Chapter Six AURORA #3
I didn't ask him to stop. Didn't ask him to go back. What was the point? Sergio was dead. My wedding was over. My life had exploded. A missing veil felt insignificant compared to the rest of the disaster.
The leather strap remained tight around my waist. Every bump in the road shoved me harder against Santino. Every turn forced me closer.
I hated it. Hated the warmth of him. Hated the steady strength beneath my palms. Hated that his heartbeat never changed. Not once. Not after the shooting. Not after the kidnapping. Not after dragging me halfway across the state.
The man wasn't nervous. Wasn't worried. Wasn't second-guessing himself. And somehow that terrified me more than anything. Because sane people panicked. Sane people hesitated. Sane people wondered if they were making a mistake. Santino acted like he'd simply picked up dry cleaning.
Eventually iron gates appeared ahead. Massive black structures stretching nearly fifteen feet high. My stomach tightened. The gates opened before we reached them. No security guard. No code. No waiting. Just immediate access. As if everyone inside already knew we were coming.
The realization sent another wave of unease through me. Of course they knew. This had all been planned. Every second of it.
The motorcycle rolled through. I stared.
Then blinked. Then stared harder. Because the estate beyond the gates didn't look real.
The mansion rose from the hillside overlooking the ocean.
Floor-to-ceiling windows reflected the dying sunset.
Stone terraces spilled downward toward private gardens.
Fountains glittered. Palm trees swayed. The entire place looked like something pulled from the pages of an architecture magazine.
Beautiful. Elegant. Perfect. The kind of place people dreamed about owning. The kind of place kidnappers apparently lived in.
Then I noticed something separated from the main house. My pulse stuttered. Glass. Almost entirely glass, including the roof. A smaller structure sat overlooking the ocean. Modern. Minimalist. Beautiful. Transparent.
My stomach dropped. The motorcycle slowed.
Then stopped. The engine died. Silence rushed in.
The sudden absence of noise felt deafening.
The ocean crashed somewhere below the cliffs.
Waves. Wind. Seagulls. Everything felt strangely peaceful.
Which somehow made it worse. Because peaceful things weren't supposed to happen after murders.
I started clawing at the leather strap.
Santino caught my wrist. "Don't."
"Fuck you."
His grip tightened slightly. "Welcome home, darling."
The buckle released. I jumped off the motorcycle before he could stop me. Or attempted to. My heel caught in my dress. The lace tangled around my ankles. I pitched forward. A strong arm wrapped around my waist. Again. Always.
Always his hands. Always his arms. Always him. I wanted five consecutive minutes without this man touching me. Apparently that was too much to ask.
I stared at him. "Do you enjoy being irritating?"
"Very much." He grinned.
"I noticed."
A grin flickered briefly across his face. God. I wanted to throw him into the ocean. Santino reached for me. I stepped backward. "Aurora."
"No,” I hissed. "I swear to God if you pick me up again…"
He picked me up. I screamed. A full-bodied, furious scream. My fists started flying. His shoulder. His chest. His arm. His stomach. Anything I could reach.
Nothing happened. Not a reaction. Not a flinch. Not even a complaint. The man carried me toward the glass house like I weighed ten pounds.
"PUT ME DOWN,” I screamed. "I'M SERIOUS."
"Shut up or I’ll kiss you again,” he muttered against my ear.
"I WILL BITE YOU!” I yelled. "I mean it this time."
His mouth curved. "I appreciate commitment."
I genuinely considered murder. The guest house door slid open automatically. The soft hiss echoed through the evening air. My stomach twisted. Everything already waiting. Everything already prepared. Everything already arranged. For me.
Santino carried me inside. The second my feet touched the floor, I swung. Hard. My palm cracked across his face. The sound echoed through the entire house. Glass amplified everything. Silence followed.
My chest heaved. My hand stung. I waited. For anger. For retaliation. For consequences. Instead Santino slowly turned his head back toward me. A red mark spread across his cheek. His jaw flexed once.
“Alright.” Then he nodded. Like we'd completed a scheduled activity. "Feel better?"
My eye twitched. "No."
"Hit harder next time."
I made a sound that wasn't remotely human. Then shoved him. Hard. Nothing. I shoved him again. Nothing. By the fifth push my vision had blurred. By the sixth tears had started running down my face. By the seventh I wasn't trying to move him anymore. I was just angry. Heartbroken. Terrified.
"You killed him." The words cracked. Silence. "You killed Sergio."
For the first time all evening, Santino looked away. Only briefly. Only for a second. But it happened. "You don't get to cry over him."
His gaze snapped back. Dangerous. Immediate. "What?"
"You don't."
My chest tightened. "You murdered him."
"I know."
"You don't get to tell me how to feel,” I hissed.
Something dark flashed behind his eyes. Not anger. Something worse. Jealousy. Raw. Ugly. Possessive. "I don't care about Sergio."
I laughed. A sharp broken sound. "Clearly."
"I care about you,” he said simply.
The room went silent. My heart stumbled. Not because the words were romantic. They weren't. They sounded obsessive. Unhinged. Wrong. Like hearing a wolf explain why it climbed into a sheep pen.
I took a step backward. Then another. "What happened to my family?"
"Nothing." His expression softened slightly. Almost imperceptibly.
I stared. "You expect me to believe that?"
"Yes."
"You started a war,” I reminded him.
"Probably."
My stomach dropped. "You think this is funny?"
"No,” he admitted.
"You kidnapped Leo Moretti's sister-in-law,” I hissed.
"Correct."
"You murdered his right hand." I groaned.
"Also correct,” he nodded again.
"You destroyed a wedding."
His eyebrow lifted. "You weren't particularly enthusiastic about the wedding."
"THAT ISN'T THE POINT!” I screamed. A smile threatened. The bastard actually looked amused. I wanted to strangle him.
"The point," I snapped, "is that Leo is going to kill you."
The smile disappeared. "Maybe."
I froze. That wasn't confidence. That wasn't arrogance. That wasn't some mafia king claiming invincibility. That sounded honest. My pulse skipped. "You really think he might."
"Absolutely." I stared. Santino shrugged. Like we were discussing weather. "Your brother-in-law loves his family. And Sergio was family to him, too."
Outside, darkness settled over the ocean. The glass walls reflected the room. Reflected me. Reflected him. Reflected the impossible situation. I understood something awful.
This place wasn't a prison because it had locks. It was a prison because it didn't. Glass walls. Ocean views. Luxury furniture. Beautiful gardens. Freedom visible in every direction. Yet completely unreachable.
A cage. A gorgeous one. But still a cage.
Santino followed my gaze. Then quietly said, "I built this house because I liked the view."
I looked at him. "Congratulations."
His mouth twitched. "I regret telling you that. But, Aurora… I won't hurt your family."
I looked away. Because for the first time since the cathedral, I believed him. That was the terrifying part. Not the guns. Not the kidnapping. Not the estate. Not even the murder.
The terrifying part was that I believed him. Because none of this had ever been about power. Or money. Or revenge. Or territory.
Santino had risked everything. His life. His empire. His future. Possibly a war. For one reason. One completely insane reason. Me.
And standing there inside my glass prison, watching him watch me, I realized something that made cold dread crawl down my spine. He wasn't acting like a man who had stolen something. He was acting like a man who had finally gotten it back.