Married To The Devil I Hate

Chapter 3

The ride from the cathedral to the reception is a suffocating, terrifying nightmare.

The soundproof black partition in the limousine is rolled up tightly, trapping me in the back seat with a monster. I sit as far away from Luca as the plush leather seat allows, pressing my shoulder against the chilled glass of the tinted window. My heavy white dress spills across the space between us, creating a desperate, fragile barricade of silk and lace.

He doesn’t try to touch me. He doesn't even speak. He just sits there in the dim, moody lighting of the car, looking entirely too relaxed for a man who just forced a girl into marriage. He reaches forward and pours himself a glass of amber whiskey from the crystal decanter in the center console. He takes a slow, deliberate sip, but his eyes never leave my face.

The silence is deafening, heavy with a dark tension that makes it hard to pull air into my lungs. I nervously twist the massive diamond ring on my left hand. It feels like a ten pound weight dragging my arm down.

"Stop fidgeting," Luca commands. His deep, raspy voice cuts through the quiet of the car like a whip.

I instantly freeze, my hands dropping to my lap. I hate that my body obeys him before my brain even has a chance to process the anger. I turn my head, glaring at him through the gloom. "I'll do whatever the hell I want," I snap back, my voice shaking just a little bit.

Luca lowers his whiskey glass, resting it on his knee. A dark, dangerous amusement dances in his frozen eyes. He leans forward, closing the distance between us just enough to make my heart hammer wildly against my ribs. "You will do exactly as I say, Sophia. You are my wife now. You carry my name. You wear my ring. You will not embarrass me tonight by acting like a spoiled, frightened little girl."

"I am not frightened of you," I lie, my chin tilting up in defiance.

Luca scoffs, a low, cruel sound that vibrates in the small space. "Bullshit. I can see your pulse jumping in your throat. I can smell the fear coming off your skin. But don't worry, mia sposa. As long as you play your part and behave, you will survive the night."

Before I can throw another insult at his arrogant face, the limousine slowly comes to a halt. The door is immediately yanked open by a massive guard in a black suit. The roar of the city and the flash of paparazzi cameras instantly flood the car.

We have arrived at the Grand Plaza Hotel, the most exclusive and expensive venue in all of Chicago. And tonight, it is completely locked down by the mob.

Luca steps out first, buttoning his tailored jacket with one hand. He turns back and offers me his hand. I stare at it for a second, hating the sheer size and power of it, before reluctantly placing my trembling fingers into his palm. He pulls me out of the car, his grip tight and completely unforgiving.

As we walk up the red carpet leading into the hotel, his hand slides from my fingers and wraps firmly around my waist. His large fingers press deeply into my side, pulling my body flush against his hard hip. I try to create an inch of space between us, but his grip is like a steel vice. He is making a statement to every single person watching: I own her.

The grand ballroom takes my breath away, even though I am entirely too numb to enjoy it. It is a masterclass in absolute, sickening wealth. Thousands of white roses drip from the ceiling, crystal chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow over the room, and a massive ice sculpture of a swan sits in the center of the room, slowly melting. But despite the beautiful decorations, the room feels like a war zone.

Just like at the church, the five hundred guests are strictly divided. The tension in the air is thick enough to choke on. My father’s men are grouped near the back, drinking heavily and shooting nervous, resentful glares across the room. Luca’s men, the De Santis cartel, dominate the floor.

They are loud, arrogant, and laughing, their eyes constantly scanning the exits and checking the weapons hidden under their tuxedos.

Luca leads me to the head table, which is elevated on a small stage at the front of the ballroom. I am forced to sit directly beside him.

The next hour is pure, unadulterated torture.

Course after course of expensive Italian food is placed in front of me, but I can't stomach a single bite. My throat feels entirely closed off. I sit there like a perfect porcelain doll, keeping my back completely straight and my face entirely blank.

Every time someone approaches the table to offer their fake congratulations, Luca’s hand slides onto my exposed thigh under the table. His touch is a brand, his fingers hot and heavy against my skin, sending violent shivers up my spine. When I try to subtly push his hand away, his fingers simply dig in harder, silently warning me not to fight him in public.

My father comes up to the table exactly once. Vincenzo looks old and pathetic standing beneath the elevated stage, clutching a glass of champagne. He avoids my dark brown eyes completely, looking only at Luca.

"A beautiful wedding, De Santis," my father says, his voice strained and utterly hollow. "To a long and profitable peace."

Luca doesn't even bother to stand up. He remains seated, casually swirling the red wine in his glass. He looks down at my father with a gaze so cold it could freeze hell over. "Let us hope so, Vincenzo. For your sake. Because if a single one of your men steps out of line, I won't just kill them. I will send them back to you in f*****g pieces."

My father swallows hard, his face pale. He gives a stiff nod and hurries away like a beaten dog. I watch him go, a sick mixture of hatred and shame twisting in my stomach.

Suddenly, a loud clinking of glass echoes through the massive ballroom.

