Chapter 1 - You Don't Get To Run Twice

Bela

"LET GO of me!" I lunged back, planting my heels against the slick pavement of the Milan alleyway. "Seb, stop it!"

He didn’t even look back at me. He just kept walking, his stride long and unyielding, dragging me along like an afterthought.

Around us, three of his men formed a moving wall, shielding us from the neon-lit street and any prying eyes.

To them, I wasn't a person, I was an asset being retrieved.

When we reached the sleek, black armored sedan idling at the curb, a bodyguard held the door open.

"Get in," Seb commanded, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that made my teeth ache.

"No." I wrenched my arm with everything I had, but his fingers only tightened, bruising the skin. "I am not getting into a car with you. You have no right—"

Seb turned then, his dark eyes flashing with a dangerous, possessive heat that pinned me to the spot. He stepped into my space, until I could smell his expensive cologne mixed with the scent of tobacco and pure, unadulterated anger.

"I have every right," he whispered, his face inches from mine. "You died, Bela. I buried an empty casket. If you think I’m letting you out of my sight for even a second after finding you in a place like that, you are losing your mind. Get. In."

Before I could scream again, he shifted his grip, catching me by the waist and physically lifting me into the leather interior of the backseat.

I tumbled across the plush cushions, scrambled to reach the opposite door handle, but the locks clicked into place before my fingers could touch the metal.

Seb slid in right behind me, the heavy door slamming shut, sealing us in a suffocating world of tinted glass and silence.

The car lunged forward.

Then, Seb’s large hand clamped around my jaw, turning my face away from the window and forcing me to look directly into the dark, volatile storm in his eyes.

“Look at me,” he commanded. “Don’t look away from me, Bela. Not after a year of nothing but a name carved into a headstone.”

“Seb, stop—”

He didn't listen. His other hand slid up my thigh, the heavy heat of his palm searing right through the thin fabric of my work skirt. He squeezed, his fingers digging into my skin with a possessive intensity that made me gasp.

I trembled, my hands coming up to push at his chest, but my fingers only curled into the expensive fabric of his suit. My body was betraying me, melting under the sheer force of his proximity.

“Let go of me,” I breathed, though the protest lacked any real venom.

“Never again,” Seb growled against my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin right beneath my jaw, making my toes curl. His hand moved higher, cupping my breast through my bra, his thumb sweeping over the hardened peak with a deliberate, torturous slowness. “You think you can just run away and become someone else? Open your mouth for me, Bela. Tell me you don't want this. Tell me your body forgot how it feels to have my hands on you.”

“I hate you,” I choked out, a tear finally slipping down my cheek as his touch grew more consuming, his fingers tracing the line of my collarbone before tangled themselves in my burgundy hair, pulling my head back gently.

“Hate me all you want,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to my lips with a dangerous hunger. “But you’re still mine. Every beautiful, lying inch of you belongs right here, under my hands. You’re going to learn now that you don’t get to die unless I tell you to.”

Thirty minutes later, the car pulled into the underground garage of a sleek, ultra-modern skyscraper. His private penthouse.

The moment the doors unlocked, I pushed past him and bolted out of the car toward the elevator. But before my fingers could press the call button, two of his guards stepped into my path.

"You're imprisoning me again," I spat, my voice trembling with rage. "Just like your father did. You're just like him."

Seb’s expression went utterly cold. He walked up to me, his footsteps heavy, stopping just inches away. "If you think you can get past my men, be my guest."

I stared at him, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The unfairness of it choked me. "You're a monster," I whispered. "A cold, heartless monster."

Seb’s jaw tightened, a muscle leaping in his cheek. He stepped closer, forcing me back against the cold wall of the elevator bank. "If you truly hated me, Bela—if I was the monster you claim I am—you wouldn't have hidden from me. You would have run to the ends of the earth. But you stayed in Milan. You stayed right where you knew I could find you."

"I stayed because I had nowhere else to go!" I cried out, the emotional dam breaking. "I lost everything!"

