Chapter 2
TWO
Lucia
He wraps one arm around my waist, crushing me against the solid heat of his body, while his other hand silences me. I kick back wildly, trying to land a blow, but it’s no use.
His voice, deep and rough, grazes my ear. “Calm down.”
I instantly go limp, like a puppet with cut strings.
I know that voice. There’s no mistaking it.
It’s Tony. Tony Bruni.
The defiance slips right out of me, and as soon as he sees me stop struggling, his hand over my mouth loosens slightly. My feet are still off the ground as I cautiously turn my head, leaning it lightly against his chest, and look up.
Our eyes meet.
A pair of deep, black eyes stare back at me, bloodshot and burning with intensity.
It’s him.
The hard, solid body pressing against mine, the unrelenting strength holding me in place—this is Tony Bruni. His gaze cuts right through me, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.
Bare skin on bare skin. His hard length presses hot and heavy against my back, reminding me how completely helpless I am in his grasp. His heat and masculine scent overwhelm me, making my head spin.
“Let me go,” I whisper.
My soft plea makes the corner of his mouth curl into a smirk. His fingers dig deeper into the flesh of my waist, making me flinch.
The hand that had been covering my mouth slides downward, brushing against my skin. It drifts toward my chest, and my entire body shudders.
“Please… I’m begging you,” I manage, barely a sound.
His hand rests inches over my left breast, and his eyes close as if he’s slipping into another world, one far away from this room.
“Your heart’s pounding,” he murmurs, voice low and cold. “Like a bird caught in a snare.”
If his hand moves even a fraction lower, it will touch my nipple. Goosebumps rise on my skin, a surge of emotions flooding me: fear, panic, and something else I can’t name, something raw and confusing.
He sways slightly, then sinks to the floor, pulling me down with him, never loosening his grip.
God, what if someone walks in?
He buries his face in the curve of my neck, his scorching breath stinging my skin, reeking of alcohol. The sharp smell hits my nose, a bitter reminder of how drunk and gone he is.
“You remind me of her,” he mumbles. “The girl who was promised to me… and like everything else that was mine, handed over to Carlo.”
My eyes burn again. So, he knows. He knows everything.
His nose brushes my neck as he breathes me in, then pulls me closer into his arms despite my resistance. Turning me to face him, he locks his dark eyes onto mine. His thick brows are furrowed, his face darkened by a stormy scowl.
Shame burns hot across my skin. I’ve never even worn a bikini on a beach, never bared myself to any man. I lift my arms, trying to cover my breasts.
One side of his mouth quirks up before he moves with purpose. In the next second, he pins me to the floor, his knees on either side of my hips, caging me beneath him. His hands close around my wrists, locking them above my head in a firm grip.
My chest rises and falls in ragged bursts, my breathing erratic. I could scream, but I know what that would mean. It’d be the end of Tony. Because even if he’s clearly not in his right mind, I seriously doubt that excuse would fly with the Wife-Killer.
I have to stay calm. I have to find a way out of this quietly. It’s the only way.
His eyes rake over my bare breasts—hungry, shameless. Heat floods my face, and I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping to block out the humiliation.
I can hear his breathing, heavy and uneven, feel the warmth of it ghosting over my skin as he leans in closer. The stench of alcohol clings to me, turning my stomach and making it harder to think.
“You look so much like her. Italy’s most beautiful girl, the Sun Princess. Looking at her warms you… and fucking hurts.”
I feel his hand moving down, sliding from my shoulder to my chest. This time, his hand rests fully on my left breast, his fingers closing over it firmly.
I flinch, trying to pull back, to create space, but his grip anchors me in place. Pain radiates through me, and a stifled whimper escapes my lips.
“Please,” I plead quietly, my voice breaking. “Let me go. You’re hurting me.”
His stare burns through me, anger back in full force. And he’s terrifying.
“Let you go? So you can be his? That fucking cousin of mine?”
He’s talking to me. Then to himself, back and forth. Lost in his own head. His hand trails slowly down, the touch lingering with a strange longing as it reaches my belly. His finger traces small circles around my birthmark, his touch softer this time, almost thoughtful.
“She was mine before she was even fucking born.” Voice thick with old hate. “When my father was alive, she was promised to me. Antonio Bruni’s fiancée. The future capo of the Bruni family.”
