Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Lorenzo
The second the car door slams shut, I can finally breathe. Vito starts the car.
I drag a hand through my hair and exhale the last of that goddamn performance. The fake smiles. The power plays. It’s over. Thank fucking God.
Isabella slides into the seat beside me, and the long split in her dress falls open like an invitation, revealing a stretch of flawless leg.
I look.
Of course I fucking look. Any man with a pulse would.
The fabric rides high, clinging in all the right places, teasing just enough to mess with my restraint. Her skin is smooth, bare. Those legs are made to be spread wide, hooked over my shoulders, gripped tight while I drive into her until she’s shaking, swearing, and begging me not to stop.
My cock grows heavy, throbbing behind my zipper, as each filthy thought lines up after another.
I envision my hand sliding up that thigh, fingers digging in.
I picture her gasping, nails biting into my skin, hearing the sounds she makes when that fire turns desperate.
When she’s coming apart and cursing at me because she hates how much she wants it.
She turns her face toward the window, pretending I don’t exist.
“Staring won’t make it yours,” she mutters, her voice cold enough to frost the fucking glass.
I lean in, close enough to feel the heat rolling off that flawless skin. “No, but it fucking will be mine.”
She scoffs, still refusing to glance my way. “Keep dreaming, husband. You couldn’t handle it.”
My cock twitches at the challenge.
Handle it? Fuck, I plan to wreck it.
I lean back, a slow grin spreading. “You’ll be on your knees by midnight. Dress off, mouth open. Maybe then you’ll stop pretending you’re not wet for me.”
She laughs softly. “You mistake your delusions for confidence. I fuck when I say I want to fuck, and tonight, I’m not in the mood.”
My fingers twitch with the urge to test that theory. To find out if her cunt is as wet as I think it is. To see if she says no with her mouth while her body says fuck yes.
Let her play cold. I’ve got the whole damn night to melt her down.
I lean back in my seat, one arm stretched along the leather behind her, watching the city lights flicker past the glass.
“You made quite the statement,” I remark.
“Good.”
“You embarrassed your father.”
Her mouth curves. “Even better.”
A grin spreads quickly across my face.
Vito keeps his eyes straight ahead as he drives. The silence inside the car stretches, thick and razor-sharp, vibrating with every unspoken thing between us.
I glance down at her thighs again. Fucking hell. My cock’s already hard and I know I will be fucking her as soon as we get out of this car.
She catches me looking and raises one perfect brow, with smugness written all over her face. “You done eye-fucking me, yet?”
“Don’t worry,” I smirk. “I’m just planning the night in my head.”
She scoffs. “Dream on.”
She shifts slightly in her seat.
It’s just enough for that split in the black dress to open wider, revealing a strip of red lace underwear—barely there, yet enough to kill a man.
She gently pulls the fabric back down with a delicate tug of her fingers, pretending she didn’t do it on purpose.
My grip tightens around my knee, fighting the urge to grab her and toss her across my lap. To growl into her ear how many different ways I’m going to make her pay for that.
The control it takes in me not to growl is inhuman. I fight the urge to tell Vito to pull over and tell him to get out, so I can drag her onto my lap and make this marriage real in the filthiest way possible.
I laugh softly under my breath and turn back to the window, because if I don’t, I’ll rip that damn dress off her with my teeth.
But every nerve in my body stays focused on her.
Waiting.
Wanting.
She has no fucking idea what she’s started. Or maybe she does. And that’s what makes her even more dangerous.
We pull into the long gated driveway of the De Luca estate.
Black iron fencing encloses the property, resembling ribs, bones, and teeth, flanked by men in tailored suits with heavy weapons tucked beneath their jackets. One nods once before entering a code into the keypad. The gate groans open.
Stone lions sit on either side of the driveway as if guarding secrets buried within the marble. The house ahead is a fortress—three stories of cold stone and wealth. Floodlights illuminate the perimeter. More guards stand beneath the pillars, straight-backed, guns in view.
Isabella gazes at it, her face unreadable.
“Home sweet home,” I murmur.
“I’ve seen prisons with more warmth.”
I grin. “If you’re lucky, I’ll put you in one of the warmer cells so we can fuck.”
Her eyes flick to me—sharp and icy. “If you’re lucky, I won’t stab you before you sit down for dinner.”
Her lips twitch, and for a second, I think she’s going to smile. Instead, she licks them slowly, tormenting me, and then turns back to the window.
My cock pulses with an ache.
