His Principessa

Chapter 2

Gianna

"Keep her steady, or the Don will have both your heads before midnight."

The iron gates shrieked, a grating sound that set my teeth on edge. As they swung open, the Naples wind ripped through my thin shirt, biting into my skin.

I didn't walk; I was hauled. Rough hands yanked me up the marble stairs, shoving me toward the maw of a palace that looked more like a mausoleum than a home.

My legs were shaking so violently I thought I might collapse before we even hit the door. Then the massive oak portals slammed shut behind us.

The sound was final. A dead thud that severed me from everything—the quiet of my street, the sight of my father bleeding on the floor, the life I actually recognized.

The air inside was heavy, smelling of old stone, expensive whiskey, and the sharp, metallic tang of gun oil.

The ceilings were lost in shadow, and the walls were lined with Renaissance paintings that seemed to watch us, their painted eyes judging the wreckage of my life.

"Get down." The guard didn't wait for me to comply. He shoved me. Hard. I hit the marble floor with a jolt that knocked the wind out of me, my shins barking in pain.

I stayed there for a second, palms flat against the freezing stone, chest heaving, trying to remember how to breathe.

"Look at me." The voice wasn't loud, but it vibrated through the floor and straight into my spine. It was a low, commanding drawl that demanded total submission.

I forced my chin up. Luca. He wasn't just standing there; he was lounging against a mahogany railing at the top of the steps, one hand tucked into the pocket of his black trousers, the other swirling a glass of amber liquid.

He looked like a king watching a peasant crawl. He had a few days of stubble across a jawline that looked carved from granite, and eyes the color of a winter storm—gray, piercing, and dangerously intelligent.

As I looked at him, he didn't stay put. He straightened, his movements fluid and slow, like a panther deciding if its prey was worth the effort.

He began to descend the stairs, not with a robotic click, but with a predatory grace that made the air in the room feel thin.

"Is this supposed to scare me?" The words jumped out of my mouth before I could think. It was a reckless, stupid surge of adrenaline.

"You think you can just buy people? That a poker game gives you the right to kidnap me?"

Luca stopped just inches from me. He didn't just tower over me; he leaned in, invading my personal space until I could smell the sandalwood and expensive tobacco clinging to his skin.

He reached down, his fingers gripping my chin with a sudden, firm pressure that forced my head back, exposing the line of my throat.

His thumb brushed over my lower lip, a gesture that was halfway between a caress and a threat.

"A poker game involves luck, principessa," he murmured, his voice a low, vibrating purr that sent an unwanted shiver racing down my thighs.

"Your father didn't lose you on a fluke. He lost you because he’s a coward who gambled away everything he owned—including his daughter—and then had the audacity to walk away."

"I'm a human being, not a stack of chips!" I snapped, trying to jerk my face away from his grip.

He didn't let go. Instead, his grip tightened slightly, his gray eyes darkening as they scanned my face, lingering on my mouth with a hunger that made my heart hammer against my ribs.

He looked at me not as a piece of furniture, but as a challenge he intended to break. "In my world, every debt is paid," he whispered, his breath hot against my skin.

"Your father signed the papers. The transfer is complete. You don't belong to yourself anymore."

He leaned closer, his lips almost brushing my ear, his voice dropping to a dangerous, intimate level.

"You belong to me." The silence that followed was thick, suffocating.

I stared up into those storm-gray eyes, the reality of it finally sinking in, crushing the air out of my lungs.

I hated him. I hated everything he stood for. But as he looked down at me, I felt a terrifying, electric spark of heat ignite in the pit of my stomach.

"And what," I whispered, my voice cracking despite my pride, "do you plan to do with me?" Luca let go of my chin, but he didn't move away.

He let his hand slide slowly down my neck, his fingertips grazing my collarbone before he stepped back, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. "Whatever I want," he replied. "And I want everything."