His fingers curl into a fist against my stomach, his voice going sour, twisted with something darker.
“But my bastard uncle used my father’s murder to his advantage. He took his position, his title, his wealth, and even his wife, my mother. He took everything that was mine and put it all into his bastard son’s hands. The son of a worthless slave.”
He reaches out, bracing his palm on my cheek. “Did you know that?”
I shake my head, a flicker of pity stirs somewhere deep inside me, but it’s buried beneath the overwhelming need to get out of this room. I try to draw away, but he moves with me.
Like a lion refusing to release its prey, he matches my every move, holding firm. He grabs my wrists and pins them in place.
“Perfect, you look just like her. I can pretend it’s her under me. Taking back what that bastard Carlo stole.”
His hand glides lower, brushing against the thin lace of my underwear. My entire body stiffens, every hair standing on end.
What’s he doing? Oh God, is he going to make me more miserable than I already am?
Panic claws at my throat. His weight pins me. I can’t move, can’t scream. Not if I want him alive. If anyone walks into this room, Tony will die.
I won’t let that happen.
No matter the cost, I won’t be the reason Tony’s life ends.
My voice is barely audible as I choke out, “Please… don’t.”
For a split second, his entire body goes rigid. His eyes narrow on mine, sharp and glassy, before he suddenly lets go and staggers back. He drops down beside me, fists tangling in his hair as he mutters something under his breath.
I sit there, covering my breasts with my arms, about to reach for my dress when he speaks again. This time, I hear every word.
“I have to kill him. I can’t let him claim her. I can’t give him that.”
He gets up unsteadily and heads toward the room he came from.
Oh God. What is he planning to do?
Is he going after Carlo?
That would be suicide.
I don’t even hesitate.
Still trying to cover my breasts with one arm, I rush into his room just in time to see him grab a handgun from the table. Ignoring my own nakedness as best as I can, I run at him and grab his arm.
He turns on me violently, trying to shake me off, but he’s too drunk. He stumbles, and we both go down hard. He tries to get back up. I grab his arm again.
“Stop. Snap out of it.”
With a snarl, he presses the barrel of the gun to my head and forces me flat onto the floor.
“Carlo has to die. Before he ever touches Lucia, he has to die.”
Pain flashes in his eyes again as he goes on. “She’s mine. He doesn’t get to touch her.”
He drops the gun beside us, leans his forehead against mine, and whispers, broken and raw, “You’re mine. You were mine. I can’t let you become his.”
He’s completely lost in his own head. He doesn’t know where he is. He doesn’t know who I am. He doesn’t even know what he’s doing.
But I can’t let this madness get him killed. I can’t.
His scent fills my lungs, dragging me back to every night I touched myself, thinking about this man. Every foolish fantasy I built around him. The first day I saw him. That spring day.
I clutch his arm and whisper, “He’ll kill you, Tony…please.”
I cup his face, press my lips to his in a desperate kiss, and murmur, “Don’t do this. Don’t throw your life away for me.”
He’s too drained to return the kiss. He braces his hands against the floor and surges up again, fury roaring back to life.
“He doesn’t get to take another thing that was mine. I’ll kill him.”
Without thinking, I grab his arm and yank him hard toward me. Too drunk to resist, he crashes down with me. This time his full weight sprawls over my body, pinning me beneath him once more.
He pushes between my legs, rough and urgent. His hard cock presses against me, grinding insistently.
The fear is still there. But saving him matters more.
So I don’t push him away.
He grinds harder, and a confusing heat spreads through me, unwanted and overwhelming. His hands frame my face as he growls, “You’re fucking mine. Always were, even before you drew breath.”
I squeeze my eyes shut as another tear slips free.
Two choices stare back at me. Say no, he leaves and dies. Say yes… God, that’s my end.
But I can’t be sure he’ll really claim me. Maybe he’ll stop. Maybe he’ll come to his senses.
I’m losing my mind.
There’s no other option left. I have to gamble.
If this is the only way to save Tony, then I’ll accept it.
I force my eyes open, voice barely a whisper. “Then… make me yours, Tony.”
It’s all he needs to hear.
Because that’s exactly what he does.
A burning pain tears through me. I clamp a hand over my mouth, muffling the scream that rips from my throat.
Oh God. He’s ruined me. Destroyed me.
