7. Gilly
Gilly
Luca’s grip on the small of my back is firm, controlling, as he leads me through the entrance of Inferno. The moment we step inside, the world shifts.
The air is thick with cigarette smoke, whiskey, and power—a blend of sin and dominance that clings to my skin like a second layer. The bass from the music thrums through the floor, deep and steady, like a heartbeat.
A dangerous heartbeat.
The place is packed. Dark, exclusive, crawling with criminals who run Miami’s underworld. Men in tailored suits with watchful eyes. Women draped in luxury, their laughter smooth as silk.
They all belong here.I don’t.
I know exactly why Luca brought me. Not for fun. Not for entertainment.
This is a statement. A claim.
Luca wants everyone to see me on his arm.
I lift my chin, refusing to let my nerves show as we move toward the VIP section.
Eyes follow us. Men glance at me, some bold enough to let their gazes linger. But when they see who I’m with, they look away.
Because no one touches what belongs to Luca Marchesi.
The heat of Luca’s breath brushes against my ear. Low. Smug. Dangerous.
“They’re staring because they know you’re mine.”
My stomach clenches. I hate that he’s right.
I stay silent, but my fingers curl at my sides. I should shove his hand off me, make a scene. But what would that change?
Nothing.
So instead, I breathe through it, swallowing my anger as he leads me deeper into the club.
We enter the VIP lounge—all deep red leather and dim lighting, where the city’s most dangerous men lounge like kings in their thrones.
A man raises his glass, speaking in smooth Italian.“To Luca and his wife.”
My stomach twists.
I will never get used to that word.
Wife.
Luca’s arm tightens around my waist as glasses clink together in a toast. I feel him watching me, waiting.
But I refuse to meet his gaze.
Because I know what he sees.
Defiance. Fire. A woman who refuses to belong to him.
And then—I see my opportunity.
A chance to take back a sliver of control.
A man lingers near the bar. Not one of Luca’s men. An outsider.
He catches my eye. Bold. Charming. Unaware.
Perfect.
A slow smirk curves my lips.
Time to play with fire.
The man watches me from the bar—his gaze lingering, curious, intrigued.
He doesn’t know who I am.
He doesn’t know who I belong to.
But that’s the point.
I straighten my spine, lifting my chin slightly as I hold his gaze.
I let him come closer.
Luca is watching. I can feel it.
A slow, easy smirk curves the stranger’s lips as he steps forward. Confident, relaxed, like he has no idea he just walked onto a battlefield.
"Didn’t expect to see someone like you here," he says, voice smooth as whiskey.
His fingers brush my wrist. Just barely. A whisper of a touch.
But I don’t pull away.
I let it happen.
A silent, deliberate act of defiance.
His thumb lingers. "You look like you don’t belong."
I arch a brow, forcing a casual smile, even as my pulse pounds in my throat.
"Maybe I don’t."
A quiet beat of tension.
Then—the shift.
I don’t need to see Luca to know.
I feel it.
The heat of his stare. The electricity crackling in the air.
The storm gathering, dark and dangerous.
And then—
A hand wraps around my wrist.
Tight. Possessive. Burning.
My breath catches.
The stranger tenses instantly, his smirk vanishing, his body locking up.
Because he knows.
He knows.
Luca’s voice is low, deadly, like a blade sliding from its sheath.
"You want to test me?"
My stomach twists.
Because for the first time tonight, I realize—
I might have pushed too far.
Luca’s grip tightens around my wrist. Not enough to hurt—just enough to own.
The air around us shifts, the energy in the club turning electric.
The stranger—the poor, oblivious man who thought he could touch me—goes stiff.
His smirk vanishes.
He knows he’s made a mistake.
Luca tilts his head slightly, eyes locked on me, ignoring the other man completely.
Like he doesn’t exist.
Like he never did.
A slow, calculated moment stretches between us.
I lift my chin, heart slamming against my ribs.
I won.
I pushed him.
I made him react.
But as Luca’s fingers slide from my wrist to my waist, pulling me against him, I realize—
The consequences are coming.
Fast.
“You like playing games, Gilly?” His voice is a dangerous purr against my ear.
I don’t get a chance to answer.
Because suddenly, his mouth is on mine.
And this isn’t a kiss.
It’s a claim.
Raw. Unrelenting.
A ruthless collision of lips, a public, punishing display of possession.
Heat explodes through my veins as Luca’s fingers dig into my hips, holding me in place—forcing me to feel him, to absorb every ounce of his fury.
I hear the quiet, sharp intake of breath from the stranger—the man who dared to touch me.
I feel the weight of every pair of eyes in the club, watching, understanding.
This isn’t romance.
This is a warning.
She is mine.
Luca doesn’t stop.
Not until I melt.
Not until my body betrays me, my fingers twisting into his shirt, my breath coming too fast, too shaky—
A silent confession.
I feel this.
I feel him.
And I hate it.
Finally—he pulls back.
His thumb drags across my lower lip, smearing the faint trace of his kiss.
My lungs heave, my body still caged by his, his heat, his scent, his power.
My rage.
My addiction.
I should slap him.
I should scream.
Instead, I do the worst possible thing.
I stand there.
Breathless.
Shaken.
And Luca?
He smirks.
Slow. Dark. Infuriating.
He leans in one last time, lips ghosting over my ear, voice a velvet threat.
“Try that again…”
His fingers tighten on my hip, a final warning.
“…and I’ll fuck you right here.”