Chapter 4: You Should Be Dead
1391 Words
Romano Renzi
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Romano walked into Sophia’s room, fury burning through his veins.
He flung the folder across the room. It hit Sophia in the chest, papers scattering across the floor like evidence of a crime scene.
“Do you know what I do to liars?” He snapped.
She clutched her chest in shock. He watched her pick up one of the papers, her other hand still pressed against her sternum.
“I didn’t lie.”
“You don’t think you should have mentioned you’re Viktor Santos’ daughter?”
“You took me without asking.”
“Or you protected yourself because you knew who I was.”
Silence. She shifted her gaze.
He was infuriated. She knew exactly what she was doing.
Romano’s blood boiled.
“My father died from those war wounds.”
“Good. Your family destroyed my family.”
Romano felt like his head would explode.
“Say that again.”
“You won the war. We lost everything.”
She rose slowly, deliberately.
Romano watched every inch of it, his anger climbing with her.
“And now you’ve come back seven years later to finish what your father started. I hate you, Romano Renzi. I hope you die.” Her voice was laced with venom.
Heat surged through him—violent, immediate.
He crossed the room in two strides, grabbed her chin firmly, and yanked her face to his.
“Your husband killed my sister, I should just kill you right now as payback.”
She didn’t blink. “If you wanted me dead, I’d be rotting in the woods by now.” She paused. “So what do you really want?”
The room went quiet.
There it was. That defiance in her eyes, burning like a flame he wanted to extinguish.
The look that had become a distraction. The one that sent jolts through his body.
Now he knew why she looked at him like that.
He thought he’d claimed an enemy’s wife.
He didn’t realize he’d brought home an old rival.
Why didn’t he just kill her right now?
No.
As much as he wanted to avenge his sister, Gulia, Sophia didn’t order the hit. Dimitri did.
And she might be the only one alive who had access to Dimitri’s hidden financial network.
This is business. Not personal.
He tightened his grip on her chin.
He noticed her hands tighten at her sides, knuckles whitening.
Good.
“Your coward of a husband built quite the wealth for himself before he became greedy and tried to take what’s mine.”
Romano scanned her eyes for a reaction.
None.
“The underground financial networks. Where are they?” He tugged at her face.
“You should find Dimitri and ask him.” She sneered.
“Dead men don’t talk.”
He felt her tense. Then her shoulders dropped back—a forced relaxation.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. If you’re going to torture me, you might as well get started.” She spat.
Feisty. Stubborn.
A sensation rose in Romano’s stomach—something primal, dangerous.
She was captured and still arrogant. It turned him on.
He smiled.
“You think you’re tough?” He huffed. “I’m going to have so much fun making you beg.”
He let go of her face and stepped back, creating space between them.
“Take off your clothes.”
He saw her expression shift—surprise flickering before control returned.
“And if I don’t?”
“I’ll rip them off your unconscious body.”
This time she flinched.
She was wearing a black crop top over tight leather pants.
She started to undress slowly, deliberately.
He watched her, keeping his gaze focused on her every move.
He saw the tension etched across her forehead, the slight tremor in her fingers.
She took off her top and exposed her lace bra. It barely covered her full breasts.
She unzipped her leather pants slowly. The metallic rasp cut through the silence like razor.
The pants fell to the floor in a whisper of leather against skin.
She wasn’t what Romano expected.
Her waistline stopped high, giving way to curved hips that flared dramatically.
She had a small gap at the center of her thighs. Her lace panties were sheer, showing the outline of her lips beneath.
Her build was soft and sultry—a stark contrast to her stubbornness.
Romano imagined what her skin would feel like under his palm. Warm. Yielding.
She crossed her hands over her chest, as if protecting herself.
Romano felt insulted.
His brow creased as irritation flared.
No woman closed off her body from him.
He closed in on her, grabbed her hair, and pulled it back, tilting her head upward toward his face.
“You don’t listen, do you?”
She tensed, her breath catching.
“When I said take off your clothes—”
He reached behind her with his other hand, his knuckles brushing past her full breast. She shuddered. He undid her bra. It fell to the floor with a soft rustle.
“I meant all of it.”
Romano’s eyes fell to her breasts. The skin looked soft, covered in goosebumps. Her n*****s sat on wide areolas.
They were hard. Why were her n*****s hard?
Maybe she was cold.
His body reacted before his mind approved.
A slow, unwelcome heat tightened low in his gut.
Irritating.
He hadn’t even touched her properly.
Their gazes locked, and he saw something other than fear in her hazel eyes.
Desire? Defiance? Both?
He let go of her, pushing her away slightly.
He created space between them.
Sophia began to take off her lace panties, her movements slow, deliberate.
“Enough.”
It wasn’t necessary.
That was the point.
He wanted to see if she’d stop him.
She didn’t.
He saw relief flood her eyes—brief but unmistakable.
Romano pulled out his walkie-talkie.
He pressed the button. “Bring it in.”
The machine hissed and went silent.
A few seconds later, there was a knock.
Romano went to the door and returned with a dress and a rolled cigar.
“Put this on.” He tossed the dress at her.
Romano lit his cigar. The flame illuminated his face for a moment before he drew in. He exhaled slowly.
He watched her put her bra back on before slipping into the dress.
It was a short red dress with spaghetti straps.
Too short. It barely covered her ass.
And the square neckline fell low, exposing her cleavage.
Romano watched her tug it down uncomfortably, trying to cover more skin.
He exhaled another plume of smoke.
“Too small?” He teased.
“No. It’s perfect.” She said with a tight grin.
“Good. You’re wearing that to the sitdown tomorrow ”
Romano turned to leave.
“What’s my role?” She blurted out.
He faced her.
“Role?”
“You said housewife.”
“I did.”
“I’m not just going to sit in my room all day. What’s my role?”
Role? If she thinks she’s going to outsmart me, she’ll have to try harder.
“You’ll serve my meals, pick out my clothes, sit by my side, and only speak when I ask you to.”
“And during raids or outings?”
Raids?
Romano chuckled—a low, dark sound.
He would have laughed if he had the emotions.
He drew his cigar and exhaled, the smoke drifting lazily toward the ceiling.
“There are no raids or outings. You won’t ever leave the mansion. No phone calls. No friends. No contact.”
She stiffened.
Of course she did.
She tried to hide it, but Romano saw it—the slight widening of her eyes, the tension in her jaw.
“That sounds like slavery.” She said through her teeth.
“You should be dead, most people would be grateful.”
She was quiet for a moment. He could see her processing it—not panicking, not pleading. Calculating.
Then her expression shifted to something unreadable.
“Fine. I agree.”
She said it without a trace of submission.
This was a woman accepting terms while she made other plans.
Romano turned and walked out the door.
He looked at the guards outside.
“Watch her every move.”
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