Bound to the Devil

Chapter 2: The Gilded Cage

The heavy oak doors of the Costa villa slammed shut behind us. The sound echoed through the massive marble foyer like a final judgment. It was the sound of my life as a Russo ending, and my existence as a possession beginning.

I stood in the center of the hall, my breath coming in shallow, jagged gasps. The air here was heavy, smelling of expensive wax, aged brandy, and the intoxicating, dangerous scent of Luciano’s cologne—sandalwood and cold steel.

Luciano didn't let go of my wrist. His grip wasn't painful, but it was unyielding, his large thumb tracing the sensitive skin of my inner wrist where my pulse hammered like a trapped bird. He knew. He could feel my heart racing for him.

"Elena," Luciano’s voice rang out, a low, melodic growl that vibrated through the air. A woman in a neat black dress appeared from the shadows, her head bowed. "Show the Signora to the Rose Suite in the East Wing. It is to be her private quarters. For now."

He turned to me, pulling me so close that the lace of my bodice brushed against the fine silk of his waistcoat. He was a wall of heat and muscle. "Dress for dinner, Siena. I’ve had things prepared for you. Don’t keep me waiting. I find I have very little patience when it comes to my new acquisitions."

He released me, his fingers lingering on my skin for a second too long, sending a traitorous jolt of electricity straight to my core. I watched him walk away, his shoulders broad, his gait that of a predator who knew no one dared to stand in his path.

Elena led me to the East Wing. My suite was a masterpiece of gold and deep blues, but I didn't care about the decor. My eyes went straight to the vanity. There sat a small, black velvet box.

I opened it, and my breath caught. Inside lay a gold necklace, heavy and cold, with a blood-red ruby the size of a pigeon’s egg. It didn't look like jewelry. It looked like a mark of ownership. Underneath was a card in sharp, elegant handwriting:

Property of the Costa family. Wear it tonight.

"He expects you to be punctual, Signora," Elena said softly. "And he prefers the black lace."

I stared at the dress laid out on the bed. It was scandalous. The neckline plunged nearly to my navel, and the silk was so thin it would hug every curve like a second skin. It was a dress designed to be taken off.

At exactly eight o'clock, a guard escorted me to the dining hall. The room was dim, lit only by the flickering glow of a dozen tall candles. The shadows danced on the walls, making the massive room feel intimate and suffocating all at once.

Luciano sat at the head of the table. He had changed into a black silk shirt, the top three buttons undone, revealing the hard, tanned line of his collarbone and the edge of a dark tattoo. He was swirling a glass of dark red wine, his eyes fixed on the doorway.

When I entered, his gaze didn't just meet mine—it devoured me. It traveled slowly, agonizingly, from my heels up my legs, lingering on the curve of my hips, before settling on the plunging neckline of the dress. His pupils dilated until his eyes were almost entirely black.

"Sit," he commanded, his voice dropping an octave.

I sat to his right, my back stiff, my skin humming with an awareness I couldn't suppress. The plunging neckline made me feel painfully exposed. Every time I breathed, I could feel the ruby resting against my skin, rising and falling with my chest. I knew he was watching the way my breasts swelled against the lace.

"You look... adequate," he murmured, though the hunger in his eyes said something entirely different.

"Is this how it’s going to be?" I snapped, trying to find my courage. "I’m just a doll for you to dress up and stare at?"

Luciano set his glass down with a slow, deliberate clink. He stood up, walking around the table with the silent grace of a panther. I wanted to look away, but I was frozen. He stopped behind my chair.

I felt his hands drop onto my shoulders. They were large and warm, his fingers splaying across my collarbones. The heat from his palms seeped through the lace, making my breath hitch.

"There is nothing 'adequate' about the way you look tonight, Siena," he whispered, leaning down. His breath was hot against the shell of my ear, sending a wave of goosebumps down my neck. "And you aren't a doll. Dolls don't have hearts that beat this fast when I touch them."

He moved one hand to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my dark hair. He tilted my head back, forcing me to look up at him. From this angle, he looked like a dark god.

"Tonight is our wedding night," he said, his voice a silken thread of danger. "Usually, a husband would claim his prize. He would strip this dress off you and show you exactly who you belong to."

My mouth went dry. My body was betraying me, my n*****s hardening against the silk, an ache starting deep in my belly that I had never felt before. I hated him. I hated what he was doing to my family. But God, I wanted him to touch me.

"Are you going to?" I challenged, my voice a mere whisper.

Luciano’s smirk was lethal. He leaned down, his lips grazing my jawline, moving toward my mouth. He stopped just inches away. "I told you, I don't force myself on women. I want you to beg for it, Siena. I want you to realize that no matter how much you fight me, your body is already mine."

He captured my lips then. It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was an invasion of heat and wine and dominance. He tasted of power and forbidden things. My hands went to his chest, intending to push him away, but my fingers ended up clutching the silk of his shirt, pulling him closer.

He groaned low in his throat—a sound of pure, animalistic hunger—as he deepened the kiss, his tongue claiming mine with an intensity that made my head spin. For a heartbeat, I lost myself. I wasn't a prisoner. I wasn't a pawn. I was just a woman burning in his fire.

He pulled away just as suddenly as he had started, leaving me gasping for air, my lips swollen and tingling. He reached out, his thumb dragging across my lower lip, pulling it down to reveal the pink slickness of my inner mouth.

"Remember that feeling when you’re lying alone tonight," he whispered, his eyes dark with triumph. "Remember how easily I can make you forget who you are."

He turned and disappeared into the shadows of the hallway without another word. I was left alone in the candlelight, my heart racing, my soul already beginning to fray.

I headed back to my room, my legs feeling like lead. But as I passed the library, I saw the door was slightly ajar. A golden sliver of light spilled into the hall.

He was in there. And he had left the door open.

A dare. A trap. A promise.

I should have gone to my room and locked the door. But the fire he had started in my blood was too hot to ignore. I reached for the handle.