Chapter 2: Captured by the Enemy

[Juliette’s POV]

         For someone who reads lots of romance novels, I’d take the slightest detail and exaggerate it romantically. Worse, I’d catch the tiniest spark of response and interpret it as an attraction. I noticed the wavy top of his short dark hair in a nice, clean sweep to the back—which was different from the sexy mess it was yesterday—and was immediately flattered by the extra effort.

         Then I started admiring him—just as I did yesterday. Whether it was a boring business suit or a midnight blue tuxedo, he could easily pass for an exotic prince or an elegant British spy. Even with that fierce gaze, he looked nothing like a mafia or a devil. 

         Pfft! I mentally rolled my eyes as my feet kept gliding along the plush carpet of the aisle. Now I know why Papa forbade me to peruse that form of literature—it makes your female hormones go wild unnecessarily; it would only be a matter of time before I was trapped in The Devil’s spell, thinking that I was in love with him, or vice versa. 

         Quick, say something bad about him, I counselled myself. He may look like the gallant male character from one of those novels, but he is not. He’s Ralph Virtus—the head of a vicious mafia clan, the one who stole your family fortune—and may have as well put your father in that silent state. 

         And with that, the hatred was back, in full force. 

*****

         The door closed behind me, shutting out the world of men in black shades and suits, and guns strapped to their bodies. Finally, I could breathe peacefully. 

         We had just finished reciting our marital vows, and Ben, the Mafia King’s right hand man, whispered in my ear to follow him off the stage. I did—dragging the enormous train through two rows of big burly bodyguards—and now I was here in a small, cold room, alone with the most ruthless person I’ve known. 

Ralph Virtus was standing in the middle of the room when I entered, and as soon as the door closed, he spun around and glared at me. “What was that out there?” That deep timbre continued to stir butterflies in my stomach. 

         Knowing that he meant the brief pause at the start of my pledge, I inhaled deeply and forced a sweet smile. “I thought that went really well.” 

         He shot a finger at me and snarled, “You hesitated, Juliette. What do you think that means?” 

         “That I don’t like anything that begins with ‘V’?” I battered my lashes innocently. 

         He raised a surprised brow, and I felt a victorious smug on my face, which he didn’t take well. His eyes deepened a shade. Lowering his voice, he taunted, “You’re really loud for someone who’s broke and powerless.”

         Resentment mixed with anger rose in my chest, clenching my hands and driving my nails into my palms. “You thief,” I muttered in a fierce whisper. 

         A chuckle vibrated from his throat, and those sickeningly alluring lips spread into a satisfied smile that riled me more. “I like that face,” he said and inched closer. “Keep that hatred inside, Juliette. You’ll need lots of it tonight.” 

         Immediately, the anger vanished. An anxious, ominous feeling took over, and crippled my fighting spirit. “What do you mean?” I asked, and winced inside in shame; it was the stupidest question one could ever ask their enemy. What do you think he meant, Juliette? 

         His eyes seemed curious about something on my face, but his voice was harsh when he answered, “I don’t answer questions, especially from you. So you figure that out on your own, Juliette.” 

         Argh! My nails drove deeper into my flesh. I hate that I like the way my name sounded in his rich, deep voice! Why does this man come with everything! The looks, the brawn and brains, and now the voice! Why can’t he be less than perfect?

         Abruptly, he straightened his back and returned to staring at me with his usual stoic face. “Your things are on their way to my mansion,” he announced in a blasé tone. 

         “Why are they—?” I released my fists and stomped forward. “I’m not moving into your place, mafia! You can’t make me!”

         He was unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves when he paused and looked at me with a displeased frown. “I thought we made it very clear in the contract.” 

         “There isn’t a clause in there that said, Juliette Lux would move into Ralph Virtus’s residence after the wedding,” I refuted through gritted teeth. 

         He dropped a bewildered smile to the floor, and then chuckled dryly, shaking his head in disbelief. He lifted his face to the ceiling with his eyes closed and drew in a long, uncanny deep breath, as though he was meditating, and then, he murmured, “You’re right.” 

         The air around me turned chilly; danger pricked the hairs on my arms, and a tremble of fear crawled up my spine. Something about that tone feels deadly. Perhaps I might die in the next minute, I thought and braced myself for it. No matter the circumstance, I needed to stay strong for my family. 

         “But,” he exhaled a whisper in a sudden turn of tone, and his eyes were back on me. Wrapping his left arm around his waist and propping his right elbow on it, he tapped a finger to his lips and knitted his brows with an innocent puzzlement, as though we were discussing the results of a science experiment. “You did promise to give me an heir….”

