04: The devil

LILITH

Rayne De Luca has to be out of his god-damned mind.

"Don't fucking come near me, you perv!" I snap, backing away from him.

He smiles. The man freaking smiles at me like I am some kind of amusement show.

"Are you not going overboard, Lilith? Do you want to deprive me of a basic need of a man and woman in a matrimonial union?"

He shakes his head and then starts to walk towards his car. "Follow me."

It is just one sentence, but my feet move in an instant, following him like a lost puppy. I grit my teeth, hating myself for succumbing to his authoritative stance.

When we get back to the house, Betty is at the door, her face is drenched in tears and I feel sorry for putting her in trouble. But thankfully, Rayne does not give her a second glance because he is more focused on dragging slash pulling me into the room for whatever reason best known to him.

I only hope it is not what I am thinking.

Rayne does not take me to my room, it is the room opposite mine we enter, and he turns the lock on the door.

One moment I am standing in the middle of the room, the next, he presses me against the wall, towering over me. His hips lean into mine as his right arm rests high over my head, caging me in. His warm spicy scent envelops me. The sensation is overwhelming… and terrifying.

"You do not want a kiss, how about you get down on all fours, my sweet vixen?"

My ears pique in shock. I risk a glance at him and gone is my amused husband, in his place is a part of him I do not recognize. There is something burning in his gaze as he stares at me — lust.

I am trembling under his scrutiny. He steps away from me.

"I do not like to repeat myself, Lilith so do as I say if you do not want to see what I would do to you for not listening to me."

I can take the yelling and the whips anytime, but this? Do I even have a choice now? After all, my Father knew what he was doing when he made me and not Riya the sacrificial lamb.

So I listen to Rayne, and I go on all fours, feeling the shame wash over me like ice water.

"Good girl," he mumbles. "Now take off those clothes, they are a nuisance."

My hands shake as I reach for my zipper, tears prick at my eyes. I have never cried since I turned twelve, even when my Mother and Father spent years assaulting me both physically and mentally. I never cried, but right now, my dignity is being stripped off from me and I can already feel the broken me emerging again, yet what is this anxiousness I feel to see the look on his face when I take my clothes off?

I think I am going insane.

"Take them off, sweet vixen," he insists impatiently.

Sweet vixen. At least that is better than princess.

He lowers himself to my level for the second time this night, and proceeds to run his fingers along my shoulder. His hands were almost painfully patient, agonizingly sensual, and I wanted nothing more than for them to never leave my body.

My own body betrays me and I shiver at his touch.

"You like it, don't you, vixen? You like the idea that my body burns for you right now, don't you?"

Would I be stupid to say I liked it even as much as I hated it?

I reach for the hem of my dress, and pull it off at one go, my heart hammering against my chest. I lick my lips as I watch how his gaze zeroes in on my body that is now clad in only my bra and underskirt.

His breath fans my neck. His lips skim my cheeks before finally crashing down to claim my mouth.

He is kissing me.

My husband is kissing me.

I ball my hands into fists, stilling myself as I try to twist away. With a growl, he clasps my jaw in his hand and pushes back.

"Let me in, vixen," he commands.

This time when his head reaches down to claim my lips again, I have no choice but to open up as the tips of his fingers presses to the side of my face, taking possession.

His tongue duels with mine while his free hands reaches to cover my breast, squeezing hard. I yelp at the contact, feeling sizzles of desires ripple down my body.

This is wrong.

This is all shades of wrong. Why does my body betray my own thoughts like this? I pull away, gasping for air, clinging to him even as I yearn to be let off.

"Tell me, sweet vixen. Tell me how you want me to punish you for disobeying me."

"You are sick," I spit out.

A cold smile spreads on his lips at my words. "Maybe. Maybe not, but that does not change the fact that you are stuck with me."

I watch as his eyes flash with unmistakable want, his possessive voice ringing in my head. I realize I am stuck with this man whether I like it or not.

"What do you want to do to me now?" I ask carefully, feeling the cold air blowing on my bare skin, earning a shiver from me and reminding me that I am still kneeling half naked before him like he is some sort of deity.

Is he not?

"You ask like you can handle anything. Can you handle it, sweet vixen?"

"How do you think I have survived in a Mafia family all these years if I cannot handle anything?" I retort sharply, holding his gaze.

He scoffs. "You are different."

"Different is unique," I answer.

"Get up," he commands.

Confused but grateful, I rise to my feet wondering what is next on Rayne's agenda for me. I do not expect what he says next though.

"Go pack your bags, my sweet vixen. We are going on our honeymoon."

I freeze.

"Excuse you?"

"You did not think we would not have one, did you?" He smirks. "What expectations did you have of me, Lilith?"

I frown. "I never had any expectations of you, Rayne De Luca."

"Such a shame, my dear wife because I did have my hopes up about you."

I lick my lips, all too aware of his dark scrutinizing gaze roaming over my half clad body.

"Now run along, vixen. We leave for Paris tomorrow morning," he says with a tone of finality.