I lean in closer, lowering my voice to a whisper that brushes against her ear. “Careful, wife. Keep teasing me like that, and I’ll fuck you on the dining room table. Right between the canapés and the tiramisu.”
She doesn’t flinch. “Please, you’ll be too busy choking on your ego.”
My teeth flash. “My ego’s not what you’ll be choking on.”
The car stops. Vito opens the door, head bowed, eyes averted.
Isabella doesn’t wait; just swings those legs out of the car and walks like the damn queen of Naples. Past the guards who stand frozen, their rifles slung low, watching her.
She climbs the three front steps, the hem of her black dress whispering with each sway of her hips.
I watch how her heels echo on the marble—bold and loud. She doesn’t look back, doesn’t wait, and doesn’t care if I follow.
My guards at the door shift uncomfortably. They sense it. The fucking audacity. A Serrano just married a De Luca, and she’s walking into my fortress with her chin held high and her mouth tight, like she owns every brick in the damn place instead of just fulfilling a contract.
She pushes open the door and steps inside, eyes scanning the marble floors, the twin chandeliers overhead, the staircase that curves like a blade through the space. Cold. Mine, built on blood.
She plants her hands on her hips, spins like a storm, and glares at me. “Where’s my room?”
I take my time, leaning against the doorframe with my arms crossed. I let my eyes drift down her body before I respond. “We share one.”
There’s fire in her eyes, fury in every line of her posture. “You’re joking.”
“Nope.”
“You expect me to sleep next to you?”
“I expect you to get used to it.”
Her laugh is sharp, mean, and razor-edged. “I am not fucking you, Lorenzo. You can jerk yourself off tonight.”
I take a step forward, then another. I close the distance between us with the quiet confidence of someone who knows they already have this game under control.
She doesn’t step back. Just raises her chin as I come near.
Good.
I don’t want a woman who gives up easily. I want a woman who fights back.
I stop close enough to feel the warmth of her body. Her breath falters, and I can feel it, even if she masks it well.
“This is my house,” I murmur. “My kingdom. You came here wearing my name.”
She scoffs. “I came here because I had no fucking choice and you know it.”
“And now you belong to me.”
Her body tenses. “Fuck you.”
“That’s the plan.”
Her hand shoots out, slamming into my chest, but I catch her wrist mid-swing. I hold it there between us.
“Let me make one thing clear,” I say. “If I wanted to fuck you tonight, I will.”
Her eyes flare. “Try it and I will slice your cock off with a fucking steak knife.”
I lean in, my mouth grazing her ear, voice a low growl. “Make sure it’s sharp, Bella. Because I don’t go down easy.”
She jerks her wrist free from my grip with flames in her eyes and venom on her tongue. Her words spit out rapidly in Italian—too quick for me to catch. Her body reveals everything I need to see. She’s furious, defiant, and fucking magnificent.
My cock is getting intensely hard with every second she refuses to back down. Every second she tries to prove she’s not mine.
This marriage... oh, it’s going to be fucking fun.
“You think that threat scares me, Bella?” I ask, my voice low and rough with desire and caution.
She steps in, toe to toe, chin tilted in that way that screams don’t fuck with me. “You should be fucking terrified.”
I smile. “You’re not used to men who push back, are you?”
“I’m not used to boys who mistake possession for power.”
Oh, fuck me… that mouth was built for battle.
The air between us crackles. It’s alive. Electric. One wrong move and this whole place will burn.
“You wear my ring,” I murmur.
“That ring doesn’t mean shit,” she says.
“Maybe to you,” I say, lifting my hand to grab her chin, not rough, just enough to make her look at me. “But to every fucker in this city, it means you belong to me.”
Her breath hitches and there it is. I see the crack in her armor.
She then slaps my hand away, her mouth curling into a snarl. “You don’t own fucking shit, Lorenzo.”
My laugh is a shadowy thing. A knife in the darkness. “You keep telling yourself that, Bella.”
I lean in.
She doesn’t move.
Our mouths are so close, I can taste her defiance. I taste the heat of every insult she’s swallowed. Every fantasy she’s tried to bury.
“I hate you,” she breathes, voice trembling, eyes sparkling.
“Good,” I whisper. “Hate me with your whole fucking body, then.”
I can’t take it anymore, I go in for the kiss. Her lips are still parted when I press my mouth to hers.
The kiss isn’t sweet or slow. It’s teeth and tongues, rage and lust wrapped around every moment of it. She claws at my shoulders, trying to take control, but I grip her hips and pin her to the wall like a predator who finally cornered his prey.
She moans into my mouth, and I feel it down to my fucking cock.