Married To The Devil I Hate

Chapter 16

The doors of the room slam shut behind us, completely cutting off the chaotic roar of thirty capos gearing up for a bloodbath.

Luca doesn’t say a single word as we walk down the dimly lit corridor of the east wing. He doesn’t need to. His uninjured hand is wrapped securely around my waist, his long fingers pressing into the fabric of my blazer. His grip is tighter than usual, his strides longer, practically dragging me along as we head back toward the master suite.

The moment we step inside the bedroom, the doors click shut, and Luca completely snaps.

He grabs the lapels of my black blazer, spinning me around with a sudden, overwhelming force, and pins my back against the door. Before I can even blink, his hands are tangled in my hair, and his mouth crashes down onto mine.

He kisses me like a starving man who just found his final meal, his tongue sweeping past my parted lips, claiming every inch of my mouth. His chest is heaving against mine, trapping me between the cold wood of the door and the burning, muscular wall of his body.

"Luca," I gasp into his mouth, my hands flying up to grip his shoulders to keep my balance.

"Do you have any f*****g idea what you just did to me in there?" he growls, pulling back just an inch. His eyes are completely wild, dilated and consumed by a dark, ravenous fire.

"You stood in front of the most dangerous killers in Chicago, and you handed me the key to slaughtering your father’s empire."

"I told you the truth," I breathe out, my heart beating fast. "I told you what you needed to know about him."

His thumb tracking the swollen line of my bottom lip. "You betrayed your own blood... for me."

"My Father traded me away to save himself," I whisper, my dark brown eyes searching his sharp, striking face.

"The choice wasn't hard, Luca."

A low, sound vibrates deep in his chest. He leans down, pressing his face into the crook of my neck. His hot breath fans across my pulse point, making my entire body shiver despite the layers of my suit. He inhales deeply, breathing me in, his massive hands sliding down to grip my waist, lifting me completely off the floor.

I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively, my stilettos digging into the back of his thighs. He walks us over to the bed, setting me down on the edge without breaking our physical connection. He steps entirely into my space, caging me in.

"When I get back tonight," Luca murmurs, his lips brushing against my skin right beneath my jaw, "I am going to strip this f*****g suit off you, and I am going to show you exactly how a Queen is supposed to be worshipped."

The promise makes the air in my lungs evaporate. Sending a heat pools instantly between my thighs. My hands slide up his chest, my fingers slipping beneath the open collar of his shirt, feeling the rapid, heavy thud of his heart.

"You have to come back first," I remind him, my voice trembling slightly as the reality of the impending strike crashes back over me.

Luca pulls his head back, his eyes locking onto mine with unwavering certainty.

"I am the Devil, Sophia."

He steps back, physically forcing himself to pull away from me, and the sudden absence of his heat leaves me gasping for air. He walks over to the wardrobe, pulling open a hidden drawer to reveal an arsenal of tactical gear.

He swaps his dress shirt for a tight, black tactical turtleneck. He straps a heavy leather shoulder holster over his broad chest, checking the slide of his black semi-automatic handgun with practiced, deadly precision.

I slide off the dresser, walking over to him. Without asking for permission, I reach out, adjusting the leather strap of his holster where it sits too close to the fresh bandages on his left arm.

Luca freezes, his hands dropping to his sides. He looks down at me, watching my fingers adjusting leather against his chest.

"Good luck," I whisper, looking up into his eyes.

A slow smirk curves his lips. He leans down, pressing a hard, brief kiss to my forehead.

And then, he is gone.

Two hours later, the silence in the De Santis estate is becoming annoying.

I refuse to pace the bedroom like a helpless again. Instead, I march back to the war room.

Marco is stationed exactly where I left him, and true to Luca’s new orders, the guard does not question my presence. He opens the doors, allowing me into the command center.

The room is mostly empty now, save for a few technical specialists monitoring the encrypted radio feeds and satellite maps on the slate-gray table.

I take the seat at the head of the table—Luca's seat.

"Put the primary comms on the main speaker," I order the young technician sitting in front of a bank of glowing monitors.

