Chapter 3
There’s Nothing But Pain
New York, Present Day
I wish you were still here; life isn’t the same without you. —Izzy
Izzy
“If anyone objects to the marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
I do. I object. But of course, I can't say that aloud. The words catch in my throat, and I remain silent, a prisoner to my own heartache.
The room remains still, the weight of my unspoken words hanging in the air, as my fate is sealed.
Lucas takes my hands in his, and I force a smile, the corners of my mouth trembling as my heart breaks in two. I’d hoped he’d come—hoped he’d storm in, like a hero, and take me far from here. But he didn’t. I haven’t heard from him in over twenty years. He’s probably long forgotten about me by now.
“By the authority vested in me by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
Lucas tugs me towards him, and his lips come down on mine hard. He forces his tongue into my mouth before pulling away with a satisfied smirk.
Flashes from the photographers punctuate the moment, their lights blinding, but all I see is the empty space where my family should have been. There’s no one here for me. No familiar face. No friends. Not even a shred of support.
I knew what I was getting into when I left Italy, dragging myself away from everything I knew. I knew that marrying Lucas would condemn me until I got the chance to ruin him.
Still, I really thought Enzo might come for me. How foolish I was. I’ve thought about reaching out to him countless times, but something has always stopped me.
I know who Enzo is. And I know what he does. Enzo Russo is no longer the boy I once knew—the boy who left, promising he would always be there. He’s changed. And I’ve changed.
But I haven’t stopped loving him.
I don’t know what I was thinking, sending him a last-minute invitation. Delusion perhaps. I just wanted to see him. To know that he still cared.
And now, here I am—trapped in a loveless marriage to a man I despise.
Perhaps you're wondering why I would do such a thing. Marry a man I clearly don’t want to.
The short answer: I had to.
Lucas Delaney is running for Congress, using his campaign as a thinly veiled attempt to mask his sexism and racism.
However, those aren't his worst attributes. Before my papa died, he tasked me with finishing his work. The world knew him as the ambassador, just a powerful man with a lot of money and political sway. But that’s not all he was.
I didn’t know, not to begin with, but Papa was part of an undercover operation—one that takes down international sex trafficking rings.
And who’s at the center of this one?
My new husband.
The reception passes in a blur. Lucas keeps a hand on me at all times and hisses in my ear to keep myself in line.
What does he think I’ll do? Stab him? I wish.
It’s close to midnight when it's time for us to leave. Everyone else is staying at the hotel, but Lucas said he wanted to take his new wife home.
I can only imagine why, and the thought makes me sick. It always does.
Sex with Lucas is awful, and not just because he wouldn’t know where a clit was if it reached up and slapped him in the face. He doesn’t care about my pleasure. There’s no foreplay, no warm-up. Just dry fucking that must feel like sandpaper on his dick.
It’s not that I’ve ever wanted to have sex with him. I knew who he was when I seduced him two and a half years ago. But I had to maintain the ruse. I couldn’t give him anything to suspect.
“Go to the bedroom,” Lucas orders as we step into the penthouse.
It’s a sterile, modern place. There’s nothing here that's mine. You could tell me that it’s a showroom and I’d believe you.
Navy blue walls make it feel like the space is closing in, white floors that sparkle unnaturally.
There’s a living room with black sofas that feel like they’ve never been sat on.
The kitchen is never used because Lucas prefers to eat out.
“Okay,” I mumble, stuttering slightly over the word as my voice purposefully trembles. I move in the direction of our bedroom but his hand curling around my arms stops me.
“I want you out of that dress by the time I get in there.” His eyes find mine and the lust in them is barely restrained. “I’m going to fuck my wife.”
He releases my arm with a rough shove, and I stumble towards the bedroom. Once there I shut the door and rest my back against it as my heart pounds in my chest.
With shaky hands I slide the hidden zip down at the side of my dress.
I hate this dress. It’s excessive, with a mountain of satin and tulle erupting into a skirt so massive it looked like it was swallowing half the aisle. The bodice has enough rhinestones to blind a small crowd.
If I could picture my perfect wedding dress it would be… well, I don’t know what it would be, but it’s not this. I never really pictured my wedding much growing up, save for who the groom would be. It was not Lucas.
I fumble my way out of the skirt, nearly tripping as I step out of the suffocating fabric.
Left in just my bridal lingerie, I glance at my reflection and grimace.
The white lace balcony bra feels more like a cage than anything flattering, pushing my chest up unnaturally.
The matching panties dig into my hips, their delicate floral pattern doing nothing to hide how uncomfortable they are.
The white garter clings to my thigh like a rubber band, and the flesh-colored stockings make my legs look pale and lifeless.
The entire ensemble feels wrong—too delicate, too perfect—like I'm playing dress-up in someone else's fantasy.
Before I have time to decide whether to remove those too, the door pushes open and Lucas walks in. His eyes roam over my exposed skin hungrily.
“Get on the bed.” His tone leaves no room for argument, so I scuttle to the bed in the center of the room and sit gingerly on the side.
