BOUNDED
1017 Words
Sienna had spent her entire life mastering the art of restraint.
Now, standing in the heart of Luciano DeLuca’s estate, she called upon every lesson she had ever learned.
Because here, in this cold palace of shadows and whispered threats, restraint was her only armor.
The study was vast, lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, leather-bound tomes that smelled of old money and secrets.
A fire flickered in the grand marble fireplace, casting Luca’s sharp features in a molten glow.
He was seated behind a dark mahogany desk, relaxed, one hand wrapped around a glass of whiskey, the other tapping absently against the wood.
But his stillness was deceptive.
Luca DeLuca was like a storm on the verge of breaking, controlled but always dangerous, his movements precise, deliberate.
Every inch of him screamed power—the kind that didn’t need to be spoken aloud to be understood.
Sienna refused to shrink beneath his gaze.
“You haven’t asked what I expect from you yet,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly, as if her silence intrigued him.
She shifted her weight onto one leg, arms crossing over her chest in a way that might have seemed casual if not for the steel in her eyes.
“I assume you’ll tell me soon enough.”
A ghost of a smirk played at the corner of his lips.
“You assume correctly.”
He took a slow sip of his drink, his gaze never leaving hers.
“You are not here to be my wife.” The words were delivered with quiet finality.
“You are not here to be my lover. And you are certainly not here to be my equal.”
Sienna’s nails pressed into her skin, but her face remained smooth, impassive.
“Then what am I here to be?”
Luca set his glass down with a soft clink against the desk.
The silence stretched between them, thick with the weight of a game she had yet to understand.
“A reminder.”
Her breath caught in her throat.
“A reminder to whom?” she asked, voice carefully steady.
His eyes darkened, and for a brief moment, she glimpsed something beneath his composed exterior—something raw, something ruthless.
“To every man who thinks they can defy me.”
Sienna’s heart pounded in her chest.
She had known she was a pawn.
She had not realized she was meant to be a weapon.
Luca rose from his chair, the fluid grace of his movements betraying the dangerous energy simmering beneath his skin.
He moved toward her, slow but deliberate, and when he reached her, he leaned in slightly, just enough for her to catch the faint scent of his cologne—dark, expensive, laced with something dangerous.
“Your father owed me more than just money,” he murmured. “He owed me loyalty. And when he failed to give it, I took the next best thing.”
Sienna’s stomach twisted, but she held his gaze.
“Me.”
He nodded.
“You will stay here. You will do as I say. And when I have no more use for you, I will decide what happens next.”
There was no malice in his tone.
No anger.
Just cold certainty.
Sienna inhaled deeply, schooling her expression.
“You think you own me, Luca,” she said, voice soft but unshaken. “But ownership is a dangerous illusion.”
For a moment, silence reigned.
Then Luca chuckled, the sound low and deep, as if her defiance amused him.
But there was something else in his gaze—something unreadable.
“We’ll see,” he murmured.
Then he turned and walked away, leaving her standing in the lion’s den, her pulse roaring in her ears.
She may have been the pawn, but even a pawn, when placed correctly, could bring down a king.
Later that night, she learned exactly what it meant to be a reminder.
A knock at the door shattered the silence of her room.
She had been pacing for nearly an hour, her mind a whirlwind of strategies, escape routes, and the quiet rage simmering beneath her ribs.
When she opened the door, a man stood there—one of Luca’s men, broad-shouldered and stone-faced, the kind of soldier who had long since learned to suppress any trace of humanity.
“Boss wants you downstairs,” he said gruffly.
Sienna didn’t move. “Why?”
He didn’t answer.
She knew better than to ask again.
She followed him through the grand hallways, her bare feet silent against the cool marble floors.
The estate was quiet, the kind of quiet that wasn’t peaceful, but heavy.
When they reached the main foyer, she spotted Luca near the front doors, adjusting the cuffs of his black dress shirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the ink twisting over his forearms.
A second later, another set of doors opened.
Two men dragged someone inside.
Sienna’s breath hitched.
The man was bound, his face bloodied, his suit torn.
Even in his state, she recognized him instantly.
Marco Ricci.
One of her father’s most trusted associates.
One of the men who had gambled with loyalty and lost.
She swallowed hard, pulse hammering as Luca turned his gaze to her.
“You wanted to know what your place is here?” His voice was calm, smooth as ever, but there was steel beneath it.
Sienna didn’t answer.
“Watch.”
Luca reached into his waistband and pulled out a gun.
Her stomach clenched.
Marco whimpered through swollen lips, his bloodied face twisted in desperation as he looked at her.
“Please—”
The gunshot was deafening.
Sienna flinched.
Marco slumped forward, the only sound in the room the slow, final exhale of a man who had lost his last bet.
Luca lowered the gun, wiping the barrel with a handkerchief before tucking it away.
His gaze flickered back to Sienna, sharp, assessing.
“Still think ownership is an illusion?”
Sienna forced herself to meet his eyes.
She didn’t answer.
She didn’t have to.
The game had truly begun.
- Writer