"You didn't lose me," he growled, his hand suddenly cupping the back of my neck, his thumb pressing hard against my jaw, forcing me to look at him. "You left me."

Looking into his dark eyes, I didn't just see the ruthless Don he had become, I saw the boy who used to hold me in the dark when the nightmares got too loud.

I gasped as his gaze dropped to my lips. The hatred was there, but the desire was blinding.

"Seb," I breathed, a warning and a plea all at once.

He didn't answer with words. He leaned down and captured my mouth once again in a kiss that tasted of anger, desperation, and a year's worth of unmitigated grief.

A sob wrecked my throat as I kissed him back with a fierce, punishing intensity of my own. I hated him for what he was doing, but my body remembered him, craved him, like a starving person.

He lifted me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed me into the wall. The touch of his skin against mine was a sensory overload. Every stroke of his hands, every desperate collision of our mouths was a battleground of unresolved pain.

When he finally carried me into the dark bedroom of the penthouse, the intimacy only grew heavier.

Sebastian didn’t waste a single second. He dropped me onto the expansive mattress, the sheer weight of his body following me down before I could even draw a breath.

His hands were everywhere at once, stripping away my cheap bar uniform with a frantic intensity, his rough palms scraping against my skin. He pinned my wrists above my head, his fingers locking around them like steel handcuffs.

“Seb,” I gasped, my chest heaving against his.

“Quiet,” he growled, his voice completely unhinged as he buried his face in the crook of my neck. He didn’t kiss me—he bit, his teeth marking the soft skin of my shoulder. “Just let me feel you. Don't say a fucking word.”

When he parted my thighs with his knee, I felt like crying.

“Shh…” he whispered and freed my hands from his grip. “I’ll make you remember every inch of me.” 

When he shove into into me, a sharp cry left my lips, lost against the demanding pressure of his mouth as he kissed me.

“Ah, Seb…” I moaned with every thrust.

It was a brutal fueled by the fury of his betrayal and the agony of my faked death. Every thrust was a question, an interrogation without words: Why did you leave me? How could you let me bleed?

I arched into him, my hips lifted to welcome the deep, stretching fullness of him, my legs wrapping tight around his waist, locking him to me.

“Fuck, Bela…” he groaned, his hand digging onto my skin.

Seb’s breathing was a ragged, broken sound in my ear, his possessive grip on my hips bruising the flesh as he anchored me to the bed, driving himself deeper and deeper until I begged him to stop.

The climax didn't bring peace, it broke over us like a violent storm.

Seb stiffened against me, a low, guttural groan ripping from his chest as he spilled inside me, his forehead resting against mine as he shuddered violently.

I clung to him, my own release shattering through my veins in sharp, aching waves that left me trembling from the inside out.

But the moment the tremors faded, the illusion shattered.

Seb rolled away, the mattress shifting as he pulled himself to the far edge of the bed. He didn't pull me into his chest. He didn't brush the damp curls from my forehead.

He turned his back to me.

**

THE NEXT morning, the harsh Milan sun filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, waking me.

I sat up, wrapping the silk sheet around my bare chest, my eyes scanning the minimalist, cavernous bedroom.

Seb was gone.

I slipped out of bed, my feet padding softly across the hardwood floor toward the massive double doors. I grabbed the handles and pulled.

They didn't budge.

A heavy, hollow click echoed through the wood. The doors were locked from the outside.

I was trapped. Again. The intimacy of the night before hadn't changed a thing, I was still his captive.

Before panic could fully set in, the lock clicked again, and one of the doors swung open.

A young maid walked in, eyes downcast, carrying a garment bag filled with expensive, designer clothes. She carefully laid them across the foot of the bed.

"Where is Sebastian?" I demanded, my voice raw. "Unlock these doors."

"Mr. Ricaforte said you'll need these, signorina," she murmured, bowing her head. "There are guests arriving this afternoon."