CHAPTER SIX #2
I’m gritting my teeth now, adrenaline pumping. I throw a flurry of jabs—left, right, left—then pivot into a front kick aimed for his stomach.
He snatches my ankle midair.
Shit.
Before I can react, I’m spun around. My back slams gently—but firmly—into the wall. His body pins mine there, all solid muscle and molten heat. His thigh slides between mine, locking me in place. One hand wraps around both my wrists above my head, the other presses into the wall.
I’m breathing hard. My chest rising and falling. My dress clinging to me from the heat. His lips hover dangerously close to mine.
“Was that your escape attempt, bella ?” he breathes, voice husky and low. “Because I have to say... I’m impressed.”
I try to ignore the ache building between my thighs at how easily he overtook me.
“Let me go,” I hiss.
He doesn’t move. Just dips his head lower until his mouth brushes the shell of my ear.
“You're fast. Precise. Sexy as hell when you're trying to break my nose,” he murmurs. “But don’t ever try that shit again. Next time... I won’t be gentle.”
My breath stutters in my throat.
Then, just as suddenly, he steps back. Releases me.
I stand there for a few moments, heart thudding like a drumbeat in my chest. Then I push off the wall and straighten my dress.
“See you in an hour and a half, bella ,” he says over his shoulder. “Don’t be late.”
And then he’s gone, leaving me and Ana in the room. Although I might as well be alone with how quiet she is. I don’t miss the expression on her face after witnessing my sorry attempt at taking down the 6’4 mafia king.
What were you thinking, Cassie? I think suddenly feeling the weight of what just happened.
I need answers to my questions. I need to understand this confusing situation. And I need a way out of this mess.
***
I’m late out of spite.
The heels of my boots click against the marble floor as Ana guides me through the sprawling house.
I tried to make conversation earlier in the room after she refused to leave but she barely said more than a couple of sentences.
She mostly seemed intent in getting me dressed fast so as not to keep, ‘boss’ waiting.
I rolled my eyes at that one and I took an extra-long shower on purpose.
When we stop in front of a set of heavy double doors, Ana gestures for me to go in.
I take a breath, square my shoulders, and push the doors open.
The room is not what I expected. Not an office or a formal sitting room like I’d been expecting to have a conversation with him in.
It’s almost cozy and not the kind of place I’d expect in a house like this.
It’s a sort of lounge dressed in sleek furniture, polished floors, sun slanting through the tall windows, making the air shimmer. There’s also the tangle of potted plants to the side, the scent of jasmine and fresh earth hanging thick in the air. It’s soothing.
Two deep leather armchairs face each other near a low table in the corner. Each of them set with a carafe of water, a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. And then there’s Damien Luciano.
He’s sprawled in one of the chairs, long legs stretched out in front of him. His eyes lift as I walk in, his intent gaze immediately studying me. I feel like I’m under a microscope anytime I’m in his presence. I walk slowly, intentionally letting my heels ring against the floor with every step.
“You’re late,” he points out.
“I wanted to make sure I was extra pretty for you,” I say in a low, mocking tone. “Does my outfit make you happy?”
A dangerous smile tugs at his lips as his eyes trace every inch of me slowly. He reaches for the bottle of whiskey and pours himself a small amount.
I’m wearing a simple blue dress that hugs my waist before flowing down to my knees.
It was the outfit I hated the most in the closet.
I didn’t have many options with regards to that, which irritated me.
I actually like most of the clothes there.
Whoever chose them definitely knows my style.
I wonder if it was him. If he’s been watching me, trying to find out what I like.
It’s disturbing. And somehow... still a little sweet in a crazy, stalker killer kind of way. I have to escape this place!
“You look beautiful, Cassandra,” he says, voice low yet sincere enough to make my stomach twist.
I blink, caught off guard. He’s dressed down.
No suit, no tie, just a fitted black sweater that hugs his broad chest and dark slacks that do entirely too much for his frame.
He looks unfairly good. The kind of good that makes it hard to remember he’s the reason I’m in this gilded prison to begin with.
It pisses me off that I notice just how attractive this man is.
The compliment lingers in the air between us, soft and seductive, but all I hear is manipulation. Words meant to throw me off balance. And maybe they’re working.
Still, I don’t let it show.
I slide into the chair opposite him with a cool expression, crossing my legs at the knee and folding my hands in my lap like I’m immune. Like my pulse isn’t pounding with a traitorous beat.
He watches me over the rim of his glass. Silent, patient. Our gazes are still connected. It’s like a staring contest that’s giving me heart palpitations. I break first, clearing my throat.
“Well, are you going to stare all day or…?”
“Of course. Where would you like me to begin?”
“From the beginning. Why did you crash my father’s funeral and then drag me all the way over here?”
“You came willingly,” he grumbles like that’s somehow important to him.
“Whatever. Why me? And what’s with all the talk about me being your bride? I’m this close to thinking you have some sort of mental illness?”
He lets out a short, humorless laugh, “I can assure you, Cassandra, I’m in complete control of my faculties.”
I lean forward slightly, voice low and tight. “Why me?”
Damien sets his drink down with a soft click. His gaze sharpens, the lazy amusement draining away until all that’s left is something colder. More serious.
