Married To The Devil I Hate

Chapter 4

The rest of the wedding reception passes in a terrifying, exhausting blur.

For four long hours, I am paraded around the grand ballroom like a shiny new trophy. I stand perfectly straight, my jaw aching from forcing a fake, pleasant smile, while hundreds of ruthless men kiss my cheek and welcome me to the De Santis family. Through it all, Luca never lets me go. His large, heavy hand remains a permanent fixture on my back, his thumb occasionally stroking the silk of my dress in a silent, possessive warning.

By the time midnight finally rolls around, my feet are screaming in pain from the high heels, and my head is pounding with a vicious migraine. I feel entirely drained, completely empty of all emotion except a lingering, deep-seated dread.

When Luca finally signals to his men that it is time to leave, a wave of relief washes over me but it is instantly followed by a fresh spike of pure panic. Leaving the public eye means going home with him. It means being entirely alone behind closed doors with the Devil of Chicago.

We are escorted out the back entrance of the hotel by a dozen heavily armed guards. The chilly Chicago night air hits my face, bringing a brief moment of clarity. A massive motorcade of black SUVs is waiting in the alleyway, engines rumbling like a pack of predatory beasts in the dark.

Luca guides me into the back of the center SUV. The doors slam shut, instantly cutting off the noise of the city, and the convoy speeds off into the night.

The ride is completely silent. Rain has started to fall, the drops streaking across the tinted windows and blurring the neon lights of the city. I press my head against the cool glass, staring out at the passing streets, silently mourning the loss of my freedom. A girl who just watched her entire life get signed away on a piece of paper.

I steal a quick glance at the man sitting beside me. Luca is leaning back against the leather seat, his eyes closed. He looks utterly exhausted, the harsh lines of his face illuminated briefly by the passing streetlights. He carries the weight of a massive criminal empire on his broad shoulders. His pitch black hair is slightly messy now from the long night, and the top button of his dress shirt is undone.

Even resting, he looks incredibly dangerous. He is a coiled spring, ready to snap at the slightest provocation.

After forty five minutes of driving toward the wealthy, heavily forested outskirts of the city, the convoy begins to slow down.

I sit up slightly, my eyes widening as I get my first look at my new prison.

Calling it a house would be a massive understatement. It is a fortress. We pull up to a set of imposing, twenty foot high wrought iron gates, flanked by thick stone walls that stretch as far as the eye can see. Security cameras are mounted on every visible corner, their red lights blinking ominously in the dark. As the gates slowly swing open, I see guards patrolling the perimeter in pairs, assault rifles slung casually over their shoulders. My father’s estate had security, but this is on an entirely different level. This is a military compound.

The SUV rolls up a long, winding driveway lined with massive trees, finally coming to a stop in front of a sprawling, dark gray stone mansion. It looks ancient and gothic, with sharp peaks and towering windows that are entirely devoid of warm light. It looks exactly like the kind of place a monster would live.

Luca’s eyes open, flashing with that familiar, freezing blue ice. He steps out of the car and waits for me. I gather the heavy fabric of my wedding dress and climb out, my legs trembling so badly I almost trip over the hem.

We walk up the wide stone steps and through the massive double front doors.

Inside, the fortress is just as cold and intimidating as the outside. The foyer is cavernous, featuring black floors, dark wood paneling, and a sweeping grand staircase that looks like it belongs in a museum. There are no family photos, no colorful rugs, no signs of life or warmth. It is perfectly clean and perfectly dead.

Rosa, an older woman with a severe gray bun, is waiting in the entryway. She is the head housekeeper, and she looks at me with a mixture of curiosity and strict judgment.

"Welcome home, Boss," Rosa says, her voice thick with an Italian accent. She nods respectfully to him before turning her sharp gaze to me.

"Welcome, Signora De Santis."

Hearing that name applied to me makes a fresh wave of nausea roll through my stomach.

"Thank you, Rosa," Luca says, his deep, raspy voice echoing in the empty hall. "We will not be disturbed for the rest of the night. Make sure the perimeter is secured."

"Yes, Boss," she replies, practically disappearing into the shadows of a side hallway.

Luca turns to me. "Come."

He doesn't wait to see if I follow. He simply starts walking up the grand staircase. Knowing I have absolutely no other choice, I grip the heavy fabric of my dress and follow him, the beads and lace rustling loudly in the suffocating silence of the house.

We reach the second floor and walk down a long, dimly lit corridor. At the very end of the hall, standing apart from all the other rooms, are two massive double doors. The master suite.

Luca pushes the doors open and steps inside, turning on the lights.

I cross the threshold, and my breath catches in my throat. The room is absolutely massive, bigger than my entire apartment would have been if I had gone away to college. It features high vaulted ceilings, a massive stone fireplace, and floor to ceiling windows overlooking the dark, rainy woods behind the estate.

But my eyes are instantly drawn to the center of the room.

A massive, king sized bed sits on a raised platform. It is covered in dark gray sheets and heavy black pillows. It is the only bed in the room.

