14. Luca
Luca
She really thought she could run.
She really thought I wouldn’t see it coming.
I lean back in my seat, stretching my legs out in the back of the SUV as the Miami skyline blurs past the tinted windows. The phone in my hand is silent now, but I can still hear her sharp intake of breath, still picture the exact moment her stomach dropped when she realized she’d lost.
Again.
I should be furious.
I should be kicking in doors, dragging her out of that plane myself, making her beg for thinking she could slip away from me.
But I’m not.
Because this? This is the moment that will break her more than any punishment ever could.
The moment she realizes she was never going to win.
That she never even had a chance.
I glance at the seat beside me. Rafa is asleep, his small chest rising and falling in the soft glow of the overhead light. He didn’t fight when my men lifted him off the plane—just blinked drowsily before curling against the warmth of the car seat, already drifting off.
I can feel the tension in the front of the SUV where my men sit. None of them speak. They know better.
This isn’t the kind of anger that needs to be aired out in violence.
This is patience.
This is watching the prey exhaust itself in a trap before stepping in to end the hunt.
A knock on the glass from the driver. “They’ve got her.”
I hum, turning my gaze toward the terminal exit just in time to see her struggling between two of my men, her robe askew, her hair wild, her breath coming in furious, panicked gasps.
She fights. Hard.
Even now, when she knows there’s no winning.
It should irritate me.
It doesn’t.
It makes me hungry.
The door opens, and she’s shoved inside, still thrashing, still breathing hard. The moment my men release her, she lunges toward me, pure fury in her eyes.
I catch her wrists effortlessly.
“Careful, hellcat.” My voice is smooth, calm, a sharp contrast to the wild, unhinged energy vibrating off her. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? You never get away.”
She lets out a ragged breath, her body still vibrating with the energy of a caged animal. “You bastard.”
I hum, letting her wrists go as she slumps against the seat. “That’s not very grateful, Gilly.”
She glares at me, eyes sparking with pure hatred, but I don’t miss the way her fingers shake as she pushes her hair back from her face.
I don’t miss the way her breath hitches when she finally registers the car’s interior.
Rafa. Sleeping. Peaceful.
Unharmed.
Her shoulders slump. Not in relief. In defeat.
She thought I’d punish her through him. Thought I’d use him to teach her a lesson.
She still doesn’t understand me at all.
I let the silence stretch, let her sit with it, let her realize.
The fact that I’m not furious is breaking her more than yelling ever could.
When she finally speaks, her voice is hoarse. “What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry?”
I tilt my head, watching her, studying her, watching the cracks form.
“No,” I murmur. “I want you to say thank you.”
Her lips part in disbelief, her breath catching. “For what?”
I lean in slightly, voice dropping just enough to make her strain to hear it.
“For letting you keep your son.”
She jerks back like I just struck her, and there it is.
The final crack.
She knows I wouldn’t have hurt him. But that’s the thing about control—it isn’t about force.
It’s about making her believe I could have.
It’s about making her question how much of this is real… and how much of it she’s done to herself.
She doesn’t speak after that. Doesn’t move.
She just sits there, silent, her mind racing.
I let her.
Let her fall into the spiral of her own thoughts.
Because by the time we get back to the mansion, she’ll be too exhausted to fight.
The ride back to the mansion is silent.
Gilly sits rigid beside me, her hands curled into fists in her lap, her body as tense as a wire pulled too tight. She doesn’t look at me. She doesn’t look at Rafa.
She just stares straight ahead, unblinking, lost somewhere deep inside her own mind.
Good.
I don’t speak.
I don’t need to.
This part of the game is the easiest—letting her sit with it, letting her drown in the realization that she failed.
Again.
By the time we pull through the mansion gates, the fight has bled out of her. Not all of it. Not enough to break her completely. But she’s exhausted.
And exhaustion?
It’s the first step toward surrender.
The car rolls to a smooth stop in the driveway. I shift slightly, watching her from the corner of my eye.
“Get out.” My voice is quiet. Steady.
For a moment, I think she might not move. That she might finally snap, finally let all the fury in her chest explode.
But instead, she inhales sharply through her nose, unbuckles her seatbelt, and opens the door.
She doesn’t wait for me.
She doesn’t look back.
She just steps inside the house, her spine straight, her chin lifted, her defiance still flickering despite everything.
I follow, slower.
I don’t need to rush.
She’s already right where I want her.
---
Gilly doesn’t stop in the entryway. She walks straight ahead, past the grand staircase, past the staff who keep their heads down, past the walls that have kept her mine for weeks now.
She heads for the one place she thinks she still has control—her room.
I let her go.
For now.
I hand Rafa off to one of the staff without a word. He stirs slightly but doesn’t wake, his small body going limp against the woman’s shoulder as she carries him upstairs.
Only then do I move toward Gilly’s room.
The door is open when I reach it. She stands in the center, arms wrapped around herself, her breathing shallow. She’s trying to slow her pulse, trying to steady the tremble in her fingers.
