HIS FORBIDDEN BRIDE

CHAPTER 7

The doorbell rang at 11:07 PM.

I was in the black dress. The backless one from today. The one Luca said to wear _for him._

I was waiting in his bedroom. He was downstairs taking a call. Security call.

Then Ms. DeLuca's voice, sharp from downstairs: “Mrs. Romano is not to be disturbed!”

And Sophia’s laugh. “It’s my house too, darling.”

My blood ran cold.

She was here. Not in 4 days. Now.

I walked out of the bedroom. Barefoot. Hair down. The red ring on my finger catching the light.

Luca was at the bottom of the stairs. In black pants, white shirt half undone. Gun at his waistband. Not hidden.

Sophia stood in the foyer. Not alone. With his mother. And a man I didn’t know. Tall. Cheap suit. Nervous eyes.

“Brother,” Sophia said, smiling. Red dress. Same shade as my old one. “You didn’t tell me you were having a party.”

“What are you doing here?” Luca asked. Voice flat. Deadly.

“Mother wanted to see our new bride. And I brought a friend.” She gestured to the man. “Lila, do you know Marco?”

I didn’t. But he knew me. Or pretended to.

“Lila Moretti,” he said, too fast. “We... we dated. Last year. Before the debt.”

The hallway went silent.

Luca’s mother looked at me. Disappointed already.

Luca didn’t move. But his hand flexed at his side.

Sophia turned to me, sweet. “Marco told me you two were very close. That you were... how did he put it? ‘Good for the right price’?”

I stared at Marco. I’d never seen him in my life.

“You’re lying,” I said quietly.

“Am I?” Sophia pulled out her phone. Showed a photo. Me at the bakery. Handing bread to a customer. Blurry. From months ago. “You worked at a bakery, right? He says he paid you for extra services.”

The lie was so stupid it should’ve been funny. It wasn’t.

Because Luca’s mother gasped.

Luca finally moved. He walked to Marco. Stopped one foot away.

“Repeat that,” he said softly to Marco.

Marco swallowed. “I... I’m just saying what—”

Luca grabbed him by the throat. Slammed him against the wall. The whole house shook.

“Say it again,” Luca whispered. “Say my wife sold herself.”

Marco choked. “I— I was paid to—”

“By who?”

Sophia’s smile slipped. Just a little.

Luca dropped Marco. He fell to the floor, coughing.

Luca turned to Sophia. Slowly.

“You paid him.”

Sophia lifted her chin. “I paid him to tell the truth.”

“You paid him to lie about my wife.” Luca’s voice was rising. Not loud. Worse. Cold. “In my house.”

His mother stepped forward. “Luca, calm—”

“No.” He cut her off. Then he looked at me.

I was frozen on the stairs. In that black dress. Exposed. Humiliated. Furious.

Luca walked to me. Up the stairs. One by one. Until he was in front of me.

Everyone was watching.

“What are you doing?” I whispered.

He didn’t answer.

He cupped my face with both hands and kissed me.

Not a soft kiss. Not a show kiss.

A claiming. Hard. Deep. His tongue in my mouth. His hand sliding down to my bare back, pulling me into him so everyone could see his hand on my skin.

I gasped into it. My hands fisted in his shirt.

When he broke away, we were both breathing hard. My lipstick was on his mouth.

He turned to his family, his hand still on my back, holding me against him.

“This is my wife,” he said. Clear. Loud. “Lila Romano. Mine. If anyone—” his eyes landed on Sophia— “anyone tries to disrespect her again, I will cut your tongue out myself. Blood or not.”

Sophia went white.

His mother stepped back.

Marco scrambled to his feet and ran for the door. Guards let him go, then followed him out.

“Get out,” Luca said to Sophia. “Both of you.”

“Luca—” his mother started.

“Now.”

They left. Sophia didn’t look back. But she left a small smile on her face, like she’d won something.

The door slammed.

Silence.

Luca’s hand was still on my back. Tight.

“Are you okay?” he asked me, low, only for me.

“No,” I said honestly. “She brought a man to say I was—”

“I know he was lying.” He pulled me closer. “I know.”

“How?”

“Because I know you,” he said simply. “And because if you’d ever been with him, he wouldn’t have been breathing when he said your name.”

Possessive. Insane. Perfect.

He led me downstairs. To the west wing.

His office.

He locked the door behind us. Security lockdown. Red light blinking. No one could get in or out.

“Luca? What are you doing?”

“Keeping you where I can see you,” he said. He poured whiskey. Didn’t drink. Set it down. “She planned that. She knew about the dress. She knew you’d be in it.”

“So?”

“So she wanted me to be jealous. To doubt you.” He crossed to me. Stopped right in front of me. “It didn’t work.”

I looked up at him. “You kissed me in front of them.”

“I claimed you in front of them,” he corrected. His thumb brushed my bottom lip. Smearing the red further. “You wore this dress for me.”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I wore this dress for you, Luca.”

His eyes darkened. He stepped forward, pushing me back until my back hit the bookshelf. Books rattled.

“Do you know how hard it was not to touch you at dinner? In Chanel? Tonight on those stairs?” His voice was rough. “In that dress?”

My heart was hammering so loud I was sure he could hear it.

“Then touch me,” I whispered.

Luca’s hands came to my waist. Slid up, over the silk. Over my ribs. Barely touching the sides of my breasts.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

“I’m not scared.”

“I know. You’re angry.” He leaned down. Kissed my neck. Slow. “I love you angry.”

He said love again.

I arched. My hands in his hair.

“Luca—”

“Shh.” His mouth moved up my jaw. To my ear. “We’re locked in here. No guards. No cameras. Just us. Tell me what you want, wife.”

“You.”

“How?”

“Kiss me. Like you mean it.”

He did.

He lifted me onto his desk. Papers everywhere. My legs around his waist. The dress riding up.

His hands on my bare back. On my thighs. Kissing me deep, slow, like he had all night.

I pulled his shirt. He let me push it off his shoulders. Tattoos. Scars. Warm skin.

“Lila,” he groaned against my mouth. “You’re going to ruin that dress.”

“Good.”

He laughed. Dark. Then kissed me again. Harder.

His hand slid up my thigh. Under the dress.

I gasped.

He stopped. Forehead against mine. Breathing hard.

“Not tonight,” he whispered. “Not after what she did. Not when you’re shaking.”

“I’m not shaking from her,” I said.

“I know.” He kissed my temple. “That’s why I’m stopping. Because if I don’t stop now, I won’t stop at all. And tomorrow you’ll be sore and you’ll blame me.”

“I won’t.”

“You will. And I’ll like it.”

He pulled my dress back down. Fixed it. Then pulled me into his lap in his big chair.

We sat there. Locked in his office. Me in his lap, his arms around me, my head on his chest.

Outside the door, we heard it. A soft knock. Sophia’s voice, muffled.

“I know you’re in there, brother. Enjoy your new toy.”

Luca didn’t move. Didn’t answer. Just held me tighter.

After a minute, her heels clicked away.

“She’ll be back,” I whispered.

“Let her,” Luca said. His hand stroking my hair. “Let her try. She touched what’s mine one last time tonight. Next time, I won’t be nice.”

I looked up at him. “What are we?”

He looked down at me. His lipstick-stained mouth. His dark eyes.

“We’re married,” he said. “You’re mine. I’m yours. And anyone who doesn’t like it can go to hell.”

I curled into him.

And for the first time since the wedding, I believed it.