Chapter 5 #2
Once she was seated inside and the door sealed shut behind them, Luc exhaled.
He sat across from her, not beside her, giving her space and time.
The illusion of choice. It was a new beginning.
And there was no going back now. The jet cabin hummed with a taut silence, dim lights carving harsh shadows across Mia’s face.
She sat rigid, her fingers white on the leather armrests, her small, controlled movements those of someone trying to be brave.
“Is there no room for negotiation?” she asked, chin lifted to meet his gaze.
“Do you have anything to offer?” Luc asked, even though he already knew the answer.
“You know I do,” she said, swallowing hard.
He leaned back slightly, letting the silence stretch. “Something your father left you… Perhaps?”
She tucked a loose wisp of hair away. “Allow me to trade it for my freedom.”
“No.”
A sharp tremor ran through her. “Why not?”
“I can take it from you whenever I want. Why would I buy what I can seize?” His voice was casual, but the calculation behind it was cold.
She sucked in a breath, eyes wide and defiant. “You do not know where I hid it. Unless you offer me something I want, I will never reveal it.”
Luc smiled, slow and patient. “Within five minutes of proper persuasion, you will sing, my little dove.”
“You would torture me?” she asked, voice hoarse with shock as the implication reached her.
Something savage flared inside him at the idea, a dark part that recoiled at harming her. He slammed that recoil down with practiced ruthlessness. “There is nothing I would not do for my family.”
A steward appeared with refreshments. Mia mutely refused. Luc accepted a whiskey and swirled it, the amber liquid catching the light as he watched her. He thought of his mother’s voice, of the caution she always urged.
“An heir,” he said, holding her frightened stare.
“What?”
“Give me an heir. After that, you’ll be placed somewhere safe, with everything you need. You’ll live as you wish—or return to the convent. The choice will be yours.” Mia’s breath hitched. “A child?”
“Yes.”
“I… I do not understand,” she said, dazed. “You can have a child with any woman.”
A slow smile curved Luc’s mouth. “I intend to swallow the Bonino family whole. This is the way to avoid bloodshed.”
She flinched. “I… what?”
“I want their territory. Their power has waned, but they will not relinquish it willingly. I will avoid a bloody war—for their sake and yours. An heir, one day ruling both the Bonino and Valachi lines, does more to secure the territories than a hundred men with guns. It must be you.”
Her hands curled into fists. “You think I would hand over my own child?”
“You would not be the first wife to walk away.”
“Then you have dealt with monsters,” she snapped. “I could never abandon my child.”
“Then take the child with you until I come for him,” he said, voice flat.
“And if it is a girl?” she asked, voice small.
“She will still be my heir.” Luc lifted a brow. “What, no excitement for my modern view of succession? Our son will be a king, and our daughter a queen.”
Mia glared at him. “You expect me to believe you would allow me to leave with our child?”
A corner of his mouth twitched. “You would always be under my protection. I will know where you are, so why would this be an issue? I will be an influence in our children’s lives even if he or she lives with you, mia colombina.”
“I do not trust you,” she said softly.
“Believe what you like,” he said. “Ask yourself this. Do you really have another choice?”
Luc set his glass down with deliberate calm.
He leaned forward, darkening the light between them.
Then, without losing that control, he closed his fingers around the base of her throat—not to harm, but to remind her of the reality of his power.
Mia’s pulse fluttered beneath his touch as he traced the line of her throat with the pad of his thumb.
“Would you prefer the alternative?” he asked quietly. “Without my name, you will not last a month. Your father’s debts and actions will follow you. And if one of the other families takes you in, you would bitterly regret it.”
His voice hardened as he rose and crowded her against the cabin wall. “They will have no offer for you, only merciless means to break you to their will.” Luc let the threat hang in the air. “One year,” he murmured.
The jet’s hum rattled through his bones as he watched her calculate her sentence. One year. Three hundred sixty-five days of surrender. He saw the moment she cracked—shoulders sagging, fists loosening just enough to show the half-moons her nails had carved into her palms.
“Yes,” she choked. Her voice scraped raw, but her gaze didn’t waver. “One year… a child… and when I leave, my child will leave with me until… until they return to your side.”
Luc kept his face still as triumph surged under his skin. The lie came easy, polished by a lifetime of ruthless calculation. “Of course, mia colombina.”
She inhaled sharply through her nose. “I want it in writing. Notarized with penalty clauses.”
Amusement curled through him. How… unexpected. “Done,” he said smoothly.
Mia exhaled, breath fogging the window beside her.
She folded her arms tight across her chest like she was guarding something already forfeited.
A lesser man might pity her. Luc only admired the gentle strength she showed.
He leaned in, catching a strand of her hair between his fingers.
Soft. Stubborn. Exactly as he liked her.
“Look at me,” he murmured.
When she did, her eyes burned with liquid fury and something more dangerous: hope. Beautiful. His. Luc traced her cheekbone, memorizing the warmth.
“Smart girls live longer, mia colombina.” His thumb brushed across her mouth, lingering as if memorizing its shape, before he jerked her forward and captured her lips with sensual greed.
She gasped, the sound slipping into him, and he swallowed it like a man starved.
Her teeth nipped his lower lip, sharp, and he only chuckled against her mouth, answering with a softer kiss at the corner—a jarring contrast to the hard grip of his fingers buried in her hair.
She tasted sweet, intoxicating, like honey laced with fire, and it only sharpened the hunger tearing through him.
He deepened the kiss, taking more, savoring the heat of her mouth as though he could devour every ounce of resistance she had left.
Desire flared hard and insistent, and as he pressed her closer, one thought carved itself into his mind with ruthless certainty: soon, he would have her in his bed.
Not just in his bed—his wife, his possession, his to taste, to touch, to ruin, to remake.