CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SIX
CASSIE
I wake up in the same dress I wore at my father’s funeral. Questions swimming in my mind. Not that I got that much sleep anyway. I spent the majority of the night tossing and turning, going over the events of the day. And then I thought some more about my dad’s death.
Nothing makes sense at the moment. Absolutely fucking nothing.
The sun shines through the blinds of the windows in the beautiful room fit for a queen. It’s nauseatingly perfect, my dream room when I was a teenager, except it’s a more mature. Which makes it all the more unsettling. It feels like a cage and not something to enjoy.
The last place I want to be is here.
This brand new day comes with some clarity though and new resolve.
I’m not just going to sit down and take it when some mobster crashes my father’s funeral and demands that I go home with him.
I’ve come to the decision that he’s certifiably insane and I need to get out of his hold as soon as possible.
I hear the door open before I see him. Heavy footsteps. Steady. Unhurried. Damien Luciano doesn’t knock. Of course he doesn’t.
I don’t turn around. I stay curled on the edge of the couch, arms wrapped tightly around my knees, facing the window trying to hide the scratch I made trying to break it earlier. But every nerve in my body sharpens. My skin prickles like it knows he’s here before my brain fully catches up.
A soft click breaks the silence as he sets the tray down on the table.
“I thought you might be hungry,” he says. His voice is low. Smooth. Measured.
“I’m not,” I reply without looking at him.
The silence stretches, and I feel his eyes crawling across the room.
I can’t see him, but I feel him.
There’s something about him, like I’ve met him before in a dream I can’t quite remember.
That face. That voice. That brutal kind of beauty you don’t forget.
And yet… my pulse reacts like it knows him.
“You haven’t eaten since you got here,” he says.
“Maybe I’m not hungry for anything you offer.”
I hear the scrape of a chair. He’s sitting now—like this is some twisted dinner date.
“I didn’t poison it,” he adds. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” I lie.
A breath of a laugh. “You should be.”
I force myself to turn and face him. He’s lounging in the chair like he owns the whole world. One leg crossed, hands resting calmly in his lap. His suit is black, crisp, expensive. His face carved from marble. And those ice-blue eyes never stop watching me.
“What do you want, Damien?” I ask, biting his name like it’s poison.
“I want you to eat.”
“That’s what you want? That’s your big demand?”
He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and studies me like I’m some wild thing he’s already caged.
“You’re not a prisoner, Cassandra.”
I laugh bitterly. “Oh, of course. I’m just what? A guest? An unwilling participant in whatever game you think you’re playing?”
“You’re mine.”
The words hit harder than they should.
I stare at him. “I belong to no one.”
“I’m not claiming ownership,” he says calmly. “I’m claiming intention. You’re mine because I’ve decided you are.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“It is for me.”
He stands, and I stand too, reacting before I even realize I’ve moved. He doesn’t touch me, but he closes the distance between us until I can’t ignore the heat radiating off him.
He’s close. Too close.
And I hate that my body notices.
The scent of him wraps around me. It’s dark, masculine, laced with spice and something more primal.
My breath catches and I hate that it does.
“You can hate me all you want,” he murmurs, his voice silk over steel. “But that won’t change the way you react when I’m near.”
He lifts a hand, and for a moment, I think he’s going to touch me.
He doesn’t.
But his fingers hover close enough to my cheek that I can feel the heat from them. My skin tingles like it wants to close the gap. I flinch, just slightly, but I don’t move away. And neither does he.
The moment stretches. Then he steps back. Just like that, the air in the room shifts again.
One of the maids, Ana, I think, walks in, carrying a silver tray with more breakfast items.
She doesn’t meet my eyes as she sets it down next to the tray Damien brought in.
His icy blue gaze sweeps over the room again.
He tuts under his breath, “So I take it you simply didn’t like the food, bella ?”
I cross my arms over his chest, glaring at him.
“I already told you I wasn’t hungry for anything you have to offer. Besides, why risk being poisoned?”
His mouth curves into something that might be amusement. Or disdain, it’s hard to tell.
“Why would I go through all this trouble simply to poison you? Seems a little short-sighted don’t you think? Plus, poison is definitely not my weapon of murder.”
“So what is it then?” I ask curiously.
“Sharp knives,” he replies cruelly.
A shiver rolls through me, reminding me that I’m not dealing with a normal human being.
