Married To The Devil I Hate

Chapter 15

The sheer, force of Luca’s kiss leaves me completely breathless, my mind spinning into a dark, intoxicating void where nothing exists but the brutal heat of his mouth and the tight grip of his hands.

My fingers are still tangled in his hair, holding him against me as if my life depends on it. I can taste the rich, bitter espresso on his tongue.

As Luca’s heavy chest presses against mine, his heartbeat pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs, I realize I don't regret a single second of it.

He pulls back slowly, his chest heaving. His eyes are dilated, completely swallowed by a dark hunger that makes my skin burn.

"You have no idea what you just did, do you?" Luca murmurs, his voice a low voice sends a wild shiver tracing down my spine. His hands slide from my shoulders down to my waist, his thumbs pressing firmly into the soft knit of my sweater.

"I told my father the truth," I reply, my voice shaky. I look up into his face, taking in the lines of his jaw and the dangerous, untamed energy radiating from him. "I told him I'm not his pawn anymore."

Luca’s lips curve into a slow, arrogant smirk. "You did more than that, Sophia. You just drew a line in the bloodiest sand in Chicago. By rejecting him and choosing to stay in this house, you didn't just become my wife in name. You became my partner. My Queen. Vincenzo knows that if he wants you back now, he has to go through me, and he has to go through every single soldier in my syndicate."

He leans in again, his nose brushing lightly against mine, his hot breath fanning across my bruised, swollen lips.

"I will take him down for you," Luca promises, the dark, unhinged vow slipping off his tongue.

"I will tear his empire down to the ground. He will never use you, threaten you, or lay a single f*****g hand on you."

The raw, unfiltered violence in his words should terrify me. Before this, it would have sent me running for the door. But standing here now, completely in his arms, it feels like the ultimate form of protection. It feels like the devotion I had been starved of my entire life.

"I don't want you to die for me, Luca," I whisper, my hands sliding down to rest flat against his hard, muscular chest, careful to avoid his bandaged arm. "He is desperate. Desperate men do unpredictable things."

Luca lets out a low chuckle, his eyes flashing with confidence. "Let him be desperate. I am the predator in this city, wife. He is just the prey waiting for the slaughter."

He releases my waist, taking a step back, though his intense gaze never leaves my face. The sudden absence of his body heat leaves me feeling strangely cold, a terrifying testament to how quickly I have become addicted to his presence.

"Get dressed," Luca commands. "Something serious. The men need to see you."

"See me?" I ask, my stomach doing a nervous flip. "Why?"

"Because an hour ago, you were just Vincenzo Romano’s daughter," Luca states, his tone completely serious. "Now, you are Sophia De Santis. You made your choice on that phone call, and it is time my capos understand exactly who they are bleeding for. I am introducing you to the inner circle."

He turns and walks toward his walk-in closet, leaving no room for argument.

I take a deep breath. This is it. There is no more hiding. I am stepping out into the darkest, most violent underworld in the country, and I am doing it holding the hand of it’s ruler.

Twenty minutes later, I am staring at myself in the mirror. I discarded my jeans and sweater, replacing them with a black blazer and matching high-waisted trousers from the wardrobe Luca had provided.

I paired it with a dark red camisole underneath, the deep red color a stark contrast to my skin and strawberry blonde hair. I strapped on a pair of black stilettos that make me feel taller, more imposing. I look older. I look exactly like a woman who belongs.

Luca walks out of the closet, buttoning the cuffs of his dark navy blue shirt. He doesn't wear a tie, leaving the top two buttons undone, revealing the faint edge of his tattoos. He stops dead in his tracks when he sees me.

His eyes drag slowly, agonizingly, from the sharp point of my heels all the way up to my loose, wavy hair. The hunger in his gaze is so intense it feels like a physical weight pressing against my chest.

"f**k," he breathes out, a rough, appreciative curse that makes my heart hammer wildly. He bridges the distance between us in two long strides, his large hand coming up to grip the back of my neck. "If we didn't have thirty armed men waiting for us downstairs, I would strip that suit off you right now and lock this door for the next three days."

The dark promise in his words sends a rush of pure heat straight between my thighs. The tension that has been simmering between us since the wedding day is rapidly reaching a boiling point. But Luca is a master of control. He presses one hard, bruising kiss to the corner of my mouth, forcing himself to step back.

"Come," he orders quietly, offering me his uninjured right arm.

I slide my hand through the crook of his arm, my fingers resting against the hard muscle beneath his sleeve. Together, we walk out of the master suite. Marco is waiting in the corridor, and the guard immediately falls into step two paces behind us, his eyes scanning the shadows.

The walk to the east wing feels entirely different today. I am not running in a panic. I am not sneaking around. I am walking with purposeful, heavy steps beside the most feared man in Chicago. The guards we pass in the hallways immediately stop what they are doing, dropping their chins in deep, respectful nods as we walk by. They aren't just bowing to Luca anymore. They are bowing to me.

Marco pushes the heavy, reinforced steel doors of the war room open.

