Owned by the Oath

Chapter 2.

Chapter 2: Into the Cage

The words hang in the air like a gunshot: Santino sends his regards. My knees buckle, but Luciano’s grip on my arm keeps me upright, his fingers like steel against my skin. The upstate New York night is cold, the iron gates of his estate looming behind us, but all I can see is Matteo’s face—pale, scared, gone. My little brother, vanished. And Santino, a name I haven’t heard since Papa whispered it years ago, his voice trembling with fear. I thought it was just a ghost from his past. Now, it’s a blade at my throat.

“What the hell does that mean?” I demand, yanking my arm free from Luciano. My voice is sharp, but inside, I’m unraveling. “Who’s Santino? And where’s my brother?”

Luciano’s face is a storm—fury, suspicion, and something darker I can’t read. His blue eyes pin me, searching for lies. “You tell me, Isabella,” he says, his voice low, dangerous. “Santino’s a name tied to your father. A name that cost me blood. You know more than you’re saying.”

“I don’t know anything!” I snap, stepping into his space, my heart pounding. He’s a foot taller, all muscle and menace, but I’m not backing down. “My father’s dead because of you people. If Santino’s involved, you’re the one who should be explaining, not me.”

The guard—short, stocky, with a buzz cut and a nervous twitch—shifts uncomfortably. “Boss, the safehouse was trashed. Blood on the floor, but no body. Cartel hit, clean and fast. They knew where to strike.”

Luciano’s jaw tightens, a muscle ticking under his scar. “Get Marco on the line. Now.” He turns back to me, his gaze cutting through me like a knife. “If you’re playing me, bella, you’ll regret it.”

“Stop calling me that,” I hiss, but my voice shakes. Matteo’s gone. Blood on the floor. My mind spins, picturing him hurt, or worse. I made a deal to save him, and now it’s crumbling before it even starts. “I don’t know who Santino is, but if he’s got Matteo, I’ll find him. And if you’re lying about keeping him safe, I swear—”

“You’ll what?” Luciano steps closer, his chest brushing mine, his scent—leather and cedar—flooding my senses. “Threaten me? You’re in my world now, Isabella. You don’t make the rules.”

I glare up at him, my pulse racing. “Then tell me what’s going on. If you want my… cooperation for thirty nights, you owe me that much.”

He studies me, his eyes narrowing, and for a moment, I see that flicker again—something human, something raw, buried under the Don’s cold mask. “Owe you?” he says, almost amused. “You’re bold. I like that. But don’t mistake my interest for weakness.”

The guard clears his throat, holding out a phone. “Marco’s on, boss.”

Luciano snatches it, his voice a growl. “Marco, what the f**k happened? You had one job—keep the boy secure.”

I lean closer, straining to hear. Marco’s voice crackles through the speaker, smooth and smug. “Calm down, Luciano. The kid’s slippery. Cartel hit the safehouse before we could lock it down. I’m tracking him now. Got a lead—some dive bar in the city. I’ll handle it.”

“You’d better,” Luciano says. “If he’s dead, you’re answering for it.” He ends the call, tossing the phone to the guard. “Get a team to that bar. I want answers by dawn.”

The guard nods and scurries off, leaving us alone in the shadow of the estate’s gates. The mansion looms ahead, all dark marble and glowing windows, like a beast waiting to swallow me whole. My chest tightens, fear and anger tangling inside me. Matteo’s out there, and I’m stuck here, tethered to this man who’s both my captor and my only shot at finding him.

“Come on,” Luciano says, his hand on my lower back again, guiding me toward the estate. “We’re wasting time.”

I pull away, planting my feet. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me about Santino. If he’s got Matteo, I need to know who he is.”

Luciano’s eyes flash, but he doesn’t snap back. Instead, he steps closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Santino’s a shadow. A name tied to deals gone wrong, bodies in the river. Your father mentioned him, didn’t he? Before he died.”

My breath catches. Papa did mention Santino—late at night, when he thought I wasn’t listening, talking to Mama about debts and promises. I was just a kid, but I remember the fear in his voice. “Maybe,” I say, careful. “But Papa’s dead. You’re the one with the answers now.”

Luciano’s lips twitch, not quite a smile. “Careful, Isabella. Dig too deep, and you might not like what you find.”

“Then let me dig,” I shoot back. “If I’m yours for thirty nights, I deserve to know what I’m up against.”