I falter. I should have known that he is the devil and he already bought my soul.

[]

The devil does not bargain.

The next morning meets me in front of my canvas instead of getting dressed to go to Paris for my honeymoon. My worst decision right? But you cannot take the sudden inspiration out of an artist when there is an urge.

Black and red paints stain my hands as I finish the final stroke on my new piece. Slashes of red like knife cuts stains the edge of the canvas, and then the sunlight seeping in through the window catches sight of my piece — the dark face of a man.

A man who shall not be named. It is the first time I have painted a face and this reality disturbs me.

A sharp knock resounds on my door as I gather my art supplies and neatly arranged them at a corner of the room.

I go to open the door, flinching when I come face to face with Rayne.

"You are not dressed, Lilith," he says, regarding me with his cold stare.

I take out the paint brush I stuck in my hair to hold my bun up as I walk back inside, ignoring him completely. It is a stupid choice to ignore Rayne, but my stubbornness sometimes makes me do stupid things, and I already vowed not to let this man play me down.

It is like a game, where Rayne and I are the players and no matter how smart he pulls his cards, I have to stand strong. I have to play smarter.

"You know how much—"

"How much you hate it when people don't listen to you?" I cut him off with a wave of my fingers. "I know that, dear husband. But you never for once asked me what I hated?" I continue.

Rayne stares at me with a look I can tell as disbelief. "What?"

"Oh right," I shake my head. "No one has ever spoken to you in this manner before, have they?"

He blinks, gaping at me like I have grown two heads. "You—"

"Did I make you speechless? I hear I always have the power to bring even the strongest mam to his knees."

I move closer to him, feeling overwhelmed at his height and how easily he dwarfs me, but nonetheless holding my stance. "Do you think I can bring you to your knees, Rayne?" I whisper.

His palms are on my neck in an instant, I would not say I never expected that. He is swift as he switched our positions, so that my back is to the wall, and I am forced to look up at him with his second hand placement on my jaw.

"You like to run your mouth, don't you sweet vixen?" He growls, his eyes a darker shade of brown.

I tremble. Perhaps I should not have pulled his legs, but the daring Lilith Russo inside me will not willingly allow herself to be authorised by a man, especially one that was a De Luca. The thought alone unnerved me.

"I thought we had a common ground on that?" I shoot back a reply.

Rayne's fingers reaches for my mouth, his thumb callously running against my lips while his eyes holds a smoky glint in them. "If we had a common ground I would know, I do not make deals that would not benefit me," he says.

"Certainly," I answer. "Which is why I am curious as to what this marriage is all about, and what you would gain from making me your wife."

His frown morphs into a dark chuckle. "You do not want to know, my vixen. Now you have only twenty minutes to meet me downstairs, or else I promise not to be very nice when I carry you out of this place even without your consent," he whispers harshly.

I gulp, catching my breath. I guess I have entered into a Cold War with my husband, and we are just getting started.

[]

Here is the thing.

Honeymoons are supposed to be enjoyed, not endured which is why I have decided that I am going to have the time of my life in Paris whether my husband likes it or not. Besides, it's been years since I had a proper vacation and if Rayne is giving it to me without a cost, who am I to day no?

One thing you must know, is that even as my Father's former right-hand man, despite knowing the Mafia world through and through, I had a switch which I could flip on and off on my own accord. It is called the Mafia princess switch and the last time that switch was on was when I had helped my Father on a mission to get his money from one of his rivals. The switch had worked perfectly, because who gave a damn about a spoilt rich Russo Principessa? No one.

So now as we make our way to our hotel room, I flip my hair and put a cheeky grin on my face, then I ease into my act.

"Darling!" I screech, stopping Rayne on his track.

The look on his face screams what the fuck.

I blink at him. "Don't you think we should go eat first? I am damn hungry," I say, pouting my lips.

Rayne stares at me in horror. "What?"

"I said I want to eat," I repeat, blinking repeatedly.

My husband is sure traumatized because he probably does not expect my switch in characters. Neither do I.

I wear my Mafia princess mask perfectly, blinking my eyes rapidly at Rayne like a wet puppy.

"What the fuck are you doing, Lilith," he hisses.

I shrug nonchalantly. "Is this not what you asked for? A willing and obedient wife. I am giving her to you."

The reaction on his face is priceless. He seems to be unsure of what to feel, horror or fluster?

"So this is willing and obedient to you?" He questions.

"Is it not? Or are our definitions countering?" I grin widely. "We do not have to talk too much. I am hungry, and we are in Paris, the city of light. Just bring out your black card and let's spend away, baby," I finish with a wink.

He splutters, seemingly impressed. "You are one impossible woman, Lilith Russo."

When playing a game, sometimes you gave to act dumb in order to make strategic moves that will eventually lead to your big win, if I played my cards right, I could beat Rayne De Luca at his own sick game of power play.

The thought alone makes me freaking excited.

I stretch my hand with a scoff. "Your black card, husband?"