CHAPTER 3: His Vessel

Sophia's POV

The room beyond was dark except for a thin line of light through the curtains.

At first my brain couldn't process what I was seeing, but then my eyes adjusted and the shapes resolved into something that made my stomach drop to my feet.

A man sat in the corner of the room, bound to a chair with ropes. His head hung forward, chin resting on his chest, and I could see the rise and fall of his breath.

He was alive, but that small relief evaporated when I took in the rest of him. His face was swollen beyond recognition, purple and red bruises blooming across his skin.

Blood had dried from his nose and a cut above his eye. Both eyes were nearly swollen shut, and a dirty rag was stuffed between his lips, tied tight around his head.

I should have screamed. I should have run. But my feet were cemented to the floor, and all I could do was stare at this human wreck while my mind screamed questions I couldn't answer.

Who was he? What had Luca done to him? How long had he been...

“Don't!”

A hand clamped over mine and yanked me backward so hard I stumbled.

My back hit the hallway wall, and I gasped with my heart pounding like a prisoner demanding release.

The elderly Mexican woman who had grabbed me stood in front of me, her dark eyes wide with fear.

Her uniform, a black dress with a white apron, was immaculate, but her hands trembled as she lowered them from mine.

“You mustn't go in there,” she whispered. “The master wouldn't want it. Please, Mrs. Rossi. Please.”

I stared at her, still too shocked to speak. She was maybe sixty with gray-streaked hair pulled into a tight bun and a face weathered by years of hard work, but it was the fear in her eyes that got to me.

This woman was terrified of what would happen if Luca found out I'd seen that room.

“Who is that man?” I finally managed to ask.

She grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong for someone her age, and pulled me away from the door.

“Doesn't matter who he is. What matters is you forget you saw anything. You understand me? Forget.”

I wanted to demand answers, but the look on her face stopped me. She was genuinely frightened for my safety.

“I... okay,” I whispered. “Okay.”

She nodded in relief and led me back toward the master suite.

My legs felt like rubber, and my stomach churned with nausea.

I caught a glimpse of the man again as we passed. He'd lifted his head slightly, and through his swollen eyes, I could see him looking at me and begging silently for help.

I turned away because what could I do? I was a prisoner here myself.

The elderly maid returned an hour later with a tray of food I had no appetite for. She introduced herself as Maria as she set the tray on the small table by the window and sat across from me.

“I know you have questions,” she said quietly. “I would too, in your position.”

I wrapped the destroyed dress tighter around myself.

“Then answer them. Who is that man?”

Maria sighed, her face creasing with resignation.

“He was one of Don Rossi's men for fifteen years. He was his confidant.” She paused. “Until he betrayed him.”

“Betrayed him how?”

“He passed information about Don Rossi's routes.” Maria shook her head slowly. “Two of Don Rossi's men died because of that information, and four more were hospitalized. The Don found out, obviously. He always finds out.”

I felt the color drain from my face.

“So he's... he's going to kill him?”

Maria's silence was answer enough.

I leaned back in my chair, my mind spinning. This was the man I'd married. The man who had brutally violated me on my wedding night. The man who kept prisoners in his house and tortured them personally, apparently.

“How long have you worked for him?” I asked, desperate to change the subject.

“Twenty-three years. Since he was just a young man taking over the family business.” Her eyes grew distant for a moment. “I've watched him grow into what he is today. I've seen him be merciful, and I've seen him be cruel. The cruelty, that came later, after his break-up.”

“He was in a relationship?”

“Yes, with a beautiful woman. It didn't last long.” Maria's expression turned sad. “The Don doesn't let people close. Not anymore. He loses them or they betray him, and each time, a little more of him dies inside. What's left is...” She trailed off, clearly realizing she was saying too much.

“Is what?” I pressed.

“Nothing, Mrs. Rossi. Forget I said anything.” She stood, smoothing her apron. “What I came to tell you is this. If you want to survive in this house, you follow some simple rules. Don't go into rooms you haven't been invited to. Don't ask questions you don't want answered. Don't ever, under any circumstances, mention Viktor to the Don. Not a word.”

I nodded slowly, absorbing her warning.