She knows I’m behind her.
She just doesn’t want to face me.
Too bad.
I step inside and close the door behind me.
She flinches at the sound but quickly hides it, straightening.
“You can go now,” she mutters. “You won.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Did I?”
Her jaw tightens. She hates this part. Hates when I refuse to play by her rules, when I don’t react the way she expects.
She wants me to scream. To rage. To punish her in the way she understands.
She doesn’t realize this is so much worse.
I walk toward her, slow, deliberate.
She doesn’t move away, but her muscles coil, as if bracing for something.
I lift my hand—just slightly. Her breath catches, her eyes darting to my fingers, her entire body wound so tight I can feel the energy crackling off of her.
But I don’t touch her.
I reach past her, picking up the passport she thought she had hidden so well.
I turn it over between my fingers, then flick my gaze back to hers.
“Tell me,” I murmur, my voice almost thoughtful. “Did you really think I wouldn’t check?”
A flicker of something passes over her face. Frustration? Embarrassment?
Fear?
“I had to try,” she finally says, voice barely above a whisper.
I nod slowly. “I know.”
I reach for her then, just my fingertips grazing her jaw. She tenses but doesn’t pull away.
“Tell me,” I say again, tilting her chin up. “How did it feel?”
She swallows hard. “How did what feel?”
“The moment you realized you weren’t getting away.”
A single breath.
Shallow. Unsteady.
I watch the war in her eyes, the way she wants to fight, the way she wants to push back—but can’t. Not anymore.
She shakes her head once, as if trying to clear it, but I don’t let her escape that easily. My thumb brushes against her lower lip, soft. Barely there.
“Not yet, Gilly,” I murmur. “You’re not ready to lie to me just yet.”
She jerks back like I burned her, her chest rising and falling too fast. “Screw you.”
I grin. “You already did.”
Her breath hitches, eyes darkening with something dangerous.
But before she can say anything else, I drop the real bomb.
“Run again, and I’ll make sure Claire disappears.”
The second the words leave my mouth, Gilly goes still.
Her breath hitches. Her fingers tighten into fists at her sides.
But she doesn’t turn to face me.
She just stands there, frozen, like her brain is scrambling to catch up.
I let the silence stretch, watching the way her body trembles—not with fear, not yet.
With denial.
She thinks I’m bluffing.
She wants me to be bluffing.
Slowly, she turns, her expression carefully blank. But I see the cracks.
The slight shake in her exhale. The tension in her jaw. The way her lips part, like she’s about to say something, but doesn’t trust herself to speak.
Finally, she forces out a single word.
“Liar.”
I arch a brow. “Am I?”
Her throat bobs with a swallow. “You don’t have Claire.”
I tilt my head slightly. “Maybe.”
Her nostrils flare. “You’re just trying to mess with me.”
“Am I?”
A flicker of something dangerous passes over her face.
This is what she does when she’s cornered—she lashes out, tries to force me to react, to prove I have limits.
She doesn’t understand that I don’t.
She takes a step toward me, her chin lifted in defiance. “If you had her, you would have used her against me already.”
I hum. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ve been waiting for the right moment.”
Her entire body locks up.
I take a step closer, my voice dropping lower.
“Tell me something, Gilly.” My fingers skim her jaw. She doesn’t move away this time, but she shivers.
“When was the last time you heard from Claire?”
The color drains from her face.
I watch it happen—the moment her brain goes back, rewinds, searches.
She realizes.
The last time she saw Claire was in her office before I took her.
Her breath turns shallow. Her pulse pounds visibly at her throat.
I let her sit with it.
Let her drown in the thought that maybe I already have her.
That maybe Claire never tried to find her.
That maybe… she never would.
She shakes her head once, sharp. “No. No, you don’t have her.”
I don’t react. Just watch.
“You don’t,” she insists, her voice cracking at the edges. “She’s fine. She’s smart. She—”
I grip her chin between my fingers, cutting her off.
Her eyes snap to mine, wide, desperate, breaking.
She wants me to deny it.
To say something, anything, to make this moment less real.
I don’t.
Instead, I just murmur, “You should ask yourself why she never tried to find you.”
Her breath shatters.
And I feel it, that last fragile thread of hope snapping.
The war is over.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
I step back, letting her go.
She barely moves, still caught in the weight of my words.
Still unraveling.
I wait.
Let the silence stretch between us like a noose.
Then, when I know she’s right at the edge of breaking, I drop the final blow.
“You wanted to be a lawyer again?”
Her eyes flicker with confusion, but she doesn’t speak.
I smile, slow and deliberate. “Defend my brother… and I’ll make sure not to harm Claire.”
Her breath hitches.
Her entire body locks up.
She thought she had a choice.
She thought this was about punishment.
But it was always about this.
About pulling her deeper.
About making sure she never forgets…
She belongs to me.
She stares at me, breathless, trapped.
I can see it in her eyes—the moment she realizes there’s no escape.
Not from this.
Not from me.