Bound to the Devil

Chapter 9: A Beautiful Deception

The car ride back to the Costa estate felt like sitting on a powder keg. My hand stayed buried in the pocket of my dress, my fingers white-knuckled as they gripped the edges of the letter. Every time the SUV hit a bump, I flinched, terrified that the rustle of the paper would give me away.

Beside me, Luciano was unusually quiet. His earlier rage had been replaced by a brooding intensity that was somehow more unsettling. He kept looking at me—not with the coldness of a jailer, but with a predatory curiosity. The kiss in the library had changed something. I had intended it as a distraction, but the way he had responded told me I had accidentally opened a door I might never be able to close.

"You’re very quiet, Siena," he said, his voice a low vibration in the small space. "Usually, after a trip to your father’s, you have a dozen insults ready for me."

"I'm just tired, Luciano. Seeing him... it reminded me of how much has changed in such a short time." It wasn't entirely a lie. My world had flipped on its axis, and my own father was the architect of the chaos.

Luciano reached over, his large hand covering mine on my lap. I suppressed a shiver. "You were different today. In the library. You came to me."

I forced myself to meet his eyes, praying he couldn't see the guilt swimming in mine. "Maybe I’m just tired of fighting the inevitable."

His eyes darkened, a flash of something that looked like hope—or hunger—crossing his face. He didn't say anything else, but he didn't let go of my hand until we reached the gates of the villa.

As soon as we stepped inside, I made a move for the stairs. "I’m going to change for dinner."

"Siena." His voice stopped me at the first step. He was standing in the center of the foyer, the light from the chandelier reflecting in his dark hair. "Don't hide from me tonight. I want you at the table. Not as a prisoner, but as my wife."

"I'll be there," I whispered, before practically sprinting up the stairs.

Inside my room, I locked the door and leaned against it, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I pulled the letter and the photo from my pocket. My father’s handwriting stared back at me like a death warrant. If Luciano found this, the war wouldn't just be about territory—it would be a bloodbath of vengeance.

I looked around the room. The lilies sat on the vanity, their invisible eyes watching. I couldn't hide it in the drawers. I couldn't burn it in the fireplace—the scent of burning paper would be too obvious.

Finally, I walked to the bed. I lifted the heavy mattress and slid the documents deep into the center, between the frame and the box spring. It was a temporary solution, but it was all I had.

I dressed for dinner with a sense of impending doom. I chose a dress of emerald silk that clung to my body like a second skin. If I was going to play the part of the devoted wife to protect my family’s sins, I had to be convincing.

When I joined Luciano, the dining room was quiet. Only two places were set. No guards stood in the corners, and even Elena had been dismissed.

"Just us tonight," Luciano said, rising to pull out my chair. He looked different—relaxed, almost. He poured me a glass of deep red wine. "I wanted to thank you. For today. You handled Vittorio and Moretti better than any Capo I’ve ever seen."

"I was raised for this, Luciano. You know that."

"Raised for it, yes. But you have a fire that can't be taught." He sat down, his gaze never leaving mine. "I spent my whole life thinking the Russos were nothing but snakes. But you... you are something else entirely."

The guilt twisted in my gut like a knife. He was opening up to me, showing me a glimpse of the man beneath the monster, and I was sitting on the proof that my father had murdered his.

"Luciano, why did you really agree to this marriage?" I asked, needing to change the subject. "You could have just killed my father and taken the territory."

He took a slow sip of his wine, his expression thoughtful. "At first, it was strategic. A way to end the war without losing more men. But then I saw you at the engagement dinner. You didn't look at me with fear like the others. You looked at me with a hatred that was so pure, it was beautiful. I realized then that I didn't just want the Russo land. I wanted the Russo heart."

"You can't force a heart to beat for you," I said softly.

"I know," he murmured. He stood up and walked around the table, stopping behind me. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. "But I can make it race."

He slid his hands down my arms, his touch making my skin prickle. He pulled me up from the chair and turned me around to face him. The air between us was thick with a tension that was no longer just about anger. It was a magnetic pull, a craving that had been building since the moment we met.

"You're shaking again, Siena," he whispered, his hands moving to my waist, pulling me flush against his hard body. "Is it fear this time? Or is it because you want me to stop talking?"

"I hate you," I breathed, but my hands were already finding their way into his hair, pulling him closer.

"I know," he growled.

He captured my lips in a kiss that was a total eclipse of my senses. This wasn't the bruising claim of the garden or the desperate distraction of the library. This was a slow, deliberate seduction. His tongue danced with mine, tasting of wine and heat. I let out a moan, my body melting into his as his hands roamed over the silk of my dress, tracing the curve of my hips and the small of my back.

He lifted me up onto the dining table, scattering the silver cutlery. He stepped between my legs, his hands sliding up my thighs, bunching the emerald silk.

"Tell me you want this," he demanded, his breath ragged against my throat. "Tell me you want me, Siena. Not the Capo. Not the Costa name. Me."

I looked into his eyes—those stormy, haunted grey eyes—and for a moment, I forgot about the letter under the mattress. I forgot about my father’s betrayal and the war outside these walls. In this moment, there was only the heat of him and the way he made me feel alive in a way I never had before.

"I want you, Luciano," I whispered, the truth of it terrifying me more than any lie.

He didn't need another word. He lowered his head, his mouth claiming mine again as his hand moved to the zipper of my dress. The sound of it sliding down was the only noise in the room.

But as he pulled the silk from my shoulders, exposing me to his hungry gaze, a distant sound echoed through the house.

A gunshot.

Luciano froze. In a heartbeat, the lover was gone, and the predator was back. He shoved me behind him, reaching for the gun he always kept concealed at his back.

"Stay down!" he commanded, his voice like iron.

The doors to the dining room burst open. It was one of his guards, blood soaking through his shoulder. "Master! They're inside! The North Gate was breached!"

Luciano looked at me, a flash of pure, unadulterated terror crossing his face for the first time. "Elena! Get her to the panic room! Now!"

He didn't wait to see if I followed. He sprinted out of the room toward the sound of the fighting, leaving me standing there half-undressed, the taste of him still on my lips and the shadow of my family’s secret looming larger than ever.

The war hadn't just come to the house. It had come for our souls.