Chapter 5

**SERA**

The metallic *click* of the lock sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room.

I stood frozen by the heavy door, my heart furiously against my ribs so hard I thought he might see it jumping under my cheap cotton sweater.

Luca Vitale didn’t move from his leather armchair. He sat completely relaxed, legs parted slightly, one hand resting casually on the armrest while the other spun a heavy crystal tumbler of whiskey on ice . The dim, moody lighting of the room caught the sharp angles of his handsome face and the dangerous, predatory gleam in those striking green eyes.

***********

He didn’t look like a man who had just handed over two hundred grand. He looked like a king waiting for his tribute.

“Strip,” he had said. *And this time, I want you to enjoy it.*

**********

The absolute arrogance of the command made my blood run hot. Not just with anger, but with something darker and much more terrifying that curled heavy in my gut. I hated him. I hated this room, I hated the situation, and most of all, I hated that I had sold my soul to a man who ran the very streets that almost swallowed my sister whole.

But Gianna was safe. She was sleeping in a hospital bed with guards outside her door, paid for by the devil sitting ten feet in front of me. And that alone was enough for me.

I owed him. I was his.

I took a shaky breath, my fingers moving to the hem of my sweater. I pulled it up and over my head in one quick, jerky motion, letting it drop to the floor. I was left standing in my jeans and a black lace bra that suddenly felt like it was woven from nothing.

“Stop.”

His voice was a low, rough command that practically vibrated against my skin. It wasn’t a yell, it was barely above a whisper, but it cracked through the air like a whip. My hands froze at the button of my jeans.

***********

Luca took a slow sip from his glass, his eyes never leaving my face. They were incredibly intense, tracing every line of my body, stripping me bare before my clothes were even off.

**********

“You’re rushing, Scarlett,” he murmured, the fake name rolling off his tongue like dark honey. “You’re stripping like a frightened girl who just wants to get the punishment over with.”

“I am a frightened girl,” I shot back, the words tearing out before I could stop them. My chin tipped up defensively.

A slow, wicked smirk curved his lips. It was the first time I’d seen him smile, and it sent a reckless shiver straight down my spine. “No, you’re not. A frightened girl wouldn’t talk back to me in a locked room.” He set the glass down on the side table with a heavy thud. “You’re a survivor who made a deal. And part of that deal is giving me exactly what I want. I don’t want a victim tonight. I want the girl I saw on the cameras yesterday. The one who let the music take over.”

He reached over to a small remote on the table and pressed a button. A heavy, pulsing bass line suddenly filled the room, a dark, filthy R&B track that seemed to sink directly into the ears and travel up through my boots.

“Start over,” Luca ordered, his gaze dropping to my chest. “Pick up the sweater.”

I swallowed the lump of humiliation in my throat. Bending down, I grabbed the discarded fabric and pulled it back over my head. The air in the room was already growing thick, suffocatingly hot.

***********

“Good. Now come closer. Stop right there.” He pointed to a spot on the Persian rug, exactly five feet away from his chair. Close enough for him to see my pulse jumping in my neck. Close enough for me to smell the expensive, intoxicating mix of bergamot, smoke, and pure male aggression rolling off him.

But not close enough to touch.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

I forced my chin up and met his eyes. They were completely dialed in, dilated and hungry.

“Slowly,” he breathed. “Show me what I bought.”

*************

The bass bumped against my chest. I closed my eyes for a split second, forcing myself to forget the hospital, forget Detective Rodriguez, forget the blood money. I was Scarlett now. I let the heavy rhythm bleed into my bones.

Keeping my eyes locked on his, I crossed my arms and caught the hem of the sweater. This time, I didn’t yank it. I dragged the fabric up my torso agonizingly slow, letting the friction pull at my skin. I arched my back slightly as I pulled it over my head, my breasts pushing against the sheer black lace of my bra.

Luca let out a harsh, tight breath. His jaw clenched, the muscles ticking under his skin.

I tossed the sweater aside. The fear was draining away, replaced by a sudden, dizzying rush of adrenaline. He was the most dangerous man in Chicago, a Don who could make people disappear with a snap of his fingers, and right now, he was totally, utterly captivated by me.

It was a power trip I wasn’t prepared for.

My hands moved to the button of my jeans. I popped it open, the metallic *clink* barely audible over the music. Slowly, keeping my hips swaying to the heavy beat, I dragged the zipper down.

“That’s it,” Luca rumbled, his voice rougher now, completely stripped of its polished veneer. “ you are Fucking beautiful. Push them down.”

I hooked my thumbs into the waistband and pushed the denim down my hips, over my thighs, stepping out of them until I was standing in just my boots, my black lace bra, and a matching thong that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

**********

The air in the room felt so small and hot. I was hyper-aware of everything—the way the dim light caught the curve of my hip, the rapid rise and fall of my chest, the way my nipples was already hard peaks against the lace. My core was throbbing in time with the bass, a heavy, slick ache building between my thighs that made me want to squeeze my legs together.

I was turning myself on just by watching him watch me.

Luca’s eyes darkened to the color of a stormy sea. He leaned forward in his chair, resting his forearms on his knees, his massive frame completely tense. He looked like a panther seconds away from pouncing.

“Unclasp the bra,” he demanded, the words gritty and tight.

My hands were shaking again, but this time it wasn’t from fear. I reached behind my back, struggling with the hooks for a second before they gave way. The straps fell down my shoulders. I caught the front, holding the lace against my breasts for one agonizing second, teasing him.

Luca’s hands gripped the armrests of his chair almost snapping it . “Drop it.”

I let the lace fall.

He didn’t speak. He just stared, his eyes tracking over my bare breasts, my flat stomach, tracing the high cut of the thong. The silence stretched, heavy and thick with a lust so raw it felt hard to breathe. I felt completely exposed, utterly vulnerable, yet entirely in control of the monster in the chair.

“You have no idea what you do to me, Scarlett,” he finally whispered, his voice a dark, lethal promise that sent a fresh wave of heat straight to my p***y.

He leaned back slowly, his eyes never leaving my body as his hand moved toward the buckle of his own belt.

“Don’t move,” he commanded. “Keep looking at me. Now... put your hands on yourself.”

My breath hitched violently in my throat. “What?”

His green eyes flared with a sick, brilliant possessiveness. “You heard me. You work for me now. Touch yourself, Scarlett. Show me exactly how wet you are for me,I want to see you dripping on my floor as you touch your self.

My mind screamed at me to run, to grab my clothes and bolt. But as I stood under the heavy gaze of the mafia king of Chicago, my hand drifted down my stomach on its own accord.

I was trapped in his cage, and heaven help me, I didn’t want him to let me out.