Chapter Three LEO
The Venturas made me wait. Not long. No one with sense would make me wait long. Still, it was long enough to remind me I was stepping into another man’s house.
Not that it mattered. By the time Ventura’s study doors opened, every person in that mansion already knew who owned who now.
I stepped inside without waiting for an invitation.
Lorenzo Ventura stiffened behind his desk, jaw tight, eyes calculating. He masked it well. Most men did, when they realized they were outmatched.
But I wasn’t looking at him. I was looking at his daughter.
Chiara Ventura stood in the center of the room like she’d been placed there. Positioned. Displayed. Beautiful.
Bruised in ways most wouldn’t notice, but I did. The subtle stiffness, the way she held her shoulders, the faint shadow beneath her eyes.
And still… She lifted her chin when she saw me. I almost smiled, but held back. I relished the look of fear in her eyes. Fear and intrigue mixing together into a potent cocktail of emotion.
“Well,” I drawled, taking my time as I crossed the room. “This is disappointing.”
Chiara’s brows snapped together. “What is?”
I let my gaze drag over her slowly. Deliberately. Not coming near her, but close enough for her to feel my eyes, stripping her naked.
“You looked better on your knees,” I smirked.
Her breath hitched. “Please, just please, stop lying.”
“There it is,” I murmured, pleased. “See, Signore Ventura? She loves to beg me.”
“You’re a filthy pig,” she snapped.
I finally smiled.
“And you’re marrying that pig,” I said lightly. “Careful. That makes you just as filthy. Not that I didn’t already know just what a dirty girl you are, Chiara Ventura.”
Her father cleared his throat. “Watch your tone in my…”
I didn’t even look at him.
“If you speak again,” I said calmly, “make sure it’s something useful.”
Silence fell. Heavy. Immediate. Chiara noticed. I saw it in the way her eyes flicked briefly toward her father… then back to me. Something shifted behind her anger.
Her eyes were sizing me up now. Good. I hoped she was intimidated by all six feet five of me. I’d dominate her, and not just in the bedroom. From now on, she’d be my obedient puppet. Just what I wanted since the moment I sucked the poison out of her slim little ankle.
“You lied about me,” she said.
Ah. There it was. I turned back to her fully, giving her my attention like it was a privilege.
“Did I?” I asked innocently.
Her hands curled into fists at her sides. “You told them I begged you. That I…”
She cut herself off, shaking with the unfairness of it all.
“Yes, dear?” I grinned.
“That’s not what happened,” she hissed. “And you know it.”
I tilted my head, studying her like she was something mildly interesting. “Isn’t it?”
“No,” she bit out. “You know it’s not.”
I stepped closer. Close enough that she had to tilt her head back slightly to keep eye contact.
“I remember you grabbing my hair,” I said softly. “Pulling me closer. I remember you not wanting me to stop.”
“That’s not what…” she started, but I leaned in just enough to cut her off.
“Careful,” I murmured. “You’re calling me a liar in front of your Papa.”
“I don’t care,” she shot back, voice shaking but loud. “You are one. Nobody will believe your fake, made-up stories about me.”
I laughed. God, she was entertaining.
“You think it matters?” I asked. “You are Ventura. I am Moretti. I rank over you.”
“And?” she demanded.
“And,” I smiled. “That means I fucking own you.”
Her expression faltered for half a second. And there it was again, that crack.
“That’s the part you don’t understand yet,” I continued, straightening. “Truth isn’t what decides your life anymore. I do.”
Chiara’s face went pale.
“I hate you,” she whispered. “If you force me to marry you, I will spend the rest of my life listing every reason why.”
“You won’t be the only one,” I said. “A lot of people hate me. A lot of women, too. They still end up in my bed.”
I tipped her chin back with my fingers, ignoring the sparks flying between us. “Just like you will.”
A small sound broke the tension. Soft. Curious. I glanced toward the door. A little kid was poking her head through the door. She hovered, clutching the edge of the doorframe, wide dark eyes fixed on me like I was something out of a scary story.
Not fear. Fascination.
I crouched slightly, lowering myself to her level without breaking eye contact.
“Well,” I said, voice shifting, lighter now, almost amused. “And who’s this?”
“No,” Chiara snapped, stepping between us. “Don’t talk to her.”
I raised a brow. That only made me more interested.
“Sienna,” the girl said before Chiara could stop her, her voice small but steady. “That’s my name. Chiara’s my big sister and she is the best at doing my braids.”
“Sienna,” I repeated, tasting it. “Pretty name and pretty braids, signorina.”
She brightened. Chiara grabbed her arm. “Go back to your room.”
