She was trembling. Whether from cold, fury, or something more primal, I didn’t know. But I felt it. The charge. The wildfire we'd barely managed to contain inside that chapel.
"You should know something, Sienna," I murmured, low enough that only she could hear.
She tried to pull away, but my grip on her waist tightened.
"Whatever game you think we're playing," I continued, "whatever temporary arrangement you've convinced yourself this is—you're wrong."
Her breathing hitched, her pulse visible at the delicate hollow of her throat.
"You're mine now," I said, each word a brand. "Whether you realize it or not."
Her nails dug into my forearm through my suit jacket, five points of exquisite pain.
"I will never be yours," she whispered fiercely, eyes blazing with promised retribution.
I smiled, slow and dangerous, letting her see the predator beneath the expensive suit and cold control.
"We'll see about that."
We stepped out into the night, husband and wife in name only.
But as I helped her into the waiting car, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd set something in motion that neither of us could stop—something that would either save us both or burn us to the ground.
And God help me, I wasn't sure which I wanted more.
CHAPTER 4
Sienna
Three hours after our wedding ceremony, the penthouse doors swung open, and this time, everything felt different.
Same space. Same floor-to-ceiling windows with rain lashing against them. Same expensive art and soulless perfection.
But last night I'd been a captive. Tonight, I was his wife.
"Welcome home, Mrs. Romano," Luca said, his voice thick with mockery as he loosened his tie. The title landed differently now—heavier, more permanent than it had been last night when he'd first used it.
Lightning flashed, briefly illuminating his face—all sharp angles and predatory intensity.
I dropped my small clutch on the sleek marble countertop I'd passed a dozen times last night during my restless pacing. But I didn'tsurvey the space like I had then. I already knew every corner of my gilded cage.
"Still not my home," I said, moving toward the windows. "Marriage certificate doesn't change that."
Luca smirked, pouring amber liquid into two glasses—the same crystal decanter I'd touched last night. "Most prisoners don't get upgraded from captive to wife in twenty-four hours."
"Most jailers don't kiss their captives like you kissed me at the altar."
His hand stilled for just a beat. Bullseye.
"Careful,principessa," he drawled, handing me a glass. "Someone might think you enjoyed it."
I accepted the whiskey but didn't drink. "Someone would be delusional."
He watched me over the rim of his glass, eyes tracking every movement as I walked the perimeter of the room. The weight of his gaze prickled across my skin.
"So, what now?" I asked, gesturing around us. "We play happy couple until... when exactly? Until you've squeezed every advantage from my family name? Until one of us ends up with a bullet between the eyes?"
"Until it's no longer necessary." He shrugged out of his jacket, draping it over a chair with practiced ease. "Could be months. Could be years."
