LUST and CAGE: The Mafia King's Obsession

Luisa Milton sat on the ice-cold metal chair, her wrists raw where the ropes dug deep. She twisted and pulled, but the bonds only tightened, cutting off blood until her fingers tingled with pins and needles. Her heart slammed against her ribs as the healthy-looking man knelt before her and seized her legs. She kicked and thrashed, heels scraping uselessly across the floor, muscles burning with effort. He overpowered her easily, wrapping the rope around her ankles with steady, merciless turns until it bit hard enough to threaten circulation. She whimpered against the thick tape sealing her mouth—the sound trapped and pathetic in her own throat. He finished and stood, brushing his hands together with clear satisfaction, a smug tilt to his mouth as he admired his work. Luisa glared up at him, chest heaving, every breath a battle. The door swung open. David walked in. He carried himself like any tired father, yet the air seemed heavier around him. No monster roared. Just a man who had made his choice. “Everything set?” he asked. The man nodded. “She’s a tough one, boss.” David let out a growl that almost sounded like laughter. “Of course she is…” His gaze settled on Luisa. She grunted against the tape, jerking forward as far as the ropes allowed, eyes blazing with fury and betrayal. He was supposed to be her father. He was supposed to protect her. He stepped closer and reached for her face. Luisa yanked her head away violently, evading his touch as if it carried poison. Her eyes burned with hate, promising violence if she ever broke free. He studied her for a moment, then spoke. “Oh Luisa… I thought I’d keep you close after your mother gave up on me, but I guess I was wrong…” His voice mixed sorrow and satisfaction in a way that twisted her stomach. “Keeping you was my biggest hold on her. But now? It’s also my biggest breakthrough.” Luisa growled low in her throat and fought harder, shoulders straining, the chair creaking under her. The ropes cut deeper, but the pain barely registered against the storm inside her chest. He had thrown her away the moment a better deal appeared. The man who should have shielded her had sold her instead. The realization clawed at her, raw and aching, threatening to crack her apart. David let out a heavy sigh and glanced at his wristwatch. A small smile touched his lips. “I wish I could bid you a proper farewell, but then, time’s up, and your husband awaits you at the altar.” He signaled the guard. The man unlocked the wheels and began rolling the chair, Luisa still bound tight to it. Each bump jarred through her bones. She had imagined her life unfolding in countless directions—freedom, choices, love on her own terms. Never this. Never bound and wheeled like cargo toward a fate forced upon her. They rolled her down the long aisle. Candlelight flickered weakly, throwing long shadows over silent figures seated on either side. Luisa spotted the man waiting at the front in an expensive grey suit. She couldn’t see his face, only the broad, firm shoulders filling the fabric, rigid and unyielding. He stood like a statue, back turned, not even shifting as she approached. The guard positioned her chair right beside him. Luisa tried to speak, to shout, but the tape muffled everything into angry grunts. She twisted and strained. He didn’t turn. Didn’t acknowledge her existence at all. Her pulse thundered in her ears. Footsteps echoed from behind—several pairs. She recognized her father was among them. The priest entered, face pale, and began the ceremony. He spoke the usual opening words in a shaky voice, each syllable heavy in the tense air. Luisa waited, muscles coiled. They would remove the tape for her vows. She would refuse. She would scream. But when the priest reached the vows, no one touched her face. The tall stranger beside her answered in a calm, memorized rhythm, his voice deep and steady. Her part never came. They left her silenced. When the priest said, “You may now kiss your bride,” the stranger finally turned. He was strikingly beautiful—well-trimmed beard framing a strong jaw and chin, features so refined she might have mistaken him for something softer if not for the hard lines. Luisa’s breath caught. She recognized that face. The memory hovered just out of reach, teasing her, refusing to surface no matter how she searched her mind. He leaned down slowly, bringing his eyes level. His gaze locked onto hers, searching deep, peeling back every defense. Luisa stared back, anger and fear tangling inside her. A faint curve touched his lips—not quite a smile. Something darker. Wicked. A promise she didn’t understand but felt in her bones. “We'll kiss,when she’s ready.” It wasn’t a request. It was a command. The priest gulped, a fresh drop of sweat sliding down his forehead, his hands trembling visibly. “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the priest declared quickly. No applause. No joy. The silence pressed down like a grave. The contrast clawed at Luisa—the wedding she had fantasized about was now reduced to this cold, forced union. The priest turned to the groom. “Mr. Deveraux…” “Get out,” the man said, voice low but cutting. The priest nodded frantically and hurried away, footsteps echoing in retreat, clearly relieved to escape. The groom turned back to Luisa. She felt his eyes on her, studying her like property finally claimed after long waiting. A triumphant look settled over his face. She had seen that expression before, somewhere in the shadows of her past. The face. The way he regarded her. “You are mine now,” he whispered, leaning close enough that his breath brushed her skin. “Butterfly.” The word slammed into her. Butterfly. It echoed through her head, unlocking the memory with brutal force. Her eyes widened in raw, dawning horror. She remembered the beach. And suddenly, the ropes around her wrists no longer felt like the worst part. She tried to blink him away, to erase the moment, but he remained—real, solid, and now bound to her by the words still hanging in the dead air. Shit.