“And if I do?”

Maria's eyes met mine, and for just a moment, I saw pity there.

“Then you'll end up just like him. Maybe worse.”

***

Days turned into a pattern. A monotonous, grinding pattern that felt like drowning in slow motion.

Luca never touched me again after that first night. Not in that way anyway, but he didn't need to. His cruelty took subtler forms.

He demanded I be ready for him the moment he walked through the door, dressed in whatever he specified, standing at attention like a soldier awaiting orders.

He spoke to me in clipped sentences, giving commands that brooked no argument. Eat here. Sit there. Stay in this room. Don't make a sound.

His men watched me constantly. I wasn't allowed to go anywhere without an escort, and phone calls were supervised, every conversation listened to by someone with a dead expression and a gun concealed beneath his jacket.

I was a slave. Nothing more than a beautiful pet with fine clothes and nowhere to go.

Two weeks after my wedding, I arrived home from the hospital with a little hospitality, accompanied by his men, of course.

I hesitated for a moment before stepping down from the car. Luca's car was in the driveway when I arrived. Strange. He was almost never home this early.

I walked into the living room where several men lounged on the furniture, each one exuding wealth and danger in equal measure.

Cuban cigars perfumed the air, and crystal glasses of amber whiskey caught the light from the fireplace.

These weren't ordinary men. They were crime bosses, captains of industry in the underworld, and they all turned to look at me the moment I entered.

Luca stood by the window with his posture relaxed in a way I'd never seen before. He wore a dark suit that fit him like a second skin, his black hair swept back and his gray eyes unreadable. For once, he wasn't looking at me like I was a bug to be crushed.

“Ah, the lady of the house,” one of the men said, rising from his seat.

He was blond and handsome with caramel-colored eyes that crawled over my body with open appreciation.

“Mrs. Rossi. The Don's been keeping you hidden away.”

I forced a smile, my cheeks flushing with discomfort.

“Gentlemen.”

The blond man, Capone, I realized, one of Luca's most trusted lieutenants, grinned and raised his glass in a toast.

“Here's to the Don, who hit the jackpot with such a sexy lady. That body, those curves...” He let out a low whistle. “Bagging a beauty like this, no wonder he's been so protective of you.”

The other men laughed and echoed the toast.

I wanted to crawl out of my skin, but then Luca's voice rose over all the talk, as cold as winter.

“Get out.”

The laughter died and Capone's smile faltered.

“Don?”

“I said get out. All of you. Now.”

No one argued. The crime bosses finished their drinks in record time, mumbled their goodbyes, and filed out with the practiced efficiency of men who knew better than to cross Luca Rossi.

Capone paused at the door, shooting me an apologetic look, but I barely noticed. I was too focused on Luca.

He waited until the last car had pulled away from the house, and then he turned to me and his expression made my stomach drop.

His jaw was tight and his eyes glittered with something that wasn't quite anger but was definitely dangerous.

“You think I don't know what you are?” he hissed, striding toward me. “A whore. A Moretti whore sent to trap me. You think I don't see the way you wanted to flirt with Marco?”

I shook my head, fumbling for the report in my bag.

“W-wait. I have something to tell you. Something important.”

“I don't want to hear your lies.”

“Just read this!” I thrust the paper at him, pressing it against his chest. “Please. Just read it.”

He snatched it from my hands, his gray eyes scanning the page.

I watched his expression shift. Surprise, then consideration, then something I couldn't read.

He read it three times slowly as if the words might change between readings, and when he finally looked at me, his face was blank again.

“Well,” he said flatly. “About fucking time.”

For a moment, I allowed myself to hope. Maybe this was it. Maybe he would finally see me as something other than an enemy. The mother of his unborn child.

He crumpled the report in his fist and tossed it aside.

“Let me be very clear with you,” he hissed, stepping closer until I could smell the cigar smoke clinging to his suit. “The only reason I married you was to produce an heir. A strong son who will inherit my empire and secure my bloodline against every enemy waiting to tear us apart.”

His hand shot out, gripping my chin and tilting my face up to meet his eyes.

“You're not my wife. You're not my partner. You're a breeding vessel, got that?!…”