He’s just signed my death warrant. And still…I don’t regret letting him.
I couldn’t let him die. I couldn’t let Tony Bruni kill himself over a girl whose fate has always been tangled with death. Not when he’s the only man in this world my foolish, inexperienced heart has ever beaten for.
Seconds later, Tony’s full weight collapses onto me, pinning me to the floor and stealing the air from my lungs.
He’s passed out.
Hands shaking, I summon what little strength remains and shove his heavy body off. My entire body trembles uncontrollably,
agony tearing through both body and mind.
I look down. A sob lodges in my throat as I bury my face in my hands. For a fleeting moment, the thought crosses my mind—I could kill myself and end this all. What if Carlo finds out?
Just thinking of him snaps me alert, adrenaline floods my veins. No one can know. No one.
With unsteady legs, I force myself to stand and stumble to the bathroom.
I wash the evidence off my thighs and then pat them dry with a towel.
Clutching the damp towel, I return to the room and kneel in front of Tony to clean him too.
Then I rinse the towel in the sink and hide it deep in the trash.
I close the door and smooth out the rug that had bunched beneath us from earlier. Then I return to the bathroom, grabbing my compact and dabbing powder over my cheeks, trying to erase the streaks left by my tears.
As I pull the zipper on the side of my dress, the door suddenly flies open. Carlo steps into the doorway, and his gaze immediately lands on me.
His eyes flick over me, appraising every detail, before his gaze shifts across the room. I take a step toward him before he can speak, my voice calm despite the storm raging inside me.
“Sorry… I took so long. I’m ready now.”
His eyes narrow, suspicion sharpens as he scans the room again. He moves slowly, as though searching for something. My lungs constrict at the thought of him opening that door. But luckily for me, he doesn’t.
“It’s time to cut the cake. Everyone’s waiting for you,” he says as he grabs my arm and guides me out.
***
It’s past midnight when I step into the Bruni estate.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, my hands clutching the golden satin duvet beneath me, I stare blankly ahead, unsure of what to do.
In a few minutes, my husband will walk through that door. He’ll come to claim what’s his. He’ll come to take me.
But I’m not the girl he was promised anymore.
No, I’m no longer pure.
I still can’t fully process what happened to me. It seems unreal, like a nightmare I should’ve woken up from by now. But the ache deep in my lower body tells me otherwise.
It wasn’t a dream.
The broken flashes of those moments with Tony are real.
He tore me apart.
The sound of the door opening snaps me out of my thoughts. A strange twinge twists in my chest, fear coiling like a serpent around my heart.
My eyes dart toward the door.
Oh, God. It’s him.
My husband. Carlo Bruni. The Wife-Killer.
The moment I see him, tears sting my eyes, and before I can control them, they spill over, trailing hot lines down my face.
He closes the door behind him and walks toward me slowly. When he stops in front of me, looming like a shadow of death, his gaze fixes on mine.
I stare back at him, hopeless and defeated. There’s no way he’ll forgive what’s been done. No way he’ll let me live.
He’s going to kill me tonight.
But then I think, what does it matter? Tonight, tomorrow, a few months from now; my fate has always been death.
He doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t blink. He just stares at me.
And I don’t look away.
There’s nothing left to lose.
I watch his scowl deepen and his hands curl into fists at his sides. Then, after what appears to be an eternity, he turns on his heels and with the same calm he had when he entered, he walks out of the room.
As soon as the door clicks close, I exhale the breath that was caught in my lungs. I collapse onto the bed and let go.
The sobs I’ve been holding in break free, and I cry harder than I’ve ever cried in my life.
I cry for myself. For Tony. For Fabiano.
I don’t know how much time passes. When I finally come back to myself, the soft light of dawn is streaming through the curtains, casting warm streaks across the room.
I climb off the bed and step out onto the terrace.
The world outside feels surreal; lush green trees swaying in the gentle breeze, the golden sun rising in the sky, painting everything in its warm glow. The scent of fresh blossoms fills the air, carried by the soft morning wind.
I breathe it in deeply, filling my lungs with the fragrant air.
And I make a promise to myself.
From now on, I’ll live one day at a time.
I won’t let the past crush me, and I won’t carry tomorrow’s burdens today.
For now, I’ll hold on to this one small mercy: I survived my first night as Carlo Bruni’s wife.