He studies me, his gaze lingering on my lips, my throat, my curves. It’s not just possessive—it’s hungry, and I hate how my body responds, heat curling low despite everything. “You’ll learn what I want you to learn,” he says finally. “Now move.”

He doesn’t wait for me to argue, steering me through the gates and up a winding path to the estate’s entrance. The doors are massive, carved with intricate vines that look more like chains in the moonlight. Inside, the air is cool, the foyer all black marble and chandeliers, like a palace built on blood. A maid—petite, silent, eyes downcast—appears, holding a tray with a glass of water. I take it, my hands shaking, and gulp it down, the cold shocking my system.

“Where’s my room?” I ask, my voice echoing in the vast space. “If I’m staying here, I need a place to… think.”

Luciano’s eyes glint with amusement. “Your room’s with me, bella. Did you think you’d get your own wing?”

My stomach drops. “You can’t be serious. I agreed to your deal, not to sleep in your bed.”

“Oh, you’ll do more than sleep,” he says, his voice a low purr that sends a shiver through me. “But don’t worry. I don’t force what’s not given willingly. You’ll come to me when you’re ready.”

“Keep dreaming,” I mutter, but my cheeks burn. His confidence, his certainty, it’s unnerving. And that flicker in his eyes—it’s not just desire. There’s pain there, buried deep, and it makes me wonder what broke him.

He leads me up a grand staircase, his hand never leaving my back. The hallway is lined with doors, some cracked open to reveal rooms filled with shadows. My heart races as we stop at a heavy oak door. He pushes it open, revealing a suite—plush carpets, a four-poster bed draped in silk, a balcony overlooking the estate’s grounds. It’s beautiful, but it feels like a cage.

“This is yours,” he says, leaning against the doorframe, watching me. “For now. Get cleaned up. We’ll talk terms tomorrow.”

“Terms?” I turn, crossing my arms. “You said thirty nights, Matteo lives. That’s the deal.”

He steps closer, his height forcing me to tilt my head back. “The deal’s more… flexible than that. You’ll learn my rules, Isabella. And you’ll follow them.”

“Or what?” I challenge, my voice steady despite the fear curling in my gut. “You’ll kill me? You need me alive, remember?”

His hand lifts, brushing a strand of hair from my face. His touch is gentle, but his eyes are steel. “I don’t need to kill you to make you obey. You’ll want to please me. Trust me.”

I jerk back, my skin tingling where he touched me. “I don’t trust you. And I never will.”

“We’ll see,” he says, turning to leave. At the door, he pauses, glancing back. “One rule for tonight: don’t leave this room. My men are everywhere, and not all of them are as… restrained as I am.”

The door closes with a soft click, leaving me alone in the opulent prison. I sink onto the bed, my hands trembling as I clutch the silk sheets. Matteo’s gone. Santino’s name echoes in my head, a puzzle I can’t solve. And Luciano—his presence lingers, his voice, his touch, stirring something I don’t want to feel. I’m not just fighting for Matteo now. I’m fighting for myself, to keep my fire, my soul, from being consumed by this man and his world.

I cross to the balcony, the night air cool against my face. The estate’s grounds stretch out, dark and endless, guarded by men with guns. I’m trapped, but I’m not helpless. Papa taught me to listen, to watch, to find the cracks in any system. Luciano’s syndicate has cracks—I saw it in Marco’s smirk, in the guard’s nervousness. I just need to find them.

A soft knock at the door makes me jump. “Who’s there?” I call, my voice sharp.

The maid from earlier steps in, her eyes still downcast. She’s young, maybe my age, with mousy brown hair and a nervous tremble. “Miss De Luca,” she whispers, glancing at the door. “I… I heard something. About your brother.”

My heart leaps. “What? Tell me.”

She hesitates, her hands twisting. “I shouldn’t, but… one of the guards said they found a phone at the safehouse. It had a message. For you.”

“For me?” I step closer, my pulse racing. “What did it say?”

She swallows, her voice barely audible. “It said, ‘Isabella, run. He’s not what he seems.’ And it was signed… Santino.”

My blood runs cold, the room spinning. Santino knows I’m here. He knows my name. And if he’s warning me about Luciano, then the man I’m bound to for thirty nights might be more dangerous than I ever imagined. The maid slips out, leaving me staring at the door, my heart pounding as footsteps echo down the hall—slow, deliberate, coming closer.