Chapter 2: The Cliffside Cage

The drive felt endless. Elena’s head throbbed from the blood rushing to it earlier, and the metallic scent of Marco’s blood clung to her dress like a curse. She had stopped fighting the locked doors after the third failed attempt. Her nails were already torn and bleeding. Instead, she sat rigidly, glaring at him as the SUV climbed higher into the Sicilian hills.

He watched her the entire time. Not with anger, but with a cool, calculating interest that made her skin prickle. The man was even more devastating without the mask. Devilishly handsome, yes but with a dangerous edge to it. Like a blade wrapped in velvet.

Finally, the vehicle slowed and passed through heavy iron gates. Elena caught glimpses of high stone walls topped with cameras and armed guards. The SUV stopped in front of a sprawling modern villa built into the cliffside, all glass and sharp angles overlooking the restless sea far below.

Enzo stepped out first, then reached in and pulled her out by the wrist. His grip was firm but not bruising. She stumbled on the torn hem of her gown, and he steadied her with surprising gentleness.

“Welcome home, mia sposa,” he said quietly.

“This is not my home,” Elena hissed, yanking her arm free. “This is a prison.”

“Call it what you want.” He guided her inside with a hand at the small of her back. The moment they crossed the threshold, the heavy doors sealed behind them with a decisive click.

The interior was breathtaking. High ceilings, minimalist luxury, floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the sea like a painting. Expensive art hung on the walls. It looked nothing like the brutal mafia lair she had imagined. It looked like the home of a man who took what he wanted and shaped the world to his taste.

A middle-aged woman in a crisp black uniform appeared, eyes widening slightly at the sight of Elena’s bloodied wedding dress.

“Prepare a suite for her,” Enzo ordered without looking away from Elena. “And bring clothes. Burn that dress.”

“No!” Elena stepped back, clutching the blood-stained fabric. “This is all I have left of—”

“Of a man you didn’t love?” Enzo finished, arching a dark brow. “Don’t insult my intelligence, Elena Vitale.”

She hated how he said her name—like he already knew her.

He led her up a wide staircase and down a long hallway, stopping at a spacious bedroom with a massive bed, a private terrace, and another wall of glass overlooking the cliffs. The room was elegant, but the door had no lock on the inside. Of course it didn’t.

“You’ll stay here,” Enzo said, releasing her at last. “The villa is heavily guarded. Trying to run will only get you killed—or worse, handed back to your father in pieces. The Rossis are already screaming for Vitale blood. You’re safer with me.”

“Safer?” Elena let out a sharp, humorless laugh. She moved to the terrace doors, testing them. They opened, but the drop beyond was sheer cliff. “You murdered my groom at the altar and kidnapped me. How exactly is that safer?”

Enzo stepped closer, his presence filling the room. He was taller than she realized—well over six feet—and built like a man who could snap necks or seduce with equal ease. Up close, she could smell faint gunpowder and expensive cologne on him.

“Because your father was selling you to the Rossis like livestock,” he said flatly. “Marco Rossi had certain… appetites. The kind that scars you. Your father knew. He didn’t care.”

Elena froze. The words landed like another gunshot. She searched Enzo’s face for lies but found only cold certainty.

“You’re lying,” she whispered.

“Am I?” He tilted his head, studying her. “You’re an intelligent woman. Deep down, you already suspected.”

Tears stung her eyes again, but she refused to let them fall. Not in front of him. “Even if that’s true… it doesn’t give you the right to take me.”

“I don’t need rights.” Enzo’s voice dropped, low and deep. “I take what I want. And right now, I want you alive and under my roof. You belong to me now, Elena. Whether you like it or not.”

The air between them thickened. Elena’s pulse raced as he reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face, his fingers surprisingly warm. For a terrifying second, she thought he might kiss her. Part of her, the traitorous, exhausted part almost wanted him to. She frowned at the thought.

Instead, he stepped back.

“Clean up. Dinner will be brought to you. We’ll talk more when you’re not covered in another man’s blood.”

He turned toward the door.

“Wait,” Elena called. He paused. “What are you really going to do with me?”

Enzo glanced over his shoulder, that dangerous smirk returning. “Keep you. Use you. Tame you. Maybe even ruin you for anyone else.” His dark eyes gleamed. “The choice of how pleasant that process is… belongs to you.”

The door closed behind him with a soft, final sound. Elena heard the lock engage from the outside.

She sank onto the edge of the bed, the ruined wedding gown pooling around her like spilled milk. The sea crashed against the rocks far below, mocking her with its freedom. 

This fearsome man had stolen her from the altar. Now he intended to steal everything else.

And the worst part? Some small, treacherous voice inside her wondered what it would feel like to let him.