His Principessa

Chapter 3

Gianna

"Tell me, piccola, does a trapped bird know the exact second its wings are about to be clipped, or does it just keep fluttering until it bleeds?"

Luca’s voice drifted down from above me, smooth as polished glass and twice as sharp. He hadn't moved away after his parting remark; instead, he slowly crouched down, bringing his face level with mine.

The sheer proximity of him made my lungs seize. He smelled of expensive sandalwood, cold rain, and the faint, unmistakable metallic trace of gun oil. "I'm not a bird," I breathed out, my voice shaking despite every ounce of stubborn pride I tried to force into it. "And I don't belong in a cage."

A slow, humorless smile touched the corners of his mouth. "Every creature belongs somewhere, Gianna. Right now, you belong to the dark."

Before I could jerk backward, his hand shot out. Long, cold fingers brushed past my cheek, tangling roughly into the strands of my hair. He gripped a handful of it, tilting my head back with a calculated, merciless pressure that forced my gaze straight up into his storm-gray eyes. "Look at you,"

he murmured, his thumb tracing the sharp, trembling line of my jaw before pressing directly into the center of my chin.

His touch was freezing against my feverish skin. "Untouched. Terrified. Completely innocent." I tried to twist away, but his grip only tightened, anchoring me in place like a butterfly pinned to a board.

"A virgin," Luca whispered, the word rolling off his tongue like a secret he had been waiting years to uncover.

"Your father swore it on whatever pathetic scraps of honor he had left. And looking at you—breathing hard, eyes wide, shaking like a leaf—I can smell the innocence on you. It’s intoxicating."

My stomach churned, a wave of hot sickness rising in my throat. "Don't talk about him. Don't touch me."

"I'll talk about whatever I want, and I'll touch whatever my debt has purchased," he replied, his voice dropping an octave, turning dark and heavy. "And a virgin... that is exactly what I want. Clean. Unspoiled. A blank slate for me to write my name across." "You are sick," I spat, my vision blurring with angry tears.

"My father was desperate. He made a mistake. You can't just treat a human being like a piece of merchandise!"

Luca let out a low, gravelly chuckle that vibrated straight through my chest. He didn't look angry; if anything, he looked amused by my defiance, like a cat watching a cornered mouse puff out its fur.

"Merchandise has a return policy, principessa," Luca said softly, his thumb sliding down to press heavily against my bottom lip. "You don't. Your father didn't just borrow money; he staked everything he owned on a hand he couldn't win, and when the dealer called his bluff, he threw his only daughter onto the table to cover the spread. He sold you. To me." "No," I choked out, a sob finally breaking past my defenses.

"He wouldn't... he couldn't..." "He did," Luca interrupted, his tone cutting through my denial like a razor blade. "And now comes the settling of accounts." He stood up slowly, towering over me once more, his shadow swallowing the amber light around us. He looked down at me with absolute, chilling detachment, laying out the terms of my execution. "I’m going to give you a choice, Gianna,"

Q Luca said, his voice echoing off the vaulted stone ceilings of the grand foyer. "You can submit to me willingly. You can learn your place in my house, obey my rules without a fight, and make this transition smooth. Or..."

He paused, letting the silence stretch until my ears roared with the frantic pounding of my own heart. "Or you can fight me. You can scream, you can claw, you can resist every single breath of the way."

Q I stared up at him, my chest heaving, the sheer audacity of his ultimatum snapping the last frayed thread of my fear. Rage—hot, blinding, and reckless—flooded my veins, pushing away the terror.

Without thinking, I jerked my head back, filled my mouth, and spat squarely across the toes of his polished Italian leather shoes. The foyer went completely dead. The armed guards standing near the grand iron doors inhaled sharply, their boots shifting against the marble as if expecting an immediate execution.

For three agonizing seconds, Luca didn't move a muscle. He stood like a statue carved from obsidian, staring down at the damp spot on his shoe. Then, slowly, a dark, terrifying grin spread across his face.

He let out a short, sharp laugh—a sound devoid of any real joy, dripping with a terrifying, predatory thrill.

"Oh, principessa," Luca whispered, stepping closer until the toe of his shoe brushed my knee. He crouched down once more, grabbing my chin with a bruising, iron grip that made me gasp. "I was hoping you'd do that."

"Go to hell," I hissed through my teeth. Luca’s eyes flashed with a dangerous, electric hunger. "The fight,"

he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly promise against my skin, "is what I love. You think breaking a compliant girl is fun? It's boring. But breaking someone like you—someone with fire in her veins—that is an art form."

He tightened his fingers until my jaw ached, his face inches from mine. "I'll enjoy every single second of breaking you." Before I could scream, before I could strike out at him, Luca snapped his fingers.

QTwo massive guards materialized from the shadows beside me, their heavy hands clamping onto my arms with brutal efficiency, hoisting me straight off the cold floor. "Take her to the east wing,"

Luca commanded, rising smoothly to his feet and turning his back on me without a single backward glance.

"Lock the doors. Prepare her for our first night together." "No! Let me go!" I shrieked, kicking my legs wildly as the guards dragged me backward across the sprawling, endless expanse of the grand foyer.

"Luca! You bastard, let me go!" He didn't turn around. He just walked away into the darkness of the palace, leaving his laughter echoing off the stone walls.

The guards hauled me down a terrifyingly long, unlit corridor, throwing open a heavy oak door and shoving me inside a room bathed in moonlight.

The door slammed shut behind me with a thunderous crash, and the heavy thud of a deadbolt sliding home echoed through the silence. I turned around, slamming my fists against the wood, gasping for air in the pitch-black room as the horrifying reality closed in around me—the first night had officially begun.