Chapter 6

THE FORTRESS

~GISELLE POV~

The drive took an hour. An hour of silence so deep it felt like it was crushing my lungs.

We left the chaos of Manhattan behind, crossing the bridge toward Long Island. As the skyline faded into the distance, so did my hope.

The city was full of witnesses, police, noise. Here, the trees grew thicker, the roads narrower, and the quietness deeper.

I didn't look at Alessandro. I stared out the tinted window, watching the landscape shift from suburbs to dense, private woodlands.

"We are here," he announced. It was the first thing he’d said in forty minutes.

The SUV slowed, turning off the main road onto an unmarked paved driveway. We approached a gate that looked less like a residential gate and more like the perimeter of a black-site military base.

Twelve feet of black steel, topped with razor wire and cameras that swiveled to track our approach.

The gate didn't just open; It pulled back with a loud, heavy noise.

As we rolled through, I saw the guards. Men in dark suits with assault rifles slung across their chests, patrolling the tree line.

They didn't wave. They stood at attention as the Don passed.

And then, the house came into view.

I had grown up in the Castellano mansion…a place of old-world, gothic luxury. Velvet curtains, old wood, and dark places where secrets grew.

Alessandro's home was very different.

It was a strong building made of glass, concrete, and steel, sitting on a cliff by the rough Atlantic Ocean. It had sharp edges and hard surfaces.

It didn't feel like a home. It looked like a cold building made by someone who disliked heat.

"It’s a prison," I whispered, the word escaping before I could stop it.

"It’s a safe haven," Alessandro corrected. "Nothing gets in unless I allow it. And nothing leaves unless I permit it."

The threat hung in the air, deep and undeniable.

The SUV came to a halt in front of the massive double doors. Rocco killed the engine. The quietness returned, ringing in my ears.

Rocco jumped out and opened my door. The cool sea breeze rushed in, smelling of salt and incoming rain. It hit my face, stinging my tear-stained cheeks.

"Get out," Alessandro said. He was already standing on the driveway, buttoning his suit jacket, looking perfect despite the catastrophe we had just fled.

I looked at him. I looked at the cold, grey house. I looked at the armed guards standing by the entrance.

If I walked into that house, I was admitting defeat. I was accepting that my life as Giselle Castellano was over. I was accepting the death of my parents and the ownership of this man.

I didn't move.

"Giselle," Alessandro warned, his voice getting deeper.. "Don't make a scene in front of my men."

"No," I said, gripping the leather armrest. "I’m not going in there."

Alessandro sighed. It was a short, quick exhale through his nose….the sound of a man whose patience was fraying.

He walked around the car to my side, looming over the open door like a dark storm front.

"You can walk," he said calmly, "or you can be carried. Those are the options. You have three seconds to choose."

"I’m not your property," I spat, glaring up at him. "You can't just warehouse me like a…”

"One."

"I want a lawyer. I want to call Vincent. I want….”

"Two."

"Don't you dare touch me! I swear to God, Alessandro, if you…”

"Three."

He moved so fast I didn't even have time to gasp.

He bent down, hooked one arm behind my knees and the other around my lower back, and pulled me out of the car as if I weighed nothing more than a bag of feathers.

"Put me down!" I shrieked, kicking my legs.

My heavy wedding dress tangled around us, layers of tulle and lace swallowing his black suit. I beat my fists against his chest, hitting solid muscle that felt like stone. "Put me down, you bastard!"

"Stop squirming," he grunted, adjusting his grip so I was pressed firmly against his torso. "You’re making this difficult."

"Good! I want it to be difficult!"

He ignored me. He turned and stepped toward the front door, carrying me over the threshold of his fortress.

The inside was as cold as the outside. The floors were shiny white marble that showed the dark sky through the big windows. The furniture was simple, modern, and black.

There were no photos. No flowers. No signs of life.

A woman in a housekeeper’s uniform stood in the hallway. She was older, with a harsh face. She didn't look surprised to see her boss carrying a screaming, kicking bride covered in soot.

