Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Lucia
Our honeymoon began the following evening, a private flight to Italy where I’d spend a week in seclusion with my new husband.
The cabin was built for privacy, with soft leather seats, polished wood, and low lighting that gave everything an expensive feel.
This was normal for Alexei, I thought. I could tell from the way he moved, from the ease in his posture, from the fact that nothing about this environment seemed to register as anything out of the ordinary.
It wasn’t the same for me, even though I had grown up around wealth and power. I was the daughter of a powerful man in the mafia, but females in my world were ornamental. We were pawns.
Alexei didn’t speak much once we boarded, but he didn’t need to. The moment we sat down, his hand settled on my thigh, fingers spread slightly as if there was no question about whether they would stay there.
The weight of it grounded me in a way I hadn’t expected, steady and constant, and no matter how many times I shifted or adjusted my position, he moved with me without looking, like he was aware of every small change I made.
His fingers slowly crept higher under the hem of my dress, tracing possessive circles against my bare skin, brushing dangerously close to where I was still sore and tender.
I thought back to hours before when we’d still been in the suite and we’d finished showering.
I’d caught him staring at the bed as I finished dressing. Alexei had stood motionless at the foot of it, gaze locked on the white sheets that were ruined now… marked with streaks and smears of pink where my virgin blood had mixed with his cum.
The evidence of what he’d taken from me the night before was impossible to miss, and the sight of it seemed to hold him captive.
A dark, satisfied glint flashed through his eyes as he reached down and ran his fingers slowly over one of the dried pink stains. When he looked up at me, his voice was rough and utterly possessive.
“Look at that, princess. Your blood on my sheets. Proof that I was the first—the only—man to ever stretch that tight little Italian cunt open. I should have them framed so I can hang it in my office and jerk off to the memory.”
I’d gasped at his crude words.
He straightened, his focus burning into me.
“Every time you think about these stains, you’ll remember who owns you now. The Butcher took your virginity and painted his claim on these sheets. No other man will ever see these marks. No other man will ever touch what I’ve claimed.”
He’d crossed the room in two strides, pulling me against his chest with that unyielding grip. I was already starting to crave it each and every time.
I’d glanced back at the ruined sheets, heat flooding my face and a fresh ache blooming between my thighs. Then I let him lead me out of the suite knowing that wherever this honeymoon took us, the man beside me would never let me forget exactly who I belonged to now.
I was pulled back to the present when the jet started to accelerate down the runway. I tried to focus on anything else at first, the hum of the engine, the way the city disappeared beneath us as the plane lifted into the sky.
None of it held my attention for long, though. Every time I felt his fingers adjust slightly against my leg, the awareness came right back sharper than before.
The sun was setting, and I leaned back into the seat, letting out a quiet breath, but I didn’t move his hand or shift away from him.
The warmth of his touch was grounding, sinking deep through my skin the longer his hand pressed to my leg, until it felt less like something I could ignore and more like something I was beginning to accept.
“Good girl,” he murmured, voice dropping darker as two fingers slipped beneath my panties and stroked slowly along my swollen folds. “Bet it would take no time at all to make this little pussy wet for me.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and clenched my jaw because he was right. It would take no time at all. Alexei chuckled as if reading my thoughts but didn’t push further or test how far he could take it.
The rest of the flight passed in that same quiet, secure atmosphere.
When we landed, it wasn’t at a crowded airport or somewhere public.
The runway was private, a sleek black luxury car already waiting for us, and the transition from the jet to the vehicle was seamless in a way that made it clear this had all been arranged well in advance.
The drive took longer than I expected, the city fading behind us as buildings gave way to open land and long stretches of countryside that seemed untouched by modern development. I sat silently in the back seat, watching it pass by through the window. The quiet settled deeper the farther we went.
Alexei was on business calls the entire trip, his deep, gruff voice thickly accented as he sometimes spoke smoothly in Russian to the person on the other end and, at times, barking out orders that left no room to guess if he called the shots.
Just like on the jet, Alexei didn’t remove his hand from my thigh the entire ride. It stayed there, steady and unmoving, like it belonged exactly where it was, a brand of ownership that I’d never deny.
His fingers occasionally flexed possessively, digging into my flesh like a silent reminder that even on this honeymoon I was territory he refused to share with the world.
By the time the car slowed, we were passing through tall, wrought-iron gates that opened onto a long, winding drive lined with cypress trees.
The villa sat high on a hill, sun-warmed stone stretching wide and low against the hills like it had always belonged there.
Terra-cotta tiles caught the late light, and wide windows overlooked rows of vineyards that rolled down the landscape in perfect lines.
Olive trees with silver-green leaves. Everything about the property spoke of quiet, inherited wealth.
There were guards positioned along the perimeter of the estate, far enough away that they didn’t intrude upon our privacy but close enough that I knew exactly where they were without having to look. It wasn’t something meant to reassure. It was a reminder that nothing here was unprotected.
These were armed men who answered only to The Butcher.
The car came to a stop, and Alexei stepped out first, moving with the same steady certainty he carried everywhere.
He rounded the back of the car and opened my door, offering his hand.
I took it without question, his palm big and warm, the calluses rough and made me think how many lives he’d taken with them.
The moment my feet touched the ground, his hand shifted from mine to the small of my back, guiding me forward in a way that kept me close.
“You’re quiet,” he said as we stepped inside, his voice closer now, lower, brushing my ear in a way that settled along my spine as I took in the space around me.
The interior didn’t feel modern or untouched the way I expected.
