CHAPTER 4

Dahlia’s POV

I froze, my stomach twisting into knots. That was the first real look I had at the ruthless, dangerous world I had married into. The man I had just whispered “yes” to—he could kill without blinking, without remorse, and now he had done it to protect me.

The minutes stretched on. Or maybe it was hours—I couldn’t tell. Smoke curled through the broken windows, mixing with the smell of gunpowder and blood. Shattered glass sparkled on the marble floor. The church, which had once been a place of peace, now felt like a warzone.

And through it all, Luca was calm. His dark eyes swept the room, calculating, measuring every threat, but never once did panic touch him. He gave orders to his men with a quiet authority that made them move even faster, cleaning up the chaos and securing the area as though it were routine.

I watched, trembling, my hands pressed against my face as I tried to steady my racing heart. My body still shook. My mind couldn’t fully process the violence I had just witnessed.

Then, almost casually, he reached for my hand.

His fingers were warm, strong, and steady, wrapping around mine like a lifeline in the middle of the chaos. I felt a jolt run through me at the touch—part fear, part something I couldn’t name. His grip was firm, commanding, but it wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t rough. It was… controlled. Like he knew exactly what he was doing and that nothing could stop him.

He pulled me to my feet. I stumbled slightly, the marble floor slippery from broken candles and scattered flowers, but he didn’t let go. He adjusted my arm across his, steadying me, his body close, shielding me even as we moved. My wedding dress brushed against my legs, tangled and heavy from the fall, and I could feel the fabric sticking to the sweat on my skin.

The black Range Rover waited just a few steps away, sleek and intimidating, its polished surface reflecting the chaos behind us.

Luca led me toward it, his steps long and sure. Every motion he made was confident, deliberate. His men fanned out around us, weapons raised and alert, scanning the area for any remaining threat. The air smelled like gunpowder and smoke mixed with the faint scent of flowers that had survived the chaos.

I could hear the faint groans and cries of people trapped inside, and the distant wail of sirens somewhere far off. My chest felt tight, my heartbeat thundering painfully in my ears. I kept my hand on his arm, almost as if clinging to it would keep me from being swallowed by the panic around me.

For a moment, I caught a glimpse of Luca’s face in the sunlight. His expression was calm, almost serene, though his eyes were dark and dangerous. He didn’t flinch at the blood and destruction behind us. He didn’t hesitate. It was as if he had already controlled everything, as if the world and everyone in it bent to his will.

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my legs from shaking. My hands were still cold and clammy from the fear and the chaos at the church. I gripped the edge of the seat, nails digging into the leather, trying to steady myself, but it was no use.

We started driving away from the church. Away from the screaming guests, away from the shattered windows, away from my parents. I kept glancing out the window, hoping to see them safe, but all I could see were the empty streets and the sunlight bouncing off buildings. I wanted to ask Luca if they were okay. I wanted to ask if anyone had been hurt. But my throat was dry, and the words felt too heavy, too dangerous to speak. I swallowed again and stayed quiet. The city blurred past us. The hum of the tires against the road and the steady growl of the engine were the only sounds. His hands never wavered on the steering wheel, his eyes scanning the road, alert for anything that might come at us. I realized then that I was completely at his mercy, a stranger trapped in the world of a man I barely knew.

After what felt like hours, though it was probably only minutes, we arrived at his mansion. It was enormous—dark stone walls, tall wrought-iron gates, and wide windows that reflected the sunlight like mirrors. The driveway was long and lined with perfectly trimmed hedges. I shuddered, staring at the imposing building, thinking about the fact that I was supposed to stay here. With him. Alone.

The thought made my stomach twist. I had just met this man. Just said “yes” to a marriage I hadn’t wanted. And now, I was supposed to live in his house, under his control. What if he hated me? What if he didn’t believe I was Denise? What if… he decided I was a problem and… killed me?

When he finally opened the car door for me, I hesitated. My legs felt weak, and I took a small step back, my eyes darting around as though the shadows might move and attack me. Luca’s dark eyes met mine, steady and commanding, and something in them made me freeze in place. It was like he could see every thought in my mind, every fear I was trying to hide.

“Come,” he said, his voice calm, but there was no question in it.

I nodded, swallowing hard, and stepped out of the car. The gravel crunched under my feet, and the cold wind made me shiver. Every step toward the mansion felt heavier than the last. I felt small. Afraid. Trapped.

As soon as we stepped inside, the air felt different—cooler, heavy, and somehow tense. The house was enormous, filled with high ceilings, polished floors, and furniture that looked expensive enough to make me dizzy.

A woman appeared almost immediately. She was older, probably in her late fifties, with her hair pulled back in a tight bun and a crisp, black dress that looked like a uniform. Her face was calm, almost too calm, and she gave me a polite, welcoming smile. But there was something in her eyes that made me shiver—a quiet wariness, like she had seen more than she wanted to.

“Mr. Romano,” she said softly, bowing her head slightly as she looked at him.

Luca didn’t smile. He didn’t nod. He just gave a short, sharp instruction. “Take her upstairs,” he said, his voice low and calm, but there was a weight to it that made it impossible to argue.

The housekeeper’s eyes flicked toward me, and I nodded, unsure if I should speak. She stepped forward, ready to lead me, and I began to move toward the staircase, my heart hammering so hard I thought it might burst.

Then, his hand closed over mine. Strong. Commanding. Warm. But when I looked at him, my chest froze.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t soften his gaze. He just leaned a fraction closer and said words that made my stomach twist painfully:

“Go upstairs and wait for me… naked.”