The tech blinks in surprise but immediately nods. "Yes, Signora."

He flips a switch, and the low, static-filled hiss of the encrypted radio channel fills the windowless room. For a long time, there is nothing but the sound of heavy breathing, the crunch of boots on gravel, and the occasional whispered command from one of the lieutenants.

They are moving into position in the Gold Coast district. The red Room is an upscale, exclusive nightclub that serves as the perfect front for my father’s money-laundering operations. The basement vault is supposed to be impenetrable.

Suddenly, the radio crackles to life with Luca’s voice.

"Perimeter is breached. Execute on my mark."

I grip the arms of my chair, my knuckles turning completely white.

"Three. Two. One. Mark."

A deafening explosion tears through the radio feed, so loud it makes the technicians in the room flinch. The sound of gunfire immediately erupts over the speakers. Men are shouting, glass is shattering, and the chaotic symphony of a mafia war echoes through the quiet bunker.

"Front doors are down," a capo yells over the gunfire. "Romano’s men are holding the main floor! Heavy resistance near the VIP lounge!"

"Suppressing fire," Luca barks, his voice cutting through the chaos with absolute, chilling calm. "Black team, take the stairs. Yellow team, hold the exits. No one leaves this f*****g building."

I close my eyes, listening to the brutal, efficient slaughter of my father's soldiers. I should feel sick. I should feel a shred of guilt for the men bleeding out on the nightclub floor. But all I feel is a dark, vindictive surge of triumph.

These are the same men who stood by and watched my father trade me away like a piece of meat. They are the same men who would have happily invaded this estate and dragged me back in chains if my father ordered it.

"Main floor is clear," Marco’s gruff voice comes through the radio a few minutes later. "Moving to the basement level."

There is a loud, metallic grinding sound, followed by the blast of a breaching charge.

"Vault door is blown, Boss."

"Secure the perimeter," Luca orders. The sound of his boots echoing on concrete comes through the feed. A moment later, his voice drops into a deep satisfaction. "She was right. The cash is here. Millions of it. Stacks of unmarked hundreds."

My chest swells with a undeniable wave of pride.

"What's the play, Boss?" a lieutenant asks. "Do we bag it and transport it back to the estate?"

There is a long pause on the radio. I can perfectly picture Luca standing in the center of the underground vault, surrounded by the physical manifestation of my father’s power and desperation.

"No," Luca says, his raspy voice completely devoid of mercy. "I don't need Vincenzo Romano’s dirty money. Douse it."

"Boss?" the lieutenant asks, confused.

"I said douse it in gasoline!" Luca roars. "Every single dollar. Every ledger. I want this vault reduced to f*****g cinders. I want Vincenzo to wake up tomorrow morning and realize he doesn't have a single cent to pay for his mercenaries. Light it up!"

The sound of liquid splashing fills the feed, followed by the flick of a metal lighter.

"Vault is burning, Boss," Marco reports.

"Fall back," Luca commands. "Let the fire department deal with the rest. We are done here."

The technicians in the war room let out a collective breath they didn't realize they were holding. I sink back into the chair, my heart pounding in my chest.

It is done. My father’s emergency reserves are gone. His ability to hire outside help is completely gone. In less than three hours, Luca and I had successfully crippled the Romano syndicate, leaving my father entirely isolated and defenseless against the coming storm.

When the gate of the estate finally open an hour later, I am standing at the top of the grand staircase, exactly where I was the night before.

But this time, I am not terrified.

Luca walks through the front doors, flanked by his bloodied, exhausted capos. He smells intensely of smoke and gasoline. The black tactical gear makes him look like a shadow ripped straight from the underworld.

He stops at the base of the stairs, looking up at me.

Luca takes the stairs two at a time, his boots echoing loudly in the foyer. He doesn't care about the dirt covering his clothes. He wraps his hands around my waist, and pulls me flush against his chest.

"It has been done," Luca whispers roughly into my ear, his hot breath sending a shiver down my spine.

He crashes his mouth down on mine, sealing our mouth together, front of his army.