Married To The Devil I Hate

Chapter 10

The drive back to the estate felt like it took a lifetime. Every time the SUV hit a bump or accelerated, I winced, watching the dark, spreading stain on Luca’s tuxedo sleeve. He didn't make a sound. He didn't even wince. He just sat there, his large frame rigid, his eyes fixed on the road ahead as if he were trying to track the ghosts of the men who had just tried to kill us.

By the time we pulled into the courtyard, the rain had intensified, turning the driveway into a river of mud and shadow. Guards swarmed the vehicle the moment we stopped, their faces tight with concern and rage.

"Boss, the perimeter is secure," one of them shouted, pulling the door open.

Luca didn't wait for assistance. He stepped out into the pouring rain, ignoring the guards rushing toward him. He looked like a fallen king suit shredded, blood matting his sleeve, his expression a mask of lethal, controlled fury. He turned back, his eyes searching the interior of the SUV until they landed on me.

"Get inside," he commanded, his voice a low, gravelly rasp.

I scrambled out, the hem of my black silk dress instantly soaking up the mud. I didn't need to be told twice. I hurried toward the massive stone front doors, the cold rain plastering my hair to my face. The house felt like a sanctuary, even though I knew better. It was just a different kind of cage.

Inside, the foyer was lit by the dim, flickering glow of the chandeliers. Rosa was there within seconds, her usual stern face pale when she saw Luca’s arm.

"Get the kit," Luca ordered her, not breaking his stride as he headed toward the private study, the room I had only seen from the hallway. "And get a fresh shirt."

"Luca, let me help," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I was shivering, the adrenaline finally starting to recede, leaving me feeling hollow and shaky.

He stopped, his broad back to me. He took a long, steadying breath, his shoulders rising and falling beneath his ruined jacket. He turned slowly. His face was pale, the stark contrast highlighting the sharp, dangerous angles of his cheekbones.

"Go to our room," he said, his voice softer than usual. "I don't want you standing in this mess, Sophia."

"I'm not leaving you," I replied, my voice gaining a sliver of strength. I walked toward him, my wet heels clicking on the floor. "I was there. I saw it. I’m the one who put pressure on it in the car. I’m staying."

He looked at me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine. For the first time, he didn't look like the Devil of Chicago; he looked like a man who was deeply, bone achingly tired. He gave a single, curt nod, then turned and walked into the study.

The study was a dark room filled with towering bookshelves and a heavy desk. A fire crackled in the hearth, but it provided little warmth against the chill that had settled in my bones. Luca collapsed into one of the large leather chairs, his breath hitching as he finally allowed himself to relax.

Rosa hurried in with a silver tray filled with medical supplies, bandages, and antiseptic. She set it down and stepped back, giving us privacy.

I knelt on the rug in front of him. My hands were still shaking, but I forced them to stay steady. I took the small pair of trauma shears from the tray and carefully began to cut away the fabric of his tuxedo jacket.

"This is going to hurt," I murmured, my eyes focused on the jagged, bleeding gash on his upper arm. It wasn't a bullet hole, thank god it was a deep, nasty gouge from the glass that had exploded inward when the window was shot.

"I've felt worse," he grunted, though his hand gripped the arm of the chair so hard the leather creaked.

I poured the antiseptic onto a cotton pad. When I touched the wound, Luca’s entire body went rigid. A low, guttural sound escaped his throat a mixture of pain and frustration. I hesitated, my hand hovering over his skin.

"Keep going," he hissed, his eyes shut tight.

I worked with a focus I didn't know I possessed. I cleaned the glass shards out of the skin, my stomach turning at the sight of the raw flesh. Every time I touched him, I felt the sheer, overwhelming power of his muscles. He was built for violence, but right now, he was vulnerable. He was right here, in front of me, and he was letting me fix him.

As I began to wrap the clean gauze around his arm, he finally opened his eyes. He didn't look at his wound. He looked at me. His gaze was heavy, intense, and strangely unreadable.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, his voice barely a murmur. "You hate me. You told me that an hour ago."

I stopped wrapping the bandage, my fingers lingering on his skin. The heat from his body seeped into my cold fingertips. I looked up, meeting his piercing blue stare.

"I do hate you," I admitted, my voice steady. "I hate what you've done to my life. I hate that I'm here. I hate that I can't talk to my sister."

Luca’s expression didn't change, but his eyes dimmed. "But?"

"But," I continued, my heart thumping against my ribs, "you didn't have to shield me. You could have pushed me to the floor and taken cover yourself. You didn't have to let me stay here and help you. You're a monster, Luca, but you're a monster who kept me alive."

He shifted, leaning forward slightly, bringing his face inches from mine. The firelight cast flickering shadows across his features, making him look less like a statue and more like a man.

"I don't play at being a protector, Sophia," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low tone.

"I am one. Everything I do, every person I kill, every deal I strike it's all to keep my world running. And you... you have become the center of that world. I don't care if you hate me. I care that you're breathing. I care that you're safe."

He reached out, his uninjured hand cupping my cheek. His palm was warm, his thumb tracing the line of my lower lip. The contact was electric.

"You think you're a victim," he whispered, his eyes searching mine as if he were trying to read a map of my soul. "But you're stronger than any soldier I’ve ever had in my service. You sat in that car, you watched me bleed, and you didn't look away. Most people would have fainted. Most people would have begged."

"I was too terrified to faint," I said, a small, humorless smile touching my lips.

He didn't smile back. He just stared at me, his thumb continuing to trace my lip, his gaze growing darker, more demanding. The air in the study felt like it was thickening, becoming heavy with a tension that had nothing to do with the the ambush.

"You're not terrified anymore," he murmured, his voice changing, losing its sharp edge.

I looked at his mouth, then back up to his eyes. The realization hit me then not as a spark, but as a slow burning fire. I wasn't just safe here; I was being claimed. Not by a husband, not by a boss, but by the man who was currently holding my heart in the palm of his hand, whether I wanted him to or not.

"No," I whispered. "I'm not."

He leaned in closer. His lips brushed against mine a light, tentative touch, almost a question. I didn't pull away. I closed my eyes, my breath hitching in my throat. When he deepened the kiss, it wasn't the harsh, bruising claim of the wedding day. It was different. It was slow, careful, and filled with a strange, aching desperation.

He tasted like whiskey, but underneath that, there was something else something raw and hungry. I let my hands slide up his shoulders, my fingers burying into the thick, dark hair at the nape of his neck.

Luca pulled away, his breathing ragged, hiseyes blown wide with shock. He looked at me as if I were a miracle he hadn't expected to find.

"Sophia," he breathed, his voice broken.

"Don't," I said, a sudden wave of confusion and fear washing over me. I stood up quickly, stepping back from his reach. The sudden movement sent my heart racing. "I... I should let you get some rest."

I didn't wait for him to respond. I turned and walked out of the study, my legs felt weak.

I retreated to the master bedroom, the cold, empty space feeling entirely different than it had this morning. I stripped off the dress and climbed into the bed, pulling the covers up over my head. My skin was still burning where he had touched me. My lips still felt the touch of his kiss.

I lay there in the dark, staring into nothingness. I had told myself I would hate him forever. I had told myself he was nothing more than a monster.

But as I listened to the house settle around me the distant sound of guards pacing, the rain lashing against the glass I realized the truth.

The lines had been crossed. The war hadn't ended, but the battlefield had shifted. I wasn't fighting him anymore. I was fighting myself. And the most terrifying part?

I wasn't sure who was going to win.