Bound To The Ruthless Mafia Heir; Claimed By His Brother

Chapter Nine: Marital Duties

My thoughts were pulling me under… and I was drowning. It was nighttime in the estate now, and the whole place was as silent as a graveyard.

The green silk dress I’d been wearing earlier was gone, replaced by a simple oversized t-shirt, but I was still restless, and I knew why.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw those surveillance photos in Cassian’s study. I rolled onto my side, staring at the heavy oak door, wishing I could just vanish through the floorboards or, better still, run away and not be chased and forced back.

A knock sounded at the door, pulling me out of my spiral.

I sat up, my heart leaping into my throat. Another knock sounded again, and I didn’t want to answer it, but I knew ignoring it wasn’t an option.

"Who is it?" I called out, my voice sounding tiny in the quiet room.

"Alberto, Mrs. Moretti," the stiff voice replied from the other side. "Alpha Cassian wants to see you in his room immediately."

My stomach did a violent flip. Hearing his title spoken so formally by Alberto was like a reminder of the power he held over every single person on this property.

"Tell him I’m asleep," I said, gripping the edge of my mattress.

"He knows you’re awake, Ma'am," Alberto said, his tone flat and unbothered by my weak attempt at an excuse. "He’s waiting. Don’t keep him waiting."

The footsteps faded down the hallway, leaving me alone with the ringing in my ears. I sat on the edge of the bed for a full minute, forcing air into my lungs.

My hands were shaking, so I balled them into fists to steady myself. I couldn’t run, and I couldn’t hide, so I swung my legs out of bed and walked out.

The walk to Cassian’s private wing felt like a march to a firing squad. The guards stationed along the hallways didn’t even blink as I passed them, keeping their eyes trained straight ahead like they were statues. I reached his door, took one deep breath, and pushed it open without knocking.

Cassian was sitting in his wheelchair near the massive windows, staring out into the pitch-black garden. The room was mostly dark, illuminated only by a single lamp on his nightstand that threw his sharp profile into harsh relief.

The scar on his cheek looked deeper in the shadows, making him look completely detached from any sort of human emotion.

He didn’t turn around right away when I entered, letting the silence stretch out between us until it felt heavy and uncomfortable enough to suffocate me.

"Close the door, Belinda," he said quietly.

I turned and pushed the door shut, hearing the heavy lock click into place. "Alberto said you wanted to see me."

"I did," Cassian said, finally rotating his wheelchair to face me. His dark eyes locked onto mine, devoid of any warmth or familiarity. "Come closer."

I took a few steps forward, stopping a safe distance away from him. My mind was spinning, trying to figure out if this was the moment he was going to confront me about Rafael. I braced myself for the accusation, for the anger, for the threats.

"It’s time for you to fulfill your duty to me," he said, his voice entirely smooth and level.

I blinked, staring at him as my brain spaced out. What was he talking about? "My duty? What are you talking about, Cassian? It’s the middle of the night."

"You’re my wife," he said, as if explaining something simple to a child. "We made an alliance, and you’ve got roles to play. I've decided that from tonight… you start playing them."

"I don’t understand," I said, a knot of pure dread forming in my chest. "You want to talk about the shipping contracts now? Or the political dinner?"

Cassian let out a short, dry laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. "Don’t play dumb, Belinda. It doesn’t suit you. Now strip."

The word hung in the air, and I froze, my eyes widening as the reality of what he was saying finally crashed through my confusion. The blood completely drained from my face, leaving me cold from head to toe.

"What?" I whispered, taking a step backward.

"You heard me," Cassian said, his hands resting casually on the armrests of his wheelchair. "Take off your clothes."

"No," I said immediately, the word slipping out before I could even think. "No. I’m not doing that."

"I didn’t ask for your opinion, nor did I give you a choice," he said, his tone not even rising. He remained perfectly calm, which somehow made the situation ten times more terrifying.

"I said no," I repeated, my voice shaking but determined. "You can’t just call me into your room in the dark and command me like I’m a whore."

Cassian tilted his head slightly, analyzing me like a specimen under a microscope. "You belong to me, yes? Your father gave you to me to do as I please."

"That doesn’t mean you own my body," I snapped, my anger briefly flaring up past the fear.

"It means exactly that," Cassian replied coldly. "Now, you’ve got two choices, Belinda. You can either take off that shirt yourself, or I can call Alberto and the guards inside to help you."

I stared at him, my breath catching in my throat. "You wouldn’t."

"Try me," he said, his hand moving toward the intercom button on his desk. "I’ll have them walk through that door, pin you down, and strip you bare right in front of me. Then they’ll leave, and we’ll proceed anyway. Do you want them to touch you, Belinda?"

The image flashed through my mind, raw and humiliating. I knew he wasn’t bluffing. A man like Cassian didn’t make empty threats; he gave orders, and people executed them without question.

If I screamed, no one would even bother to come to save me. I was completely, utterly alone in this house.

"You’re a monster," I whispered, the tears finally burning the backs of my eyes.

"Indeed," Cassian said. "And I’m losing my patience. Start Striping.”

My hands trembled violently as I reached down to the hem of my oversized t-shirt. Every single instinct in my body was screaming at me to run, to fight, to do anything except obey him.

But the thought of the guards entering the room, of being degraded like that, forced my hands to move. I pulled the fabric up and over my head, dropping it onto the cold hardwood floor.

I stood there in just my underwear, goosebumps instantly erupting across my skin from the chilly air. I felt completely exposed, stripped of every ounce of dignity I had left. I kept my arms crossed over my chest, trying to shield myself from his piercing gaze.

Cassian didn’t blink. His eyes moved down my body, slow and calculating, checking me over like a piece of property he’d just purchased. There was no lust in his expression, no passion, no heat. It was just pure, unadulterated dominance.

"The rest of it," he commanded quietly.

I bit my inside cheek so hard I tasted copper. With fumbling, numb fingers, I reached behind my back and unhooked my bra, letting it fall to the floor.

Then I pushed down my underwear until I was completely naked, standing in the center of the dark room. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole.

I couldn’t look him in the eye, so I focused on a spot on the rug near his front wheel and dug a hole into it in my head.

"Get on the bed," Cassian said.

He still hadn’t moved an inch from his wheelchair. He sat there, fully clothed in his dark suit, looking completely immaculate while I was falling apart right in front of him. The power dynamic was so in his favor it made me feel sick to my stomach.

I walked over to the massive four-poster bed, my bare feet making no sound against the floorboards. The sheets were crisp and white, looking like an altar for the sacrificial lamb—me. I climbed onto the mattress, pulling my knees up to my chest immediately to hide myself from him.

"Lie down flat on your back, Belinda," he ordered, rolling his wheelchair a few inches closer to the edge of the bed.

I slowly lowered my back onto the mattress, staring up at his ceiling now. The cold air hit my skin again, making me shiver.

Cassian positioned his wheelchair right beside the mattress, looking down at me from above. His presence was huge, blocking out the rest of the dark room. He rested his elbows on the armrests, interlacing his fingers together.

"Spread your legs," he said.

I felt a sob catch in my throat, but I forced it down, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I slowly let my knees fall apart, opening myself up to his cold, critical gaze.

I expected him to climb onto the bed. I expected him to touch me, to enforce his physical marital rights, to do what any husband in this brutal world would do.

But he just sat there in his chair, completely still, watching me.

"Now," Cassian murmured, his eyes locking onto my p***y. "Touch yourself.”