I hate this role. The meek wife. But unfortunately, it’s a role I agreed to. A necessary one at that. Lucas would never have agreed to marry me if he had known who I really was. What I was capable of.
Lucas’s eyes light up at my submission. “Lie down.”
I scoot back until I hit the headboard, then I lie still and stop breathing as I wait for his next command.
Despite my bravado, he does scare me.
Lucas undoes his tie, then slowly unbuttons his white shirt. His hands move to his belt, still unhurried as he removes it and then lowers his zipper.
Once he’s undressed, he moves towards me with purpose, like a predator ready to pounce on his prey. Kneeling on the bed, he looms over me, and I swallow thickly.
His hands cup my breasts through the lace of the bra and squeeze roughly. He leans down to whisper in my ear, “You’re going to be a good girl for your husband, aren’t you?”
I almost vomit in my mouth.
He grabs my hips and then spins me so I’m on my stomach. He tears my panties off, the fabric digging into my skin painfully as he does.
I’m not sure when I last breathed. My heart is pounding so hard in my chest I can hear it in my ears.
He grasps my hips again, pulling me up so my ass is in the air. There's the sound of a condom wrapper being torn open. Then in one motion he shoves roughly inside me. Tears threaten to spill at the pain, but I force myself not to whimper.
“So tight. Fuck,” he groans as he pulls out and forces back in. I almost roll my eyes. It’s tight because I’m dryer than the Sahara Desert, you asshole.
My face is squashed into the mattress as he invades my body.
Thankfully, he’s a bit of a two-pump chump, because it’s over quickly. I, of course, got zero ounces of pleasure from the experience.
When he’s done, he hands me a glass of water from the side of the bed in an uncharacteristically kind gesture.
“You should be grateful, you know.”
I peer up at him and his face is amused. “Grateful?”
“No one else would marry you. You’re too old.”
The man’s forty, but sure, the thirty-four-year-old woman is old.
“Oh well thanks I guess,” I let out bitterly, raising the glass in a toast.
My hand feels heavy as I put the glass back onto the side table. I can feel Lucas’s eyes on me, as if he’s waiting for something.
“Whath are you loothing ath?” Why can’t I talk properly?
He grins. “I’ve been waiting for this day for a long time.”
“Wath?” What the fuck?
The door opens and three other men walk in. I try to cover up my almost naked body, but my limbs won’t work.
I’m shaking with fear now, true terror creeping in.
My head spins.
Lucas leans down to whisper in my ear, his hot breath dancing over my skin. “Did you really think you could fool me?”
“I doth know whath you’re thalking abouth.”
He barks out a laugh as he takes hold of my hands and binds them to the bed with a rope. It cuts into my wrists as I try to struggle but my whole body feels too heavy.
“I don’t need your confession, I already know enough.” His grin is terrifying. “Now, you’ll die, and I’ll get all your money, wife.”
Now I’m paralyzed not just by whatever is happening to me, but by his words. I knew he was a monster. But he’s going to kill me?
“Lucath. D… donth.” I wish my words would come out properly.
A tear slips down my cheek, then more.
Each man has one of my limbs now tied down, I feel exposed and vulnerable, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
I squeeze my eyes shut as the realization of what’s about to happen hits me. My breathing comes out in shallow gasps, it feels like I’m suffocating on the air.
“Pleath,” I whimper as someone’s finger shoves roughly inside me.
I open my eyes to see Lucas with a maniacal grin on his face. He leans down, his breath caressing my ear as he speaks. “You’ll be begging for death by the time we’re done with you.”
Pain.
There’s nothing but pain.
Someone’s hands come under my bruised and battered body, then I’m hoisted into the air.
“Cover her,” someone hisses, but I’m too out of it to work out who is speaking.
Something is draped over my body, and then we’re moving. I don’t open my eyes, I can’t. But I know we’re outside once I feel the cool air lick my skin.
I’m dropped onto something solid, and a small cry leaves my lips as pain erupts through me. Every part of me aches, though the physical pain is nothing compared to the pain in my mind.
We’re in a car. I feel the engine purr to life, feel the movement of the vehicle. My stomach heaves, but I’ve already thrown up everything inside me, so I’m just gagging and crying and desperate for air.
I don’t know how long it is before the car stops moving and there’s the sound of the door opening.
“Are we sure we should be doing this?” a worried voice says.
Someone else grunts, “You’re having second thoughts? Really?”
“No,” the voice snaps. “But what if she doesn’t die? Shouldn’t we do it ourselves?”
“She’s half dead already. There’s no way she’ll survive out here overnight.”
There’s a hum of agreement, then I’m jostled again into someone’s arms. They carry me for a moment before dropping me—throwing me is perhaps a better description—onto the wet ground below.
Pain explodes through my body as I land on the solid surface.
There are footsteps. They’re growing quieter.
The car door slams again.
The engine roars.
Silence.
I’m going to die out here. Whenever here is. And there’s nothing I can do about it.