“I don’t want to,” Sienna protested, peeking around her. “He’s not scary like you said. Are you really the scary man from our stories? Do you really have a big snake pit? You’re too handsome to be evil.”
I laughed under my breath. “Oh, I like her.”
“You’re not going near her,” Chiara said, her voice low now. I stood slowly, towering over both of them.
“I’m already near her,” I pointed out mildly.
Sienna tugged free just enough to look up at me again. “Are you really The Serpent?”
Chiara went rigid. “Sienna, stop.”
“Yes,” I said simply. The girl’s eyes widened. Unexpectedly, she smiled.
“Cool. Do you have a snake, then?” she asked.
I blinked once. Then laughed. Actually laughed this time. Chiara stared at her little sister like she’d lost her mind.
“He’s not cool. He’s a thief, and a liar,” she hissed. “He wants to separate us.”
Sienna looked between us, confusion flickering across her face. “Does that mean you’re taking my sister home with you?”
“Yes,” I said.
“No,” Chiara snapped at the same time. I ignored her.
Sienna frowned. “But she doesn’t want to go with you.”
I crouched again, lowering my voice like I was letting her in on something important. “I know she doesn’t, and I’m sorry about that. But I really need her, too. More than you do right now.”
She considered that. Too seriously for someone her age. Then she looked at Chiara. “She’ll be okay, though, right?”
Chiara’s throat worked. Before she could answer, I did.
“Of course,” I said easily. “I take very good care of what’s mine.”
Chiara’s nails dug into her palms. I could see it.
“Stop saying that,” she hissed. I stood again, adjusting my cuffs like this was all routine. “You don’t own me, you lying piece of-”
“It’s already done,” I said. “You’re coming with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you willingly,” she hissed. “I’d rather die than be your wife. You’ll have to force me every step of the way, and I’ll never stop fighting you.”
I met her gaze. Held it. Then smiled, slow and deliberate. “Good. I’d be disappointed if you did.”
I straightened before she could respond.
“Get her things,” I told her crestfallen father.
Chiara glared, shaking with anger. She stood there, staring at me like she wanted to burn me alive.
Good. I’d rather have her fire than her submission. It would be so much more satisfying to watch her break for me, and I’d spend a lifetime reminding her of how hard she resisted at first.
Chiara didn’t speak when they put her in my car. I didn’t expect her to.
The door shut, sealing us into the back of the Rolls-Royce, the city sliding past in blurred light and glass. Chiara sat as far from me as possible, shoulders locked, hands clenched in her lap like she was holding herself together by force.
Distance wouldn’t save her.
“You’re bleeding through the bandage on your ankle,” I said.
Her head snapped toward me. “I’m fine.”
Lie. The scent of iron said otherwise. I leaned forward slightly, watching her instead of the skyline. “You won’t be if you keep pretending.”
“I don’t need your concern,” she bit out.
“No,” I said calmly. “You don’t. Yet.”
Silence stretched again, thick and deliberate. She turned her face toward the window, but I could still see the tension in her jaw, the way she was bracing for something that hadn’t come yet.
The car slowed as we pulled up to the building. My building. Steel and glass cutting into the sky, untouchable, owned by the most powerful man in the city. She followed my gaze up.
“What is this?” she asked, quieter now.
“My home.”
A flicker of something crossed her face. Not fear. Not yet. Realization. The driver opened the door. I stepped out first, then waited.
“Out,” I said. She hesitated. Then obeyed.
The lobby swallowed us whole, all marble, black glass, gold that wasn’t decoration but a statement. Ownership pressed into every surface. Chiara slowed beside me, eyes flicking over everything, taking it in whether she wanted to or not.
“This is your building?” she asked.
I nodded.
Her gaze lifted, tracing the height of it. “How many floors?”
“All of them.”
That shut her up.
The elevator took us straight to the top. No stops. No interruptions. Just the quiet hum and her breathing, slightly uneven now. When the doors opened, the city spilled out in light beneath us, the penthouse wrapped in glass and silence.
She paused. Just for a second. Then she remembered herself. “Where am I sleeping?”
How cute and direct. I walked past her. “Follow me.”
I opened one of the guest rooms and stepped aside. She didn’t move at first. Just stared into it, like she was expecting something worse waiting inside. Like I’d led her straight to the snake pit.
“You’re not sharing with me?” she asked, suspicion threading through her voice.
“No.”
A pause. Then a soft gasp, almost like it slipped out of her. “Oh.”
Relief.
I stepped closer, just enough to feel it shift into tension again. “Disappointed?”
Her eyes snapped to mine. “Not in the slightest.”
“Good,” I said. “Because when I decide I do want to share a bed with you, it won’t be optional for you.”