Matteo is standing by the microphone, tapping a fork against his champagne flute. Matteo has the same black hair as Luca, but his eyes are a warm, mischievous hazel, and he actually knows how to smile.

"Alright, alright, quiet down, you animals!" Matteo shouts into the microphone, grinning widely as the De Santis side of the room erupts in laughter. "It is time for the boss and his beautiful new bride to grace us with the first dance."

My blood turns to absolute ice.

I stare down at my hands, my chest tightening in pure panic. A dance. A slow, intimate dance where everyone in this room will be watching us. Where I will have to let him hold me.

Luca stands up slowly. The entire ballroom instantly goes dead silent. The respect and absolute fear these men have for him is terrifying to witness. He turns to me, offering his hand once again.

"Up," he orders quietly.

I hesitate, my brown eyes locking onto his blue ones. "I don't want to dance," I whisper desperately, hoping for a shred of mercy.

Luca’s jaw clenches. "I don't give a s**t what you want, Sophia. Stand up."

Knowing I have absolutely no choice, I take his hand. He leads me down the steps and onto the dance floor in the very center of the ballroom. The crowd forms a large circle around us, hundreds of eyes tracking our every single move.

The live orchestra in the corner of the room begins to play a slow, hauntingly beautiful waltz.

Luca turns to face me. He steps deep into my personal space, his sheer size completely blocking out the rest of the room. He places his right hand firmly on my back, his left hand wrapping around my fingers.

I immediately try to maintain a respectable distance. I lock my elbow and push back slightly, trying to keep at least six inches of space between my chest and his.

Luca’s eyes instantly darken with annoyance. "What the f**k are you doing?" he mutters under his breath, his fake public smile firmly in place.

"I'm keeping my distance," I grit out, matching his fake smile with a tight, furious one of my own. "I am not pressing myself against you like some desperate groupie."

"You are my wife," he counters, his voice dropping an octave, becoming rough and dangerous.

"I am your hostage," I snap back, my hair swaying as we slowly begin to move to the music. "And I hate you."

Luca’s eyes flash with a dark, predatory fire. "You are going to learn very quickly that your hatred means absolutely nothing to me, Sophia."

Without another word, he violently yanks me forward.

I gasp softly as my body crashes completely flush against his. There is not a single millimeter of space left between us. I can feel the hard, solid muscle of his chest against my breasts, the powerful line of his thighs brushing against my legs through the layers of my dress. He pulls my hand up and traps it against his chest, right over his heart. To my shock, it is beating in a heavy, steady, powerful rhythm.

I immediately struggle, planting my high heels into the floor and trying to shove him away. "Let me go," I hiss frantically, my panic rising. "Luca, stop it."

His hand slides up from my back, his fingers tangling roughly into the hair at the nape of my neck. He holds my head in place, effectively trapping me against him.

"Stop fighting me," he growls, dipping his head down so his lips are hovering just a fraction of an inch from my ear. His hot breath sends a wild, confusing shudder rushing straight down my spine.

"I will always fight you," I whisper furiously, my heart hammering like a trapped bird against my ribs.

"Good," Luca murmurs, his deep voice wrapping around me like a dark, heavy blanket. "Because I love to break things."

I freeze in his arms, the terrifying reality of his words washing over me. We continue to sway to the slow, haunting music, the entire ballroom watching the beautiful, romantic facade, completely unaware of the vicious war happening right in the center of the floor.

Luca leans in even closer, his nose brushing against the shell of my ear. The smell of his cedarwood and whiskey cologne is intoxicating, completely drowning out the scent of the thousands of white roses in the room.

"Listen to me very carefully, Sophia," he whispers softly, his tone laced with a possessive, terrifying madness. "You hate me. I know it. And I don't give a damn. But you belong to me now. Every single piece of you. Your body, your name, your life it is all mine."

He pulls back just enough to look me in the eye. His freezing blue eyes are burning with a dark, obsessive hunger that absolutely terrifies me.

"I won't just lock you in a cage," Luca vows, his voice a low, lethal purr. "I will burn down the whole f*****g world to keep you in it. Look around this room, little wife."

I swallow hard, too afraid to look away from him, but my peripheral vision catches the hundreds of men standing around the dance floor.

"If another man in this room looks at you for more than a second," Luca whispers, his hand tightening painfully in my hair, "I will gouge his f*****g eyes out. If another man so much as brushes against your dress, I will cut his hands off. You are mine, Sophia. Only mine. And God help anyone who forgets it."

A cold, heavy knot of dread settles deep in the pit of my stomach.

I thought I was being handed over to a cold, heartless mafia businessman. I thought this marriage would be an ignored, loveless business transaction. But as I stare up into the face of the Devil of Chicago, I realize I was entirely wrong.

Luca De Santis isn't just cold. He is obsessed.

And as the final, haunting notes of the waltz fade away, leaving us standing locked together in the center of the massive ballroom, I realize with absolute, horrifying certainty that escaping this man will be entirely impossible.