The bunker is completely packed. There are at least thirty men inside—capos, lieutenants, and Luca’s most trusted enforcers. The air is thick with the smell of stale smoke, cologne, and the sharp, metallic tang of weapons. A low murmur of deep voices fills the room, but the second Luca crosses the threshold, the silence is absolute and instantaneous.

Every single pair of eyes in the room snaps toward the door.

I feel a brief, terrifying spike of anxiety at the heavy, assessing stares of three dozen killers, but I force my spine perfectly straight. I tilt my chin up, keeping my face cold, unbothered and calm. I will not let them see me sweat. I am a De Santis now.

Luca walks me directly to the head of the slate-gray table. He doesn't let go of my arm until we are standing at the center of power in the room. He looks around the table, his freezing eyes locking onto every single man, demanding their total submission.

"Listen to me very carefully," Luca’s raspy voice booms through the windowless bunker, echoing off the concrete walls. "Two hours ago, Vincenzo Romano attempted to break the peace treaty. He contacted this estate and demanded the return of his daughter."

A low, dangerous rumble of anger ripples through the men. They know what a broken treaty means. It means an all-out, bloody street war.

Luca raises a single hand, instantly silencing the room.

"Vincenzo assumed his daughter was a prisoner," Luca continues, his voice dropping to a dark tone. "He assumed she would jump at the chance to run back to his failing, pathetic empire. He was wrong."

Luca turns slightly, his large hand resting firmly on the small of my back, a public, undeniable claim of ownership.

"My wife told Vincenzo exactly where she stands," Luca says, his gaze sweeping over his capos. "She severed her ties to the Romano syndicate. She chose this house. She chose this family. From this exact second forward, Sophia is not a treaty bride. She is the Queen of the Chicago syndicate. Her word is my word. If she gives you an order, you execute it as if it came from my own mouth. If a single one of you hesitates, disrespects her, or fails to protect her with your life, I will personally skin you alive. Am I understood?"

The overwhelming authority radiating off him is staggering.

The capos don't hesitate. In perfect, terrifying unison, the men around the table bow their heads deeply.

"Yes, Boss," they chorus, their deep voices vibrating through the floorboards.

"My life is yours, Signora," a scarred, older capo near the front adds, tapping his fist over his heart in a traditional gesture of mafia loyalty.

I look at the men, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm in my chest. They accept me. Not because of my bloodline, but because the Devil of Chicago just elevated me to a status equal to his own.

"Good," Luca says, his jaw tight as he looks back at his lieutenants. "Now, we prepare for the fallout. Vincenzo is a cornered rat, and he is going to lash out. What is the latest intel from the north side?"

A younger lieutenant, wearing a dark gray suit, steps forward, spreading a series of satellite photos across the slate table.

"Our scouts report heavy movement at the Romano properties, Boss," the lieutenant reports, keeping his tone strictly professional.

"Vincenzo has recalled all of his street soldiers to his main compound. He is fortifying his perimeter. But more importantly, we intercepted a communication between his underboss and a supplier in New York. Vincenzo is calling in outside favors. He is trying to hire private mercenary squads to bolster his ranks."

Luca’s eyes narrow into dangerous slits. "He is trying to buy an army because he knows his own men are too cowardly to march on this estate."

"Exactly," the lieutenant confirms. "But he needs time for those mercenaries to arrive. We have a window, Boss. Maybe forty-eight hours before he has the numbers to attempt a full-scale assault."

"Then we don't give him forty-eight hours," I say.

The words leave my mouth before I can even process them. The entire war room goes dead silent. The lieutenants and capos freeze, staring at me in absolute shock. The wives in the mafia do not speak during war council. They do not offer tactical advice.

But I am not just a wife.

Luca slowly turns his head to look at me. He doesn't look angry that I interrupted. His eyes are burning with a dark, intense fascination. He steps back slightly, giving me the floor, a silent command for me to continue.

I take a deep breath, stepping closer to the slate table, my eyes scanning the scattered maps of Chicago. I know my father better than any man in this room. I know his paranoia. I know his weaknesses.

"Vincenzo relies heavily on cash," I state clearly, keeping my voice steady and authoritative. "If he is hiring outside mercenaries, he needs untraceable funds to pay them upfront. The Romano accounts are closely monitored by the feds, so he can't use wires. He keeps his emergency cash reserves hidden in the basement of his secondary club, The red Room, in the Gold Coast district."

I look up, meeting the stunned stares of the capos.

"If you hit The red Room tonight and burn his cash reserves," I continue, my voice hardening into cold steel, "he won't be able to pay the New York suppliers. The mercenaries won't board the planes. You cut off his army before it even arrives."

The bunker remains completely silent for five long, agonizing seconds. I hold my breath, wondering if I just overstepped a unforgivable line.

Then, a slow, dark, incredibly dangerous smile spreads across Luca’s face.

He looks at his men, his eyes flashing with unhinged pride. "You heard the Queen," Luca growls, his voice laced with victory. "Gear up. Tonight, we burn The red Room to the f*****g ground."