Chapter 10

The First Test

The penthouse felt smaller with every passing hour. Elena paced the living room like a caged animal, the rulebook burning a hole in her mind. No phone. No contact with the outside world. No freedom. She had memorized the first ten rules like a good little wife, but obedience tasted like ash on her tongue.

Late afternoon light slanted through the windows. Sandro had left for a meeting hours ago, leaving only the quiet staff and the ever-present security cameras. Or so she thought.

She slipped into the hidden office again, heart hammering. The landline on the desk had been disconnected earlier, but she’d noticed a sleek black phone in one of the charging docks yesterday. Maybe it wasn’t monitored. Maybe she could reach Juliette, even for thirty seconds, just to say she was alive.

Elena picked up the receiver with trembling fingers and dialed her best friend’s number from memory. It rang once. Twice.

A low, dangerous voice spoke from the doorway.

“Put it down.”

She froze. Sandro stood there in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, one hand still on the doorframe. His expression was calm, but his eyes burned with controlled fury. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

“I was only—” she started.

“Put. The phone. Down.”

Elena replaced the receiver slowly. Her pulse roared in her ears as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him with a soft click that sounded louder than a gunshot.

“You were told the rules, wife,” he said, voice deceptively soft. “Phone use requires my permission. Contact with anyone outside requires my permission. You agreed to this when you signed the contract.”

“I didn’t agree to being completely cut off from the world,” she shot back, though her voice wavered.

Sandro removed his suit jacket with deliberate movements, draping it over the back of the chair. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, revealing those dark, intricate tattoos. The sight alone made her thighs clench.

“On your knees.”

Elena’s breath hitched. “What?”

“You heard me.” He pointed to the spot directly in front of him. “Knees. Now.”

She hesitated only a second before sinking down onto the thick carpet. The position made her feel small, vulnerable… and shamefully aroused.

Sandro stepped closer until the toes of his polished shoes nearly touched her knees. He towered over her, radiating controlled power.

“Rule number four,” he ordered quietly.

Elena swallowed. “No unauthorized contact with the outside world.”

“Louder. And look at me while you speak.”

She lifted her gaze. His dark eyes locked onto hers, intense and unyielding.

“No unauthorized contact with the outside world,” she repeated, voice clearer.

“Rule number seven.”

“Physical contact only when initiated by you.”

He took another step forward, so close she could feel the heat of his body. “Again.”

“Physical contact only when initiated by you.”

Sandro’s hand came down, not to strike her, but to tilt her chin higher with two fingers. The touch was firm, possessive. “Rule number two.”

“No raised voices or profanity directed at my husband,” she whispered, the word “husband” feeling foreign and far too intimate on her tongue.

His thumb brushed lightly along her jaw. “Good. You remember. Now tell me why you broke them.”

“I… I needed to know Juliette is okay. I needed to hear a familiar voice.”

Sandro’s expression didn’t soften. “You need to understand that your world is here now. With me. Every breath, every call, every step you take belongs to me. Do you understand?”

Elena’s breathing grew shallow. Being on her knees, forced to recite his rules while he stood over her like a dark god, was doing terrible, delicious things to her body. Heat pooled low in her belly. Her nipples tightened against her dress. She hated how wet she was becoming.

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Sandro.”

He hummed in quiet approval, but the punishment wasn’t over. He circled her slowly, like a predator examining its prey. When he stopped behind her, she felt his presence like a physical weight.

“Repeat all ten rules. Slowly. I want to hear every word while you remember who you belong to.”

Elena’s voice trembled as she began reciting. With every rule, Sandro drew closer. By rule five, she could feel his breath on the top of her head. By rule eight, his fingers were lightly tracing the nape of her neck, sending shivers racing down her spine. The erotic tension thickened until the air felt heavy and electric.

When she reached the final rule, her voice had grown husky. “Disobedience will result in graduated consequences… decided solely by my husband.”

Sandro’s hand slid into her hair, gripping just tightly enough to tilt her head back so she looked up at him. The position exposed her throat. His eyes dropped to her lips, dark with hunger.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Is it fear, Elena? Or something else?”

She couldn’t answer. Her body was on fire. The ache between her thighs had become unbearable. She wanted to hate him. She wanted to push him away. Instead, she found herself leaning slightly into his touch.

Sandro leaned down, so close their lips were only inches apart. She could smell his cologne, feel the warmth of his breath mingling with hers. His gaze burned into her, promising things she wasn’t ready to name. For one heart-stopping moment, she thought he would kiss her. She could almost taste it, dark, possessive, consuming.

Her lips parted on a soft, involuntary sound.

Sandro’s grip in her hair tightened for a fraction of a second… then he pulled back.

The almost-kiss left her dizzy and aching.

He released her and stepped away, leaving her on her knees, flushed and breathing hard.

“Stand up,” he said calmly, though his own voice carried a rough edge.

Elena rose on unsteady legs. Her cheeks burned with humiliation and unmet desire. She pressed her thighs together, mortified by how slick she had become from nothing more than his voice and proximity.

Sandro studied her for a long moment, eyes tracing the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

“Your phone will remain with me for the next forty-eight hours,” he said. “And you will sleep in my room tonight. Not in the guest room. In my bed. Where I can ensure you don’t get any more foolish ideas.”

Elena’s eyes widened. “Sandro—”

“It’s not up for discussion.” He cupped her face with one large hand, thumb brushing her lower lip. “This was only a warning, wife. Next time I catch you breaking my rules, I won’t stop at making you recite them on your knees.”

He leaned in one last time, lips hovering maddeningly close to hers.

“Next time,” he whispered, “I might not stop at all.”

Then he turned and walked out of the office, leaving Elena standing there, body throbbing with frustration and a terrifying new awareness.

She was already losing the fight against wanting the man who owned her.