Chapter Three
1156 Words
Chapter 3
Tracy paced the sunlit terrace, the cool marble beneath her bare feet doing little to soothe her nerves. The view was breathtaking—the endless ocean stretching to the horizon, waves crashing rhythmically against the cliffs below—but even paradise felt like a cage.
It had been four days since Ethan had kidn*pped her.
Four long days trapped on his opulent private island—a gilded prison she never asked for.
And Ethan?
He was everywhere.
If she so much as breathed the wrong way, he noticed. If any staff member looked at her too long, Ethan’s glare—sharp enough to slice steel—would send them scurrying. And that was when he wasn’t acting like his usual, infuriatingly arrogant self.
The sound of approaching footsteps made her spine stiffen. She didn’t need to turn.
“Admiring the view, amore?” Ethan’s voice was like silk, smooth and dangerous.
Tracy rolled her eyes and turned slowly to face him. “Says the man who’s keeping me here against my will.”
He leaned against the stone railing, looking absurdly relaxed. “You’re not a hostage, amore. You’re my fiancée.”
“I am not your fiancée!” she snapped. “It was a joke, Ethan! Why won’t you admit that? I said yes because I thought you were kidding. Who proposes after one night?!”
“A man who knows what he wants,” he replied coolly. “A man like me.”
Tracy exhaled sharply and rubbed her temples. “Why are you like this?”
“Because I was born this way, amore,” he said with a lazy shrug.
“I love Matteo, Ethan. Nothing you do—no number of islands—will change that.” Her voice trembled with anger and helplessness.
The air shifted.
“I could kill him,” Ethan said, his tone suddenly void of humor.
Her heart stopped. “What…?”
He stepped closer. She stepped back.
“If you love him that much,” he said softly, “then I have no choice. I’ll kill him, amore. You’re free to love a dead man, no?”
“Dead?” Her chest tightened. “No. Ethan, please—don’t hurt him. I’ll… I’ll do anything. Just please, don’t touch Matteo.”
Ethan’s gaze softened, replaced by something far more dangerous—triumph.
“Anything?” he asked, a slow, victorious smile spreading across his face.
Tracy clenched her fists, hating the desperation that had rooted in her voice. But she had no choice.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Anything.”
“Good girl,” he murmured, stepping forward until he loomed over her. “Then I won’t harm your precious Matteo. On one condition.”
“What is it?” she asked, dread twisting in her stomach.
“You wear my ring,” he said, pulling a small red velvet box from his pocket. “Willingly.”
Tracy stared at it like it might bite. “You’re insane.”
“And yet, here you are,” he said, amused. He flipped open the box, revealing a dazzling diamond ring—extravagant, just like him. “Put it on, amore.”
Tracy glared at the ring, the symbol that was supposed to unite her and Matteo. Her heart twisted.
“And if I don’t?” she asked, voice low.
“If you don’t?” Ethan’s smile turned cold. “Then I make a call. And Matteo won’t live to see tomorrow.”
Tracy gasped, stumbling back. Ethan wasn’t bluffing. As the lord of the Chicago Mafia Syndicate, he was more than capable of carrying out his threats.
“So…” He stepped closer. “What will it be, amore?”
Tracy wanted to slap the smugness off his face. Instead, she snatched the box from his hand and slid the ring onto her finger.
“There!” she snapped, holding up her hand. “Happy now?!”
“No.” He smiled wickedly. “Ecstatic.”
That evening, Tracy felt like she was unraveling.
Ethan had flipped through every mood possible in under twenty-four hours—arrogant, brooding, possessive—and now jealousy had joined the mix.
One of the kitchen staff, a tall, lean boy, brought her a cup of chai tea. Ethan glared at him like he’d committed a crime.
The boy placed the tray on the table and tried to leave quickly, but Ethan stopped him with a cold, clipped question. “Is there a reason you’re still here?”
Tracy facepalmed as the boy muttered an apology in Italian and fled.
“Was that necessary?” she asked once they were alone. “He was just doing his job!”
“He was staring at you, amore,” Ethan said, lounging on the sofa like a king.
“So?”
“So, I didn’t like it. No one looks at what’s mine but me.”
Tracy scoffed. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Mafia, am I supposed to live here without any human contact except you?”
“Exactly.”
“You’re impossible!” She grabbed a cushion and threw it at him.
“And you’re adorable when you’re angry.” He grinned.
“I’m done with this.” Tracy stood to leave.
“Wait, where are you going?” Ethan called after her.
Five days on the island, and Tracy felt like she was breaking.
She stormed into his study, where Ethan sat behind his desk, sipping red wine and watching a wall of computer screens. His expression didn’t change, but his eyes twinkled at her fury.
“This has to stop!” she exploded. “I’m not some… trophy you can lock away.”
“Are you not a prized possession?” he asked, amused, setting his glass down.
Her jaw dropped. “E-excuse me?!”
“You wear my ring, amore. You gave yourself to me. That makes you mine, no?”
Tracy’s heart thundered in her chest. Ring. Promised. Mine.
“You’re obsessed, Ethan!”
“Maybe,” he said, walking toward her, “but only with you.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but the words never came. Ethan pulled her into a kiss—sudden, fiery, consuming.
She was supposed to push him away. She was supposed to scream.
But instead… she pulled him closer.
Her body betrayed her, melting into his as if it belonged there.
“Oh, amore,” he breathed against her lips. “You drive me insane.”
“Good,” she whispered back. “Now you know how I feel.”
He chuckled low and lifted her onto his desk. “Ah, amore, you’ll be the death of me.”
“As I should,” she replied, breathless.
He leaned in again. Her mind screamed run, but her body silenced it.
And for the first time since waking up on his island…
Tracy stopped trying to resist him.
- Writer