The floors were cool beneath my feet, worn stone softened with age rather than polished to perfection, large rugs layered over them in rich patterns that added warmth without taking away from the structure itself.
Arched doorways opened into adjoining rooms, thick wooden beams stretched across the ceilings, and the walls held a muted, sun-washed tone that spoke more of history than display.
Everything felt lived-in in a way that didn’t lessen its value.
The furniture was heavy, carved wood paired with linen and leather, the kind of pieces that had been chosen to last rather than to impress.
Early morning light filtered in through tall windows framed by soft drapes, catching on ceramic vases and aged metal accents placed with artistic style.
“I’m just taking it all in,” I said, keeping my tone even as his hand pressed more firmly at my back, pulling me just a fraction closer. “I’m just thinking.”
“About what?” he asked.
There was no impatience in his voice, but there was expectation. This man wasn’t used to probing for an answer.
“This,” I said. “Everything.”
His grip tightened just enough that I couldn’t ignore it, and when I turned to look at him, I found his attention already on me, steady and focused like nothing else in the room existed.
His hand slid from my back to my waist, guiding me deeper into the villa without hesitation, and I followed without resisting.
That realization stayed with me longer than I expected because the quiet understanding was that I wasn’t fighting him. And I didn’t want to.
The rest of the morning passed in a slower rhythm than I expected, shaped by a light breakfast on the stone patio but more by exhaustion than anything else.
The overnight flight still lingered in my body, a dull heaviness behind my eyes and in my limbs, and even the quiet beauty of the villa couldn’t fully cut through it.
The space around us felt still, the thick stone walls holding in the cool morning air, sunlight just beginning to spill through the tall windows and stretch across the worn floors in long, pale lines.
There were no interruptions, no outside demands, no one stepping into the space that now belonged to us.
It was just the two of us, and I became aware very quickly that Alexei didn’t leave me.
Not once. If I stepped into another room, he followed.
If I paused, his hand found me again. It wasn’t suffocating, not in a way that made me feel trapped.
Even through the haze of fatigue, the way Alexei’s gaze lingered on me longer than it needed to had heat simmering in every part of me.
I stepped out onto the terrace, drawn by the open air and the soft quiet of the countryside.
The morning had fully settled in by then, the hills stretching out in muted greens and silvers beneath the early light.
Vineyards ran in precise rows down the slopes, olive trees shifting gently in the breeze.
It should have felt peaceful, and for a moment, standing there with the cool air brushing my skin, it almost did.
I was only outside for a few moments before I realized he was behind me.
“I wondered where you wandered off, moya lyubimaya.” My beloved.
I turned to find him crowding my personal space. I inhaled sharply, relaxing… I liked having him in my space, blocking out everything behind him.
“Just exploring and trying to stay awake,” I said, even though my voice came out quieter than I intended.
“I don’t like not knowing where you are.” His voice was full of possession.
I held his gaze, searching his expression for something that would soften it, something that would tell me he didn’t mean it exactly the way it sounded, but of course, I didn’t find it.
I wanted to tell him I wasn't a piece of property, that he didn’t need to know where I was at all times, but the truth was, in our world, I was exactly that.
He was my husband, and in the mafia, a husband was the ultimate ruler in a household.
He called the shots, made the rules, and could do what he wanted with his wife.
It was too early for me to see which side Alexei was on, even if he’d been gentle with me thus far.
I had to play it safe and follow the rules.
“You always need to see me?” I asked.
“Yes.” His voice was firm, set in stone.
His hand settled on my waist, his fingers digging in as he pulled me forward so we were flush together and I felt the solid muscles of his body pressed to my softness.
“You’re my wife,” he said quietly. “And I need to know where you’re at at all times.
” His voice had dropped lower then, rougher, and the control in it sharpened into something darker as his fingers tightened and pulled me more firmly against him.
His mouth was close enough to my ear that I felt the words more than I heard them.
“You belong to me now, Lucia Drakovich. Body, blood, and soul.” His grip shifted just enough to press my breasts harder against him, and his strength was unmistakable.
Hearing him say my new last name should have terrified me. It turned me on instead.
His words didn’t loosen their hold on me. They sank deeper, settling somewhere low and dangerous, somewhere I didn’t want to examine too closely because I was afraid I’d never want to escape.
My breath hitched, but I didn’t pull away even though I should have.
Every instinct I’d been raised with told me to put space between us, to fight the weight of what he was claiming, to remind him that I wasn’t something to be owned, no matter whose ring sat on my finger or what name I now carried.
But my hands moved instead, sliding up his chest, feeling the heat of him through the thin fabric of his shirt, feeling the steady, unshakable strength beneath it.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said softly, the words barely more than a breath against his throat, but they held more truth than I wanted to admit.
His body stilled. And then his other hand curled around my throat, not tightening, but a steady pressure that told me he was in charge.
“Careful,” he murmured, his lips brushing just beneath my ear, his voice low enough to send a shiver straight down my spine. “Playing with fire, little one.” He leaned in and ran the tip of his nose along the side of my face. “Moya.” Mine.
“If you ever try to leave my sight again, even for a second, I’ll chain you to my bed and remind you exactly who you belong to until you can’t walk. This honeymoon is mine. You are mine. And I protect what’s mine with blood if I have to.”
And as he drew back just enough to look at me, his dark eyes locking onto mine with that same quiet, consuming intensity, I realized something that settled heavy in my chest and burned just as hot.
I wanted to be his irrevocably, until I didn’t know where I ended and he began.