HIS PENTHOUSE,HIS RULE

I didn’t speak to him on the ride.

Luciano didn’t push.

He just sat there like a silent storm in a tailored black suit, one arm draped casually over the back of the leather seat, watching me like I was a puzzle he planned to solve piece by piece.

When the limo finally stopped, I expected a castle. Maybe a dark mansion dripping in mafia arrogance and danger.

But what I saw was worse.

It was glass.

A high-rise penthouse in the center of the city, reflecting the skyline like it owned it.

“I’m not going inside,” I said flatly as the door opened.

Luciano looked amused. “That’s cute. Get out.”

I stayed seated.

He leaned over me, slow and close, until I could feel the heat radiating off his chest.

“You can walk in, or I’ll carry you in. Either way, you’re coming with me.”

“I’m not your property,” I snapped.

He smirked. “Funny, that collar says otherwise.”

He tugged the diamond chain gently, forcing me forward. I stumbled out of the car, my heels clicking against the pavement as we walked into the building.

The elevator ride was silent. Tense.

He didn’t touch me. Didn’t speak.

But I felt him watching me in the glass reflection, eyes raking over my legs, the hem of my dress, the marks on my wrists from the leash.

I crossed my arms over my chest.

“I want my own room,” I said.

Luciano raised an eyebrow. “Who said anything about sharing mine?”

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime.

His penthouse was… cold.

Beautiful, but cold. Black marble floors. Massive windows that made the whole city look like a toy. Silver and steel furniture. Nothing soft. Nothing warm.

Just like him.

He took off his jacket, tossing it on the arm of a black leather couch, then turned to face me fully.

“House rules,” he said.

“Is this a prison?” I asked bitterly.

“It’s safer than the street,” he replied. “And more generous than the people your father owed.”

I flinched.

“Rule one,” he continued, ignoring the look on my face. “Don’t leave without my permission.”

“I’m not your pet.”

“No. You’re mine,” he said simply. “And I protect what’s mine. If you walk out of here without me, they’ll take you. Use you. Sell you again. If you don’t believe that, try me.”

I swallowed hard.

“Rule two,” he said. “No lies.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Like how you lied to me years ago?”

His jaw flexed.

“One day,” he said tightly, “you’ll understand why I left.”

“I doubt that.”

“Rule three,” he went on, ignoring the edge in my voice, “You will obey me in public. Whatever I say, however I touch you, whatever I need you to do… you will play the part.”

I stared at him.

“You want a puppet?”

“No,” he said, stepping closer, lowering his voice. “I want a queen. One who knows when to act and when to fight.”

His hand brushed my cheek.

I slapped it away.

Luciano laughed softly.

“I missed that temper.”

“Don’t touch me.”

“But I will,” he whispered. “Eventually. You’ll stop pulling away.”

He walked to the bar, poured two fingers of scotch, and downed it in one smooth motion.

I stood there like a statue.

I didn’t cry.

I didn’t scream.

I was too tired. Too confused. Too furious.

“So what now?” I asked. “You just expect me to live here like your… what? Your pet? Your slave?”

Luciano leaned against the counter, studying me.

“No,” he said. “You’ll live here like my guest.”

I blinked.

“Guest?”

He nodded.

“But everyone else will think you’re mine. Body, name, soul. You’ll be seen on my arm. You’ll act like you belong to me.”

“Why?”

His gaze hardened.

“Because the people I deal with don’t believe in softness. They believe in power. In ownership. And if they know I’ve claimed you, they’ll leave you alone.”

“So you’re using me?”

“I’m protecting you. There’s a difference.”

“By making me pretend to be your whore?”

Luciano moved before I could breathe.

One second I was standing, the next I was against the wall, his arm braced above my head, his body too close.

He wasn’t touching me.

But I felt it—like fire licking through my skin.

“You were never that,” he said low and sharp. “Don’t ever call yourself that again.”

My chest rose and fell with ragged breaths.

“Then what am I, Luciano?” I whispered.

He looked at me like he didn’t know.

Like I was a ghost wearing the face of a girl he used to love.

“You’re… mine,” he said finally. “That’s all I know.”

His eyes dropped to my lips.

I turned my head, breaking the spell.

He didn’t try to kiss me.

He stepped back.

“Your room is down the hall. Third door. Don’t lock it.”

“I will.”

“You won’t,” he said, calm and final. “Because I’ll break it down.”

When I closed the door behind me, I leaned back against it and let out a long, broken breath.

I was in hell.

And hell had glass walls, expensive whiskey, and a devil who still knew my name.