“Your father owed me a debt,” he says. “A debt he couldn’t repay.”
My heart stumbles. “I don’t understand. What sort of debt?”
“His company was in trouble a couple of years ago. Tethering on the edge of bankruptcy. He was facing several charges of fraud and insider trading. He also had a lot of debt after secretly borrowing money from a couple shady sources.”
I feel cold all over. My father never mentioned any of this to me. I had no clue.
“You’re wondering why he didn’t tell you. My best guess is that he was trying to protect you from the truth. Parents project a very specific image of themselves to their children. An image they’ll do anything to protect.”
I swallow, “What kind of shady sources did he owe?”
“Dangerous ones. A notorious mafia group in the Cosa Nostra that’s known for giving out loans that are nearly impossible to pay back. I’m guessing your father was desperate when he wanted to establish his company.”
I feel sick.
“They were starting to threaten his life when your father approached me. His life and yours as well. I’m particularly efficient when it comes to situations like the one Gabriel had been in. He made a deal with me and I made all his problems disappear.”
He says that so easily, like he’s capable of doing anything. I’m almost sure the man has some sort of God-complex. Meanwhile my head is swimming with all this new information.
“So you’re saying…” my voice shakes and I hate it. “You’re saying my father… sold me to you?”
“I wouldn’t put it like that. You’re not cattle, Cassandra. I didn’t buy you. You were simply promised to be my family.”
Blood drains from my face.
“To your family?”
The way he says it, like it’s something natural or normal, sends a shiver down my spine.
He nods, “Originally to my brother, Dante. But then I decided that I wanted you instead.”
“Oh wonderful,” I say sarcastically. “And here I was thinking I wasn’t cattle.”
Damien’s mouth twitches. Not with humor but something darker.
“I decided you would make a worthy bride for a Don. You should be honored.”
I shoot to my feet, my heart pounding so loud it’s a miracle he can’t hear it.
“You’re insane. A Don? What does that even mean? None of this makes sense.”
Damien looks up at me calmly, “You know who I am, Cassandra?”
“No,” I hiss.
“You do,” he disputes. “You’ve heard of me before. My reputation stretches far and wide. Especially in New York.”
He sounds way too proud about that.
“Your reputation that you’re a mob boss that murders men, women and children in cold blood?”
“Nonsense,” he says genuinely offended. “I would never harm children.”
“Oh, well then you’re the bastion of morality.”
His eyebrow quirks, “Sit down, Cassandra. Now.”
The low timbre of his tone makes it clear he doesn’t expect disobedience. A part of me wants to refuse but I also still need answers. So I slowly lower myself down to the chair.
“Is there no way to break this deal?” I question.
He shakes his head. “It was a blood debt, bella . They demand blood to settle.”
“As in you both split your palms and actually made an oath in blood?” I question horrified.
He chuckles under his breath, “No. But you’ve got the right idea on how serious it was. If your father tried to break the deal, we’d have had to kill you to settle the debt.”
Oh God
I wrap my arms around myself, as if I can somehow block to the reality crashing over me.
“I can’t believe he never told me,” I mumble referring to my father.
This is exactly the kind of thing I should have been made aware of. This is my life we’re talking about. He bargained with my life. And now I’m stuck and I may have to marry this deranged lunatic.
Neither of us speak for a couple of minutes. I’m trying to understand all of this and he seems content to wait while I do.
“You’re in the Cosa Nostra?” I ask quietly after a couple of minutes.
For some reason, I’m curious. I know he’s Italian American. And in the mob, which I guess is what they refer to as the Cosa Nostra. The Italian mafia. But I don’t really know much about how it works.
“Yes, beautiful. I’m the Don. The Cosa Nostra consists of a group of families that run … certain business in the city. I belong to the Luciano family. We’ve been one of the most powerful families for decades. My father was Don before me and his father before him.”
“Beautiful legacy you’re upholding,” I mutter.
“What else would you like to know?” he asks patiently.
“A lot,” I reply, then pause, titling my head to the side as I study him. “How old are you?”
That’s probably irrelevant in the grand scheme of things but I have no idea. He’s definitely in his thirties but I can’t place how far into his thirties he is.
He smiles, “I’m 39, Cassandra.”
My eyes widen. Holy shit, I hadn’t been expecting that. How does a man pushing 40 look as good as he does?
“You’re like 15 years older than me,” I say.
“14,” he corrects with an amused smile. “Why? Does that bother you?”
I think that over before shrugging, “In the grand scheme of things, it’s definitely not anything worth losing sleep over considering all your other flaws.”
“That’s the spirit, bella . Would you like a drink?”
He gestures to the glass and the bottle of whiskey on the table. A part of wants to decline. The last thing I should be doing is letting my guard down around him. But I’ve had a long hard, shitty couple of days. And like he said, he would never hurt me.
The man chose me to be his bride. Why? I have no clue but I’m sure as hell going to find out. Damien Luciano is a mystery wrapped in intrigue. I have no interest in trying to figure him out. What I do want to do is figure out a way to escape him.
Cosa Nostra, Dons, marriage. None of that appeals to me. This isn’t where I belong. I’ll be damned if I don’t fight for my life and next time… I won’t miss.