Bound to the Devil

Chapter 6: The Poisoned Feast

The mirror reflected a woman I barely recognized. Elena had chosen a gown of crimson silk for the evening—the color of spilled blood and bruised roses. It was backless, held up by thin gold chains that crossed over my spine, and the slit up the leg went dangerously high.

"You look like a queen," Elena whispered as she fastened the ruby necklace Luciano had given me. "But remember, in this house, queens are often targets."

I didn't answer. I was still thinking about the way Luciano’s hands had felt on my skin just hours ago. The way he had stopped—not because he didn't want me, but because he wanted to own me completely. It was a terrifying realization.

When I entered the formal dining room, the air was thick with the scent of expensive cigars and aged cognac. Three men sat at the long table, their faces etched with the kind of hardness that only comes from decades of sin. Luciano sat at the head, looking regal and lethal in a black tuxedo.

When he saw me, his eyes flared with that same dark hunger, but he didn't move. He simply gestured to the chair beside him.

"Gentlemen," Luciano’s voice was smooth as silk. "My wife, Siena."

The men stood up with practiced politeness. There was Don Moretti—Dante’s father—a man with eyes like a shark’s. Beside him were two other Capos from the Commission. They looked at me not as a person, but as a trophy Luciano had won.

"A beautiful addition to the Costa legacy," Don Moretti said, his voice a gravelly rasp. He kissed my hand, his lips feeling like cold parchment against my skin. "Though I hear the Russo blood can be... volatile."

"Volatile blood makes for a stronger lineage, Don Moretti," I replied, sitting down and meeting his gaze without flinching.

Luciano placed his hand over mine on the table. It was a possessive gesture, his thumb slowly stroking my knuckles. "Siena is more than just her bloodline. She is the future of this family."

The dinner was a masterclass in tension. Every word spoken had a double meaning. They talked about 'territories' and 'deliveries' as if they were discussing the weather, but the underlying threat of violence was always there. I played my part, smiling when necessary, offering sharp insights when Luciano leaned in to consult me. I was showing them that I wasn't just a doll—I was a partner.

Halfway through the second course, I felt it.

I reached for my linen napkin, which had slipped slightly. As I tucked it back onto my lap, my fingers brushed against something taped to the underside of the heavy mahogany table, right beneath my plate.

My heart skipped a beat. I kept my face a mask of calm, even as my pulse began to hammer in my ears. I waited until the men were embroiled in a heated debate about the docks, then I carefully slid my hand under the table.

It was a small, folded piece of paper.

I didn't dare look at it. I palmed it, sliding it into the concealed pocket of my silk gown. My mind was racing. Who could have put it there? Elena? One of the guards? Or someone even closer?

"Is something wrong, cara mia?" Luciano’s voice was low, meant only for me. He had noticed the slight change in my posture.

"Just a bit tired, Luciano," I lied, leaning closer to him. "The wine is quite strong."

He leaned in, his lips brushing my temple. "The night is almost over. Stay strong for me a little longer."

The rest of the dinner was a blur. My mind was focused entirely on the small square of paper hidden against my thigh. When the men finally stood to leave, I felt like I had run a marathon.

Luciano walked them to the door, leaving me alone in the dining room for a moment. I took a deep breath, my hand trembling as I reached for my water glass.

"You did well tonight," Luciano said, returning to the room. He walked over to me, standing behind my chair. He leaned down, his hands resting on my shoulders. "They were impressed. Moretti is already afraid of you."

"I just want to go to bed, Luciano," I said, my voice thick with the secret I was carrying.

He tilted my head back, his eyes searching mine. "Are you still angry about this afternoon?"

"I'm many things, Luciano. Angry is just the beginning."

He smiled, a dark, genuine expression that reached his eyes. "I like you when you're dangerous, Siena. It makes the thought of breaking you that much more enticing."

He kissed my forehead—a surprisingly tender gesture that confused me more than his cruelty ever could—and let me go. "Go. I have some calls to make."

I practically ran to my suite. Once the door was locked and Elena had been dismissed, I leaned against the wood, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the note.

My hands shook as I unfolded the small, crumpled square of paper. The handwriting was frantic, the ink smudged.

DO NOT TRUST THE LILIES. THEY ARE WATCHING. MEET ME IN THE GARDEN AT MIDNIGHT IF YOU WANT TO LIVE.

I looked over at the vanity, where the fresh vase of lilies sat—the flowers I had thought were a sign of Luciano’s hidden kindness. My favorite flowers.

Suddenly, the beautiful room felt like a cage again. Was Luciano using my own favorites to hide cameras? Or was the note a trap set by someone else?

I looked at the clock. 11:45 PM.

I had fifteen minutes to decide if I was going to stay in the safety of my gilded prison or risk everything to find out who was trying to "save" me.

My heart told me to run. My body, still humming from Luciano’s touch, told me to stay.

But the Russo in me—the girl who refused to be a pawn—grabbed a dark cloak and moved toward the balcony.