CHAPTER 5

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ELYSIA 

The car’s door opened onto a world of salt and marble and money.

Cold wind whipped off the Mediterranean, sharp enough to cut skin. The Valente estate rose in front of us like a fortress carved from nightmares. Three stories of black glass and white stone, terraces dripping with bougainvillea, armed men on every corner pretending they weren’t watching.

Adrian stepped out first, all lethal grace in that black suit, and turned back to me.

He extended one hand, palm up, tattooed knuckles gleaming. Waiting.

I stayed glued to the leather seat, arms crossed so tight my nails dug crescents into my skin.

I would not take his hand. I would not make this easy. His dark brow arched. Then he leaned down, one forearm braced on the roof of the car, the other on the doorframe, caging me in shadow.

“Babygirl,” he murmured, voice low and filthy, “do you want me to punish you right here where all my men can watch?” His gaze dragged down my body, slow, deliberate. “I’ll bend you over the hood, pull these little sweatpants down, and spank this perfect ass until it’s red and you’re crying for mercy. Then I’ll carry you inside dripping down your thighs so everyone knows exactly who you belong to.”

Heat flooded my face, my chest, places I refused to name. I glared at him with every ounce of hate I had left. He smiled, slow, shark-like. “Or you can take my hand like a good girl and walk in on your own legs. Your choice, piccola.”

I hated him. I hated how my body clenched at the picture he painted. I hated that some tiny, traitorous part of me wondered what his palm would feel like on bare skin. I shoved past his outstretched hand and climbed out myself.

The second my sneakers hit the gravel, the wind sliced through Lisa’s thin hoodie like a blade. Goosebumps exploded across my arms. The estate stretched endless in every direction, manicured gardens, infinity pools glowing turquoise, and beyond the high iron gates, nothing but cliffs and the roaring sea.

No roads. No neighbors. No escape. The thought hit me like a gunshot. Run. I didn’t think. I just bolted. Gravel bit into my soles as I sprinted for the main gates, lungs burning, hair whipping behind me like a flag of surrender I refused to wave.

I could hear the ocean crashing below the cliffs as if I could just get past the guards, maybe I could— Two men stepped in front of the gate, rifles rising in perfect sync. I skidded to a stop, chest heaving, hands raised. Behind me, slow footsteps on gravel.

Crunch.

Crunch.

Crunch.

I turned. Adrian was walking toward me, hands in his pockets, suit jacket open and flapping in the wind like dark wings. The morning sun caught the sharp lines of his face and turned his eyes into burning obsidian.

He looked like the devil coming to collect. Every step was unhurried. Predatory. He knew I had nowhere to go. When he reached me, he stopped so close I had to crane my neck to hold his stare.

One hand lifted, slow as a threat, and gripped my chin between thumb and forefinger, forcing my face up. “Look at me,” he ordered softly. I did. And the air left my lungs.

His pupils were blown wide, swallowing the brown until only a thin ring remained. Pure possession blazed there, ancient and terrifying. “Run again,” he said, voice velvet and venom, “and I will chase you.”

His thumb stroked my lower lip, smearing the last traces of my lipstick from the car. “I will always chase you, Elysia. There is no corner of this earth you can hide where I won’t find you.”

I tried to jerk away. His grip tightened, not painful, just unbreakable.

“I will drag you back by this pretty hair,” he continued, winding a strand around his fist and tugging until my scalp stung in a sweet pain and tears pricked my eyes. “Chain you to my bed. Fuck you until you forget the word escape even exists. And when you’re sobbing my name, begging for mercy, I’ll tattoo my initials right here—” his other hand slid between my legs, cupping me through the fabric with shameless ownership, “ so every time you look in the mirror you remember who this cunt belongs to.”

My breath hitched on a sob I refused to let out. His mouth brushed the corner of mine, barely a kiss, more a brand. “You are not a prisoner, amore,” he whispered. “You are a queen I stole. And queens do not run from their kings.”