Panic, hot and suffocating, instantly claws at my throat. I freeze just a few feet inside the doorway, my hands balling into tight fists at my sides.

The wedding night. The expectation. The debt my father told me I had to pay. You will spread your legs for him tonight, and you will make sure he stays happy. My father’s vicious words echo in my mind, making me feel physically sick.

Luca walks casually into the center of the room, completely ignoring my absolute terror. He shrugs off his tuxedo jacket and tosses it carelessly over a leather armchair. Next, he reaches behind his back, unclipping a heavy, black handgun from his waistband.

The metallic click of the weapon hitting the wooden nightstand sends a violent shudder through my entire body.

He rolls up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, exposing thick, muscular forearms covered in faded scars and dark, intricate tattoos. He turns to face me, his blue eyes scanning my rigid posture.

"Take the dress off, Sophia," he says calmly.

The command hits me like a physical blow. The air in the room suddenly feels way too thin to breathe. My heart slams against my ribs in a frantic, terrified rhythm. I cross my arms over my chest, digging my fingernails into my own skin to keep from completely falling apart.

"No," I whisper.

Luca pauses, tilting his head slightly. The dark amusement I saw in the car returns, swirling in his freezing eyes. "No?" he repeats, taking a slow, deliberate step toward me.

"Don't come near me," I warn, my voice rising in panic. I take a step backward, my back hitting the heavy doors I just walked through. There is nowhere to run. I am trapped in a cage with a predator.

Luca stops a few feet away. He towers over me, his massive frame blocking out the rest of the room. "You are my wife," he reminds me, his voice dropping to that low, lethal rumble that makes my blood run cold. "It is late. You are exhausted. Take the f*****g dress off and get in the bed."

I stare up at him, my eyes blazing with a mixture of terror and absolute, reckless hatred. The anger finally burns through my fear, lighting a fire in my chest. I have lost my family, my home, my freedom, and my future today. I am not going to let him take my dignity, too. I will fight him until my last dying breath if I have to.

"I said no," I practically spit at him, my hair falling wildly around my shoulders. "I know exactly what you expect from me tonight, and it is not going to happen. I am not one of your whores. I am not some submissive little toy you can just order around. My father might have sold me to you, but you don't own me. So, if you think you are touching me tonight, you can go straight to hell!"

The silence that follows my outburst is deafening. I stand there, my chest heaving, waiting for the explosion. I wait for the brutal violence the Devil of Chicago is famous for. I brace myself for a slap, for him to grab me, for the nightmare to finally begin.

Instead, Luca just stares at me.

For ten agonizing seconds, he simply looks at my flushed face, my defiant eyes, and my trembling hands.

And then, incredibly, the ruthless mafia boss throws his head back and laughs.

It is a deep, rich, genuinely amused sound that completely shatters the tension in the room. I blink in absolute shock, my mouth falling open slightly. I just screamed at the deadliest man in the city, told him to go to hell on our wedding night, and he is laughing at me.

"Go to hell?" Luca chuckles, dragging a large hand through his messy black hair. He looks down at me, a dangerous, thrilling smirk playing on his lips. "Sweetheart, I already own the real estate down there."

He steps closer, invading my space so completely I can feel the heat radiating off his body. He leans down, his face mere inches from mine. I refuse to back away, keeping my chin tilted up, even though my heart is trying to beat its way out of my chest.

"You think I'm going to force you?" he whispers, his blue eyes flashing with something entirely unexpected. Respect. "I don't need to force women, Sophia. Especially not a virgin who is shaking in her high heels."

My cheeks burn bright red at the insult, but before I can snap back, he pulls away.

"Keep your dress on. Sleep in it for all I care," he says casually, turning his back on me.

He walks over to a massive, dark leather couch sitting in the corner of the suite, far away from the king sized bed. He grabs a spare blanket from a nearby trunk and tosses it onto the cushions.

"The bed is yours," he says without looking back at me. He kicks off his dress shoes and unbuttons his shirt the rest of the way, revealing a deeply tanned, muscular chest covered in even more dark ink. He lies down on the leather sofa, stretching his massive legs out, looking entirely too big for the piece of furniture.

I stand by the door, completely frozen in shock and confusion.

He isn't going to touch me. He isn't going to hurt me. He is actually giving me the bed.

"Turn the lights out," he grumbles from the couch, shifting his broad shoulders to get comfortable.

"And don't even think about trying to sneak out. There are guards at every exit, and the dogs will tear you to pieces."

I swallow hard, my mind spinning with a thousand different thoughts. I reach out with a trembling hand and hit the light switch, plunging the massive room into darkness, lit only by the moonlight filtering through the rain streaked windows.

I slowly walk toward the center of the room. The white silk of my dress feels a hundred times heavier now. I climb into the massive, luxurious bed, completely dwarfed by the sheer size of it. I pull the dark gray sheets up to my chin, staring into the pitch black shadows of the room.

Across the suite, I can hear the slow, steady breathing of the monster I married.

He let me win tonight. But as I lie awake in the dark, shivering in a cold, unfamiliar fortress, I know with absolute certainty that the Devil never loses a game. He is just playing the long one.