“Do you also not like your new wardrobe?” he asks, nodding towards the massive closet that’s behind a black door in the room before his gaze trails over the dress I’m still wearing. “Hundreds of clothes, all in your size, carefully handpicked for you. And you didn’t find anything to your liking?”
I lift my chin, “I didn’t feel like playing dress up.”
He laughs, low and soft, almost genuinely entertained. It makes me want to throw something at him.
I stay seated on the bed, back straight, refusing to cower.
“I want my phone,” I say, keeping my voice steady.
He cocks his head to the side, his eyes never straying from me, “Why?”
The nerve of this man.
“Why?” I grit out. “I don’t know, because I need a phone to communicate with the outside world? I don’t even understand why your hulk of a bodyguard practically ripped it out of my hands yesterday in the first place.”
“Apologies for that. We needed to make sure your location couldn’t be tracked,” he states.
“Okay and now that you have, can I have my phone back?”
“No,” he replies. “There were two trackers on it. I’m afraid the phone had to be destroyed.”
My heart clenches in my chest, “You destroyed my phone?”
“I can assure you everything on it was backed up so you’ll be able to recover whatever was on it. I’ll buy you a new one soon.”
I inhale softly, trying not to lose it.
“I don’t want anything from you. I want to talk to my uncle. And my friends. They must be worried about me.”
He contemplates that for a moment, his gaze steady.
“You’ll be able to speak with your friends later today. As for your uncle, what do you want to talk to him about?”
“Are you kidding? How about the fact that I was kidnapped by a psychopathic mobster?”
“I’m not a psychopath, bella . Psychopaths are devoid of feelings.”
“And you think you have feelings?”
“You don’t really know if I do, now do you? You don’t know anything, Cassandra,” he points out.
My jaw tightens. He’s right. I feel like I’m afloat on top of the sea, drifting endlessly with no rescue in sight.
“I can tell you. Whatever questions you have for your uncle about your current situation, I’ll answer them,” he states.
My eyes narrow. It feels too easy.
“What’s the catch?”
He smirks, “Very good. You’re already aware that nothing comes for free in this world. But I don’t want much, bella . All I want is for you to eat your breakfast. Renata will be sad when she finds out you’re not eating the food she’s prepared for you.”
I think about the kind, old woman I met last night and feel a wave of guilt. I stare at the breakfast tray, eggs, bacon, toast and there’s a croissant as well. I love croissants. I feel like Renata knew that somehow. Who knows what they’ve been able to find out about me.
Still I silently concede, nodding my head to show that I’ll eat. I’m hungry anyway and if the food really is poisoned, then a croissant isn’t the worst way to go.
“Good girl,” Luciano praises. The words feel slimy coming from his lips. “I’ll leave you to enjoy your meal. Ana will wait here until you’re done.”
I completely forgot about the petite maid with blonde hair standing silently in the corner the entire time. Her expression is blank. It feels weird having a maid. This isn’t 18 th century England.
“Why does she have to wait?” I question.
“To help you dress up. Wear something pretty and maybe I’ll answer all your questions.”
I scowl, “You already agreed to answer my questions.”
“Not all of them.”
His eyes glint dangerous in the morning light. He takes a few steps closer, until he’s standing at the foot of the bed, towering over me.
“What are you doing?” I ask quietly, my voice not as strong as I’d like.
I can’t help it. He makes me nervous, despite how much I try to hide it. He looks down and when our gazes connect I feel a zap of electricity. He reaches down to touch me but I shift out of the way. His hands have no business anywhere near me.
His lips curl in disappointment but he doesn’t mention it.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Cassandra. You’ll soon come to realize that all I want is to protect you.”
“Protect me from what?”
“Anyone that would dare to harm you,” he replies easily.
“And who’s going to protect me from you?”
He doesn’t have a reply to that. but I do catch a glimpse of some hidden emotion in those eyes of his.
He turns toward the door before I can try to decipher it.
Then he pauses. I should have let him walk out but my body move quicker than my brain and I launch myself off the bed and go straight for him.
He doesn’t expect it—not fully. He turns around, his eyes flash with something between amusement and surprise as I throw the first punch, sharp and fast. He blocks it with lazy ease, but I’m already spinning, aiming a roundhouse kick at his ribs.
He catches it mid-air.
I twist free and drop into a low stance, sweeping my leg toward his feet. He hops over it. I go for a palm strike to his throat, then an elbow to the ribs. He blocks both. Effortlessly. Like he’s dancing.