Then, before I could snarl or scream or spit in his face, he bent and swept me up into his arms like I weighed nothing.

I gasped, hands flying to his shoulders for balance. “Put me—”

“No.” He strode toward the house, carrying me bridal-style past the bowing guards, past the marble fountains, past the staff who pretended they saw nothing.

I struggled, kicking, twisting. He only tightened his hold and dropped his mouth to my ear.

“Every time you fight me,” he murmured, “I get harder. Keep going, babygirl. By the time we reach the bedroom I’ll be aching to remind you why you said yes.”

My whole body flushed crimson. The massive front doors opened as if they’d been waiting for their king to return with his prize. Inside was a cathedral of black marble and gold, chandeliers dripping crystals like frozen tears. The air smelled like money and gunpowder, him. 

He carried me up a sweeping staircase, down a hallway lined with paintings that probably cost more than my life, and finally kicked open a set of double doors. A bedroom the size of my old house. A bed big enough for sin and war.

He walked straight to it and dropped me in the center. I bounced once, scrambled to my knees, ready to bolt again. But the doors had already shut. And Adrian was unbuttoning his cufflinks, one by one, eyes never leaving me.

“Strip,” he said calmly. I froze. He tossed the cufflinks onto a side table. They clinked like bullets. “You have ten seconds to take off every stitch you’re wearing,” he continued, voice dropping into something dark and velvet and lethal. “Or I do it for you. And I won’t be gentle.”

My heart thundered so loud I was sure he could hear it.

I opened my mouth, to scream, to curse, to beg, I didn’t know. He stepped forward, rolled his sleeves to the elbow, revealing ropey forearms inked with saints and skulls and Latin I couldn’t read. “Ten,” he began.

I clutched the hem of my hoodie. “Nine.” My hands shook. “Eight.” I yanked it over my head, leaving me in Lisa’s borrowed tank top and sweatpants. His gaze raked over me like fire. “Seven.” I kicked off the sneakers. “Six.” The tank top went next.

His eyes flared at the sight of his marks all over my skin, bruises on my breasts, my hips, my throat. “Five.” I shoved the sweatpants down, stepping out of them until I stood in nothing but mismatched cotton panties. He inhaled, slow and deep, like he was savoring the finest wine.

“Four.” I hooked my thumbs in the waistband.

“Three- ” I let them fall. He exhaled a single Italian curse that sounded like prayer and profanity combined. Then he moved. One second he was by the door. The next he was on me, lifting me, spinning, pinning me to the mattress with his weight.

His mouth crashed over mine, devouring, punishing, worshipping. I tasted blood and possession and the end of the world. When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing like we’d run for miles. He pressed his forehead to mine, voice ragged.

“Never run from me again, Elysia.” I couldn’t answer. Could only stare up at him, naked, shaking, terrified, and God forgive me, so wet. He smiled, dark and slow, and reached for the nightstand drawer.

My eyes widened when I saw what he pulled out. A thin platinum band set with a single black diamond. He slid it onto my left ring finger like it had always belonged there. “Welcome to forever, Mrs. Valente.”

And just as his mouth descended again, just as his hands spread my thighs and I felt the blunt head of him nudging at my entrance, ready to claim me all over again when,  A sharp knock sounded at the door. Adrian froze.

A man’s voice, urgent, filtered through the wood. “Boss. We have a problem. The Russians just hit two of our warehouses. And they left a message… addressed to your new fiancée.” Adrian’s head snapped up, eyes turning into something inhuman.

He looked down at me, sprawled beneath him, ring glinting, lips swollen, and smiled like the devil who’d just been handed a war. “Looks like someone wants to meet my queen already.”

He kissed me once more. Rough, hard, fast, filthy.

Then he stood, tucked himself away, and reached for the gun on the dresser. “Stay here,” he ordered. The door slammed behind him. And I was left naked on silk sheets, wearing nothing but his ring and the promise of blood.