"Welcome home, Sir," she said, her voice empty of emotion. "Shall I prepare the guest wing?"

"No, Martha," Alessandro said, not breaking his stride. "Open the master suite."

‘The master suite.’

Panic, cold and sharp, spiked in my chest. "No," I whimpered, stopping my assault on his chest. "Alessandro, please. I just... I need a minute. Please put me down."

He didn't stop. He walked to the floating staircase, climbing the steps with terrifying ease, never winding, never slowing down.

"You had a minute in the car," he said. "Now we are on my time."

He reached the top of the stairs and walked down a long, glass-walled corridor. At the end, double doors made of dark wood stood waiting.

Martha must have hit a remote switch, because the doors clicked and swung open automatically as we approached.

The room was huge. A wall of glass looked out over the ocean, where storm clouds were gathering. In the center of the room sat a bed….a king-sized monstrosity with black sheets and a black frame.

It looked like a sacrificial altar.

Alessandro walked to the side of the bed and dropped me.

He didn't place me gently. He let go.

I landed on the mattress with a bounce, the air wooshing out of my lungs. I scrambled backward immediately, kicking off the expensive duvet, pushing myself until my back hit the cold leather headboard.

I pulled my knees up, using the acres of tulle from my ruined dress as a shield.

"Stay away from me," I breathed, my heart beating against my ribs like a jackhammer.

Alessandro stood at the foot of the bed. He looked really big from this view. The light from the window made him shadowy and powerful.

He watched me move quickly like a frightened mouse. He didn't look amused anymore. He looked intense. The air in the room felt thick and electric, that made the hair on my arms stand up.

"You look like a mess," he observed quietly.

"I just watched my parents burn to death!" I yelled, hysteria bubbling up in my throat. "Forgive me if I’m not picture-perfect for you!"

"You are perfect," he murmured.

The words were soft, but they hit me like a slap. There was something dark in his tone. Something hungry.

He walked around the edge of the bed. I tracked him, my eyes wide. He stopped by the nightstand and picked up a remote, pressing a button.

With a soft whir, the heavy blackout curtains began to slide shut, blocking out the grey light, blocking out the ocean, blocking out the world.

The room plunged into semi-darkness, lit only by the suspended lighting that cast long, strong shadows across his face.

"What are you doing?" I whispered. "Alessandro... what are you doing?"

He turned to face me. His eyes were glowing in the dim light, blue fire burning through the shadows.

He raised his hands to his throat.

Slowly, methodically, he undid his bowtie. He pulled the silk strip free and let it drop to the floor. It landed with a soft whisper.

Next came the cufflinks. Click. Click. He dropped them onto the nightstand. They sounded like bullets hitting glass.

"We have a schedule to keep," he said, his voice void of any warmth.

He grabbed the lapels of his jacket and shrugged it off, tossing it onto a nearby chair. Beneath it, his white dress shirt was stretched tight across his chest, the muscles flexing as he moved.

He took a step toward the bed. Then another. Until his knees hit the mattress.

My breath hitched. I pressed myself harder against the headboard, wishing I could melt through the wall. "Don't. Please don't."

He reached for the top button of his shirt.

His fingers were steady.Careful. There was no shaking. No hesitation.

"You signed the paper, Giselle," he said, popping the first button. Then the second. A strip of tanned, muscular chest revealed itself. "The church blessed it. The families witnessed it. The payment has cleared."

He placed a knee on the bed, sinking the mattress under his weight. He crawled toward me, a predator closing in on a trapped bird.

"You are my wife," he whispered, unbuttoning the third button, revealing the dark ink of a tattoo over his heart. "And tonight is our wedding night."

He stopped inches from me, looming over my curled-up form. He grabbed the hem of his shirt and ripped it open, buttons popping and scattering across the floor like rain.

He was bare-chested now. Scarred. Powerful. Terrifying.

He leaned down, bracing his hands on the headboard on either side of my head, trapping me in a cage of muscle and bone.

"Now," he growled, his breath hot against my trembling lips. "We fulfill the contract."