         Shock ravaged my features. I knew where this was heading. All the pieces have finally come together: the oath of a Lux to never break a promise, the vow to ‘live together in holy matrimony’, the marital status, and that final item in the contract—the one that I most wanted to nullify—all came together in a full circle to imprison me in this hellhole. Damn the brilliance of the Virtus!  

That promise of an heir was the biggest chip this bastard has, and it was Papa who placed it in his hands!  

Before I got into a round of self-pity, The Devil melted his human guise and returned to his true form. As if he could read my mind and knew that I no longer reject the move, he started listing his expectations towards me. “You will be a loving wife to me, Juliette, whether you like it or not.”

“You can’t tell me what to do, mafia. I’ve said it a million times—.” 

He closed the gap between us in one mighty stride and then threw his face in mine. “First of all, Juliette,” he warned solemnly, his minty breath blowing gently on my face with each syllable he made, “You don’t ask. You listen.” Warmth from his broad chest was seeping under my skin, distracting me.

I opened my mouth to protest but he was a millisecond faster.

“Second, don’t call me ‘mafia’.” 

“I’ll call you whatever I want," I argued. “I said, you don’t control—.”

“You call me Ralph!” he snapped impatiently, ending the thread and moving onto the next item in his list. “Do whatever you want, but you’ll show the whole goddamn world that you’re my loving wife, ” he added in a controlled voice. 

I couldn’t think. My head was now a huge entangled ball of yarn. I had been too naive—my greatest torture wasn’t the wedding, it was what happened after! Millions of images of what could happen when I moved in, and what would happen tonight, flooded my mind. A lightning storm was happening inside me. 

Then all of a sudden, something came through and snapped me back into focus. My head shot up and I blurted, “I want to see my father.” 

The Devil raised his brows in surprise the second time. He had backed away from me and was going on with the rest of his rules, when I interjected. Those black irises dilated with fury, telling me another thing about him: he doesn’t like to be interrupted.

But I don’t give a shit about what he likes. He should know one important thing about me too, that I don’t care about his stupid rules!

So I ignored his frustration—and my wifely duties—and added firmly, before he uttered the next word in his mind, “I’ve done everything you asked. So, let me see my father.” The strain in my voice was unmistakable, and so was the quiver at the end. I winced at my failure to hide my emotions. Calm down, I urged myself. 

The Devil looked at me with a pretend curiosity as he circled both arms around his waist and centralised his weight on the front of his feet. Then, he chuckled with mocking amusement. "You seriously think you’ve done a good job to demand such requests?" 

I was aghast. What is he… is he appraising me? Like I’m an employee? 

Folding my arms, I cast a frown and parroted, “And you seemed to think that I'm one of your staff." I paused briefly, and then spitted the last word with a condescending distaste, "Mafia." 

At my open defiance, those brown eyes changed into a dangerous shade. He moved towards me threateningly with a killing stare, and instinctively, my hands curled up firmly at my sides to summon the strength to stand my ground as he loomed over me.   

You don’t scare me, I told myself and held his gaze, looking daggers at him. 

A strange glint crossed his eyes, then his head tilted in a way that exudes his devilish charm—and my useless heart skipped a beat. 

He took a long, silent look at me, as though he was trying to read my mind. Even though we still weren’t touching, the strong warmth radiating from his body exaggerated the closeness between us. I just tip my toes, and I could feel those lips on mine. My breathing lightened.

A vision of him cupping my face with his large bare hands, his thumbs stroking my cheeks, flashed across my mind, and my lips went dry. They parted like parched petals wanting to be quenched….

Abruptly, the warmth vanished. I blinked, and he had already backed away. Staring above my head again, he muttered in a soft, hoarse whisper, “Andy will take you there.”

I blinked again in confusion. The name tumbled from my lips before I could stop it. “Andy? Andy who?” 

“Don’t make me repeat the rules, Juliette. You heard them well.” The energy was back in his voice again. “They’re not requests,” he clarified with another one of his menacing glares. 

I returned him the same glare with defiance and insisted. “I said, I’m not one of your staff, mafia.” I stressed on the last word to annoy him—the only ammunition I have left, in my broken and powerless state.  

         But the natural strategist struck again. 

“You’re also not a Lux anymore, Juliette,” the Mafia King said with the calmness of an executioner. Then, slowly, he tapped a finger to the side of his forehead to stress on his words as he said, “Remember that the next time you decide to speak.”