Chapter 3: Marriage in the Lion's Den

POV: Dante Rizzo

She ran.

Again.

Bare feet slapping against the marble like a metronome for my patience unraveling. The click of the door echoed behind her, followed by the ragged breath of panic.

I didn’t chase her.

Not yet.

Let her run. Let her feel the illusion of choice.

Let her remember what happens when obedience tastes like freedom.

She was very determined. I'd give her that.

I poured a glass of water from the tray, my movements calm, controlled...unlike hers.

 “Two attempts in one night,” I said to no one, savoring the sound. “She’s spirited.”

Marcello stepped into view, stone-faced as always. “Want me to bring her back?”

I didn’t answer right away.

I took a sip.

Then set the glass down and nodded once.

“No bruises. I want her sharp, not broken.”

He vanished without a word.

She became my wife as a result of Matteo's death which I remembered like it happened last night.

The call came just before dawn. I hadn’t even poured my first drink, and the city was still sleeping...at least the parts of it not soaked in blood and lies.

Matteo was dead.

Cousin. Friend. Blood. Family.

Shot twice in the gut and dumped in the bay like a stray mutt.

My chest didn't tighten. My eyes didn’t sting. What I felt was worse than grief.

Emptiness.

Then, fire.

"Who?" I asked flatly, my fingers curling around the edge of my marble countertop until the glass cracked.

The answer came in a name I already hated.

Luca Moretti.

Useless dealer. Slippery little bastard. Always sniffing around territory that didn’t belong to him. Matteo had warned me weeks ago, said the guy was getting bold, skimming profits, making backdoor trades with gangs that didn’t know better than to cross me.

But killing him?

That was a declaration. A suicide note. And I intended to deliver the bullet.

They caught him by sundown.

I didn't ask how. I didn't want the details. All I knew was that he was kneeling before me in the warehouse beneath the bridge, wrists bound with rusted wire, shirt soaked in sweat and piss. There was a cut on his cheekbone. Blood in his mouth. Good.

"Do you know what you've done?" I asked him, my voice cold enough to cut bone. I walked slow, circling him, letting my boots echo through the silence like the countdown of a clock.

He looked up, lip trembling. Not brave enough to meet my eyes.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen,” he whispered. “It was just a warning gone wrong. Matteo...he came at me first.”

“You shot him. Twice. Then dumped him like garbage. That’s not a warning. That’s a message.”

“I panicked...”

I silenced him with the click of my pistol’s hammer. The sound made his whole body jolt.

I could’ve ended him right there. God knows I wanted to.

But I didn't. Because he said the one thing I hadn’t expected.

“I can give you something,” he gasped. “Someone.”

I raised a brow. “Who?”

“My sister.”

I stared.

He swallowed. “Leona. She’s… she’s clean. Not involved in anything. A nurse. She’s got nothing to do with this.”

“Then why should I care?”

“Because she’s… she’s everything,” he pleaded. “She’s good. Pure. She's who you've been looking for all these years. I can't keep it a secret anymore. You want to hurt me? Take her. You want leverage? Take her. Just...don’t kill me.”

I paused. There was only one girl I've been looking for. Everyone knows that . If Luca's sister is who he said she is, then it sounds like a good deal 

“And what would she say about that?” I asked, voice low. “You trading her like a car on fire-sale day?”

“I’ll tell her you’ll kill me. She’ll agree. She always does.”

I tilted my head, something dark and ugly curling in my gut. “That’s your plan? Manipulate her into saving your sorry life?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

My silence stretched, heavy.

She was innocent, he said.

Perfect, even.

A nurse. A woman who saved lives.

A lamb sacrificed for a wolf.

There was something poetic about that.

“Fine,” I said at last, voice like a blade drawn clean from its sheath. “But I want a guarantee and a condition.”

His head snapped up. “Anything.”

“You bring her to me within the month,” I said. “Willing. Dressed in what I provide, I also want proof that she is who you said she is. And I’ll let you breathe.”

He nodded so fast it made him dizzy. “Yes. Yes, I’ll make it happen. I swear.”

"If she is who you said she is, then I'll give you fifteen million to cut off contact with her".

His eyes widened with greed.

I leaned down, grabbing him by the jaw.

“If she cries,” I said, “I’ll send her back in a box with your name carved on the lid.”

And just like that, I made a deal with the devil.

But I didn’t care.

Because that devil had taken Matteo from me.

And I wanted something back.

****

When the door opened again, she didn’t fight.

She didn’t cry.

She just stood there, shoulders tense, chin high, mouth set in that soft defiant line that would one day get her in real trouble.

Marcello closed the door behind her. He did his on perfectly.

I didn’t move.

