Chapter 6

Welcome Home

The Maybach glided through the city like a shadow, smooth and silent. Elena sat rigid in the soft leather seat, the massive diamond on her finger feeling heavier with every passing streetlight. Sandro’s thigh brushed against hers in the spacious backseat, a constant, deliberate reminder of his presence. He hadn’t spoken since they left Rossi Tower, but she could feel his eyes on her,  dark, assessing, possessive.

The car finally slowed and turned into an underground parking garage beneath one of the most exclusive residential towers in Manhattan. Private. Secure. Impenetrable.

Sandro stepped out first, then extended his hand to her. Elena hesitated for half a second before placing her palm in his. His grip was firm, warm, and far too controlling as he helped her out. The moment she stood, he didn’t release her hand. Instead, he kept it tucked in his as they walked toward a private elevator.

The doors opened with a soft chime. Inside, there were no buttons, only a sleek panel that required Sandro’s fingerprint and a code. The elevator rose smoothly, silently, making Elena’s stomach drop with every floor they passed.

When the doors finally opened, she stepped into a world that didn’t feel real.

The penthouse was breathtaking. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the entire space, offering a panoramic view of the glittering New York skyline that made her feel like she was floating above the city. Modern minimalist design dominated everything. Clean lines, dark marble floors, soft lighting that cast everything in warm gold and deep shadows. A grand living area stretched out with plush sectional sofas, abstract art worth more than her entire life, and a kitchen that looked like it belonged in a magazine.

“Welcome home,” Sandro said, his voice low and smooth behind her.

Elena swallowed hard. This wasn’t a home. This was a palace. A very expensive, very beautiful cage.

He released her hand only to place it on the small of her back, guiding her forward with gentle but undeniable pressure. The heat of his palm burned through the thin fabric of her blouse.

“Come. I’ll show you around.”

The tour was thorough and cold. He moved like a king showing off his domain. He pointed out the main living area, the formal dining room that could seat twelve, the state-of-the-art gym, and a library filled with rare books. Every room screamed wealth and control.

But it was the master bedroom that made her breath catch.

It was massive. A king-sized bed dominated the center, dressed in black silk sheets that looked sinfully soft. Another wall of windows overlooked the city. A sitting area with deep armchairs faced a fireplace. To the left was a walk-in closet so large it could have been its own room.

Sandro pushed open the doors.

Half of it was clearly his. Tailored suits, rows of expensive shirts, shelves of watches and shoes. The other half…

It had already been filled for her.

Designer dresses hung in perfect order. Blouses, skirts, evening gowns. Drawers of lingerie… lace, silk, everything in her size. Shoes lined up on lighted shelves. Jewelry boxes waiting on a central island.

“You stocked my closet,” Elena whispered, voice tight.

“I take care of what belongs to me,” Sandro replied calmly. “Everything here is yours. You will dress appropriately for every occasion. No exceptions.”

Elena turned to face him. He stood in the doorway, watching her with those dark, unreadable eyes. The way he looked at her, like he was already imagining her in every piece of clothing, then slowly taking it off sent a rush of unwanted heat through her body.

She hated how aware she was of him. The way his black shirt stretched across his broad chest. The faint shadow of stubble along his sharp jaw. The quiet power that rolled off him in waves.

They moved back to the main living area. Sandro gestured for her to sit on the long sectional while he poured two glasses of wine. He handed her one, then sat directly across from her, legs spread in that arrogantly masculine way.

“Rules,” he said simply.

Elena gripped the wine glass tighter as he listed them in that low, commanding voice.

“Curfew is 10 p.m. unless you are with me or have my explicit permission. You do not leave this penthouse without security or my approval. All phone calls and messages will be monitored for your safety. No unapproved male contact. When we are in public, you will act as my devoted wife. Smiles, affection, obedience. In private, you will address me properly and follow my instructions without question.”

Elena’s temper flared. “And if I refuse?”

Sandro’s lips curved into a small, dangerous smile. “Then you lose everything, including the protection I’m offering your sister. Choose wisely, Elena.”

The silence that followed was thick and heavy. Elena took a sip of wine to steady herself, but she could feel his gaze burning into her skin.

Dinner was served shortly after, a private chef had prepared seared salmon, roasted vegetables, and an expensive bottle of wine. They sat at the long dining table, the city sparkling behind them like a backdrop. Sandro watched her eat with intense focus, his eyes never leaving her face, her mouth, the way her throat moved when she swallowed.

“Eat,” he said when she pushed food around her plate. His voice was soft but carried the weight of an order.

Elena met his stare, defiant even as heat bloomed low in her belly. “I’m not a child.”

“No,” he agreed, leaning forward slightly. “You’re not. You’re my wife. And I expect you to take care of what’s mine.”

The possessiveness in his tone sent a shiver racing down her spine. She hated how her body reacted, nipples tightening, thighs pressing together under the table. She forced herself to take another bite, hyper-aware of every movement under his watchful gaze.

When dinner ended, Sandro stood and offered her his hand again. She took it reluctantly. He led her down a hallway to a beautiful guest room. Elegant, with its own bathroom and a view of the city.

“You will sleep here for now,” he said, stopping at the threshold. “Until I decide otherwise.”

Elena stepped inside, expecting him to leave. Instead, he lingered, filling the doorway with his powerful frame. His eyes dragged slowly down her body, dark and hungry, before returning to her face.

“Sleep well, Elena,” he murmured, voice rougher than before. “Tomorrow, your new life begins.”

He closed the door behind him with a soft click.

Elena stood in the middle of the luxurious room, heart pounding, body aching with a confusing mix of fear and arousal. She touched the diamond ring on her finger, the symbol of everything she had just surrendered.

She had stepped into the devil’s world.

And despite everything, the fear, the anger, the crushing weight of her decision. A dark, shameful part of her was already wondering what it would feel like when he finally decided to claim her completely.