"But you don't."
She pulls her hand away finally and opens the car door. She steps out into the garage like she's stepping onto a battlefield.
I follow her out, use my key card to call the private elevator, and watch as she steps inside. The doors close behind us, and we rise toward the penthouse in silence.
Toward her new cage. Her new life. Her new reality.
With me.
When the doors open, I gesture for her to step out first. She does, her eyes going wide as she takes in the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city sprawled below us, a thousand lights burning.
"Welcome home, Francesca," I say.
She turns to look at me, and I see the exact moment she realizes the full truth of her situation. The moment she understands that everything has changed. That there's no goingback to her old life. That she belongs to me now, whether she likes it or not.
"This isn't my home," she says.
I close the distance between us and cup her face in my hands. She freezes but doesn't pull away. She doesn't fight. She just stares up at me with those terrified eyes.
"It is now." And before she can argue, I take her mouth with mine.
She's home. She just doesn't know it yet.
8
FRANCESCA
He kisses me like he owns me.
And the worst part? Some traitorous part of me wants to kiss him back.
I don't. I stand there frozen in his hands, my heart hammering so hard I'm sure he can feel it. His mouth is warm and demanding and absolutely certain, like everything else about him. Like he has every right to touch me. To take me. To claim me.
When he finally pulls back, I'm shaking. From fear, from fury, from want.
"Welcome home,mia bella," he says again, softer this time. His thumbs brush my cheekbones and that's when I notice—I'm crying. I hadn't even realized.
I jerk away from his touch and he lets me go, lets me stumble backward into the penthouse that's apparently mine now, whether I want it or not.
The space is enormous. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrap around the corner, the city sprawling below us as if we're floating above it all. Manhattan glitters in the distance, a thousand lights that might as well be a million miles away. The furnitureis expensive and minimalist. Black leather. Chrome. Glass. Everything sharp edges and cold surfaces.
It's beautiful in the way a mausoleum is beautiful.
"This way." Luca's hand settles on the small of my back, guiding me deeper into the apartment. I want to shake him off but I'm too busy cataloging exits. The elevator door behind us with its keypad lock. The windows that probably don't open. The hallway ahead that branches off to the left.
He leads me down that hallway, past a closed door on the right, and stops at the second door on the left. He opens it.
"Your room."
I step inside because what choice do I have? The room is bigger than my entire studio apartment. A king bed with white linens. A dresser. A closet. Another wall of windows overlooking the city. There's even a bathroom attached, all marble and chrome.
It's a cage. A very expensive cage.
"The bathroom's stocked with everything you'll need," he says from the doorway. "Tomorrow I'll have clothes brought in your size."
"How do you know my size?" But I already know the answer. He's been watching me for months. He probably knows my measurements better than I do.
He just looks at me with that dark, knowing gaze.