Neither did she.

Then, softly she said.

 “Why are you doing this to me?”

I looked up.

Not because I cared about the question.

But because she dared to ask.

 “You think this is punishment?” I asked.

She didn’t blink. “Feels like it.”

I stood slowly and crossed the space between us.

One step.

Two.

Three.

Close enough to feel the heat between us. Not touching.

Not yet.

 “If this was punishment, Leona…” I said, my voice low and deliberate, “you wouldn’t be standing.”

Her breath hitched.

Good.

“But you are,” I murmured, lifting a hand, not to strike, not to caress. Just to trace the space beside her beautiful cheek, like a threat wrapped in promise. “Which means I’m still being merciful.”

 “Then be cruel and get it over with,” she snapped.

That made me laugh.

Not loudly.

Just once. Cold. Sharp.

I reached out, and she flinched...too late.

My fingers wrapped gently, deliberately, around her wrist.

I lifted her hand.

Turned it palm-up.

She didn’t pull away.

Not yet.

 “No ring,” I said.

She blinked.

“You took it off.”

“I...” Her mouth parted. “It was heavy.”

“So is your last name now.” I dropped her hand. “Get used to it.”

She took a shaky breath and looked away. The first crack in the mask.

“You said you wouldn’t touch me,” she whispered.

I stepped closer. My breath ghosted her temple.

 “I said I wouldn’t touch you that night.”

A pause. Then I leaned in.

Lowered my mouth to her ear.

“It’s not that night anymore.”

She froze.

Her pulse jumped. I felt it even without touching her throat.

“I won’t beg,” she whispered.

“Good,” I said. “I don’t like begging. But I do like obedience.”

She looked up at me then...really looked.

Eyes like heat lightning in a storm.

“You don’t scare me.”

I leaned back just a little, just enough to see the tremble she tried to hide.

 “That’s because I haven’t shown you how bad I can be.”

I moved to the door, unlocking it without looking back.

 “Dinner is in fifteen minutes. You’ll come down dressed. Hair done. No more running.”

“And if I do?”

I turned, hand still on the door.

Smiled.

“Then next time, you won’t be running on your feet.”

I shut the door behind me.

And this time, I locked it.

****

POV: Leona Moretti

The room was too quiet after he left.

The lock clicked into place like a sealed fate.

I stood there for a moment, frozen. The tension he left behind still clung to my skin, slick and poisonous. His scent on the shirt, his fingerprints in the air, his words echoing in the places no one could reach.

“Next time, you won’t be running on your feet.”

I curled my toes into the rug.

I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of fear.

But I wasn’t brave. Just exhausted.

I collapsed onto the bed, limbs aching, heartbeat unsteady.

Fifteen minutes. He’d said dinner. Like we were a real couple. Like there wasn’t a gun tucked under every word he spoke.

I turned to my side. Stared at the door. Counted the seconds in my head.

One. Two. Three…

I needed to think.

Not about escape. That was a fool’s game. I didn't even get to the Main front door before I was caught by Marcello. This Mansion is huge and confusing like a maze.

I needed to think about something else.

About Luca.

About the blurred face in the photo.

About the way Dante looked at me...not like a woman, not even a weapon.

Like a key.

But to what?

The knock at the door came too early.

Not fifteen minutes. Ten, maybe less.

Not Marcello’s kind of knock. Not Dante’s either.

This one was soft. Careful.

Maybe it was the woman from that morning. But if Dante sent her, then she must know the door was locked.

I sat up, pulse rising. “Who is it?”

No answer.

I stood slowly, heart thudding. Crossed the room and pressed my ear to the wood.

Silence.

Then...

“Leona.”

A whisper. A male voice. Rough. Urgent.

I froze. “Who...?”

 “Don’t talk. Just listen. I don’t have long.” The voice interrupted.

My nails dug into the wood.

 “You’re not safe here. He’s using you. He...”

The hallway light buzzed. A sharp click echoed.

The voice stopped.

Silence returned.

My breath caught in my throat as I opened the door a crack. It was unlocked. 

Nobody there.

Just a hallway empty of footsteps, but full of ghosts.

I took one step forward.

And nearly screamed.

On the floor, where the voice had been, lay a small folded note. No name. No seal.

Just one sentence scrawled in hurried ink:

 “The man you married isn’t the one pulling the strings.”

My throat closed.

I looked up. Down the hall. No one.

But I could feel eyes.

And then I saw it...

A flicker of movement down the corridor.

A figure. Watching.

But not Dante.

Not Marcello.

Someone else.

Someone I recognized.

But couldn’t believe.

Luca.

My lips parted. “Luca?”

But he was already gone.

Vanished like smoke.