BOUND BY DECEIT

SLOANE’S POV A pounding ache in my skull yanked me from unconsciousness. My senses returned into jagged pieces. First, the dull throb behind my eyes, then the scent of expensive cologne and faint smoke. Beneath my palms, smooth sheets. Soft. Too soft. Not the cold cement floor I had expected. My pulse quickened. Immediately, my lashes flutter open. Where am I? I blinked, my vision sharpening. The room wasn’t looking like what I had anticipated it to be. No damp walls. No metallic scent of blood. Instead, everything reeked of control. Dark mahogany furniture sits in the corner of the room. Heavy drapes muting the outside world and a bed big enough to swallow my whole. Not a prison. Not yet. Then, the realization crashed into me like a tidal wave. My wrist is tied. Silk restraints. Not rope. Not cuffs. Silk. My breath hitched before I forced it steady, mind snapping to attention. How the hell did I get here? I forced my breathing to steady, ignoring the instinctual panic clawing up my throat. Panic wouldn’t serve me here. My mind snapped into focus, dragging me back to the last thing I could remember. Inferno, the private club. The suffocating tension of Luca Marino’s gaze raking over me like he already knew. Then. Nothing. Everything went black. A trap. I walked straight into it. A shift in the air sent a shiver down my spine. I wasn’t alone. Luca stands by the door, just a few feet away, silently watching. The dim light carved sharp angles into his face, shadows twisting him into something almost unreal. His broad shoulders filled out a crisp black shirt, the sleeves rolled up over veiny forearms. His stance was casual, but there was undeniable weight in the way he watched me. Everything about him spoke of control. Precision. Calculated dominance wrapped in quiet ease. I swallowed, subtly testing the restraints. They weren't cutting off circulation, but they weren't loose either. I could get out of them with time. Unfortunately, time wasn't on my side. "You're awake." His voice was low, carrying an undertone I couldn’t quite place. No immediate threats. No show of violence. That was worse. I forced a slow exhale. "Should I be thanking you for the hospitality?" Luca's mouth curved just slightly. Not a smirk. Not amusement. Something in between. A flicker of something passes in his dark but hazel-looking eyes. Sharp and calculating. "That depends." He stepped closer, the floor silent beneath his measured stride. "Do you think you deserve it?" I tilted my head, meeting his gaze like I wasn't tied to his damn bed. "That depends. Are you the kind of man who expects gratitude from a woman he kidnaps?" A flash of something in his eyes, amusement? Annoyance? I couldn't tell. "I haven't hurt you." Yet. The unspoken word slithered between them. I flexed my fingers, rolling my wrists just enough to gauge how much movement I had. Not much. If I tried to break free now, he'd notice. And if Luca noticed, he'd act, that's a risk I wasn’t ready to take at the moment. I smiled, slow, deliberate. "And should I be grateful for that, too?" Luca studied me for a long moment before reaching down. I tensed, bracing for what? A hand around my throat? A blade against my skin? Or maybe a gun pointed at my face? Instead, his fingers brushed my wrist, working the silk loose. The restraints fell away like an afterthought. I didn't move immediately. I curled my fingers, feeling the blood return to them, but remained seated on the bed, forcing myself to appear calmer than I felt. Luca stepped back, giving me space. That, more than anything, made my pulse spike. I met his gaze. "What now? You let me go?" He exhaled, almost like he was bored. "No.” I fought the urge to scoff. “I figured as much.” Silence stretched between us, weighed with unspoken thoughts. Luca slipped a hand into his pocket and retrieved something small. A flash drive. He rolled it between his fingers, his face giving nothing away. A chill crept through me. Just how much did he know?” “I had questions before Emily,” Luca says with a knowing voice. "But now, I have answers.” How much information does he know, if he's still calling her Emily? My pulse pounded but I kept my face perfectly neutral. “Good for you.” Luca didn’t react to the edge in my voice, instead, he stepped forward, lowering himself onto the edge of the bed. Too close. Near enough that the sharp, dark scent of his cologne reached her. "You have no past." His voice was quiet but laced with danger. "No history before a certain point. Nothing but a sketchy backstory and a paper trail that doesn't exist." I held his gaze, my heart hammering. Luca leaned in slightly, his presence suffocating. "That makes you one of two things, Emily Richardson." My breath locked in my throat. "A ghost," he murmured. "Or perhaps a spy." A weight of silence filled the room pressing in around us. His fingers found my chin, guiding my face towards him with deliberate pressure. Not rough, not painful, just firm. I smirked, masking the quickened beat of my heart. "Maybe I just like being a mystery." Luca spoke with quite ease, his voice effortlessly smooth. "That won’t last for long." The words settled in my ears like a death sentence. I forced myself to hold his gaze, even as my mind raced. I had been careful. Precise. Every detail of my cover was crafted to withstand scrutiny. If he was digging, if he was questioning, why? What had I missed? Luca released my face, standing fluidly. “You're going to tell me what I want to know, Emily.” I lifted a brow, my voice deliberately uninterested. “And if I don’t.” Luca believed he was in charge. He had no idea what he just let in. "You will." There was no arrogance in the words. No taunt. Just quiet, absolute certainty. My fingers curled into the sheets. I didn't doubt him. But I had spent too long perfecting the art of deception to crumble now. Luca had no idea what he'd just brought into his home. Game on.