What's the matter, Elena?" Luca’s voice is a low, gravelly vibration that rolls over my skin. His grip on my jaw tightens just enough to keep me from moving an inch. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

I force my eyes to lock onto his obsidian stare. My heart is beating so hard against my ribs I’m terrified he can hear it, but I refuse to let him see me cry or beg. I am a Moretti. I spent ten years preparing for this family. I didn't survive Matteo's slimy manipulation just to break down on day one.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I lie, my voice coming out in a breathless whisper.

Luca lets out a dark, quiet chuckle that sends a dangerous shiver straight down to my core. He leans in closer, his lips hovering barely an inch from mine. The scent of him rich cedarwood and raw, dominant heat fills my head, making it impossible to think straight.

"Lie to me again, and I’ll strip this dress off you right here in the back of this car to take it myself," he rough whispers. His dark eyes drop to my lips, his thumb giving a deliberate, hard nudge against the knife handle on my thigh. "Do we understand each other?"

A wave of heat pools low in my belly. It’s entirely wrong, completely messed up, but his absolute dominance makes my pulse spike with a sudden, wicked rush of arousal. My body is craving his weight even while my brain is screaming at me to fight back.

"You knew," I breathe out, finally dropping the innocent girl act. "You knew I had it."

"I know everything you do, principessa," Luca says softly.

He slowly pulls his hand back from my jaw and slides his palm off my thigh, leaving the knife right where it is. He sits back against the dark leather seats, crossing one leg over the other, completely relaxed. The cold, unreadable mafia mask snaps right back onto his face, like the dangerous man who just threatened me didn't even exist.

"If I wanted you dead, Elena, you wouldn't have made it to the altar," he says, looking out the tinted window as the city buildings blur past. "Keep the knife. You’re going to need it where we’re going."

I adjust my skirt with shaking hands, my mind spinning into a million different directions. He knew about the weapon and he let me marry him anyway? Why? It doesn't make sense. If he’s the ruthless monster who ordered my father’s death, why is he playing games with me?

The rest of the drive is dead silent, the tension in the car so thick it feels heavy in the air.

Nearly forty minutes later, the limousine slows down, rolling through a massive set of wrought-iron gates. I look out the window and my chest tightens. The Romano estate is enormous. It looks less like a modern mansion and more like a dark, gothic fortress, surrounded by stone walls and covered in high-tech security cameras.

Men in dark suits, all carrying heavy tactical weapons, stand at attention every ten yards. This isn't a home. It’s a beautifully designed cage.

The car comes to a stop in the grand driveway. The door is instantly opened by a guard, and Luca steps out first. For a split second, I think he’s going to leave me behind, but he turns around and extends his hand to me.

In public, his face is pure stone again. There is no trace of the smirk from the car.

I take his hand, stepping out into the cool evening air. The second my heels hit the gravel, Luca locks his heavy arm tightly around my waist, pulling my hips hard against his side. He walks me up the grand stone steps of the estate like I’m a prize he’s showing off to his men, but his grip is so tight it feels like a warning to anyone watching.

We walk into the main foyer. The floors are polished black marble, and a massive crystal chandelier hangs from the vaulted ceiling.

"Welcome home, Don Romano," a voice echoes from the staircase.

I look up, and my blood instantly turns to liquid ice.

Walking down the stairs is Don Giovanni Romano Luca’s father. The old boss. The man whose face I have seen in my nightmares for the last decade. He looks older than the photos, his hair completely silver, but his eyes are just as cruel and calculating as I imagined. He looks at me like I’m a piece of meat he just bought at an auction.

"So, this is the Moretti girl," Don Giovanni says, a mocking smile on his face as he stops at the bottom of the stairs. "A bit fragile to be a Romano, isn't she?"

My grip on my dress tightens. The urge to reach down, pull the silver stiletto from my thigh, and drive it straight into the old man's throat is almost uncontrollable.

Before I can even move a muscle, Luca steps slightly in front of me, his massive frame completely blocking his father's view of my body. The air in the room drops ten degrees.

"She is my wife, father," Luca says, his deep voice carrying a terrifying, quiet edge that makes even the guards by the door stiffen. "And everything that belongs to me is off limits. To everyone."

Don Giovanni’s eyes narrow, the tension between father and son instantly hitting a dangerous breaking point. But after a long, agonizing second, the old man just chuckles and steps aside. "Of course. Go show your bride her new room."

Luca doesn't say another word. He grips my arm and pulls me up the grand staircase, moving down a long, dimly lit hallway until he stops in front of a pair of heavy mahogany doors. He pushes them open, revealing a massive, luxurious bedroom done in dark silks, a king-sized bed dominating the center of the room.

He pulls me inside, and the heavy doors slam shut behind us.

The lock clicks.

I spin around, my back hitting the solid wood of the door as I look at my new husband. We are finally alone. No guards. No fathers. No crowd.

Luca slowly unties his black bow tie, letting it drop to the floor, before unbuttoning the top two buttons of his white shirt. His dark, consuming gaze locks onto mine, and that wild, possessive fire from the limousine flashes back into his eyes.

"Take the knife out, Elena," he commands, taking a slow, predatory step toward me. "Let's see what else you're hiding under that dress."