Chapter 2. A Threat

* Miranda *

Victoria Five Star Hotel the biggest in the city, did not feel like luxury when you were not allowed to leave it.

The suite was bigger than our old living room, cream marble floors, gold-trimmed mirrors, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city view, but every inch of it felt like a cage. Two men stood outside my door at all times. Another pair waited by the elevator. Even the hallway cameras followed me when I moved, red lights blinking softly like unblinking eyes.

I had tried once, on the first day, to step out "just for air."

One of the guards had smiled politely and said, "Orders are orders, Signorina please stay inside."

That was all it took. So I stayed inside. I paced back and forth. I stared out the windows until the city lights blurred into meaningless sparks. I slept poorly, always waking to the memory of Salvatore De Luca's calm voice promising death as if it were a business appointment I'd get if I don't follow.

I was sitting on the edge of the bed that afternoon, knees pulled to my chest, wearing my silky pajama, when there was a knock.

Not the polite knock of hotel staff or the security watching the doors. This one was sharp. Commanding in every tap. Three hard raps that sounded like a verdict to me.

The guards outside opened the door without asking me since they had a key. And that alone told me that the visitor might be the old man, after all I had only seen him once after he visited our mansion.

But I was wrong, it wasn't the old man. He walked in like he owned the place. It only took me three seconds to know that he was the old man's son.

Tall, far taller than his father, with shoulders so broad they stretched the leather jacket he wore instead of a suit. I recognized his resemblance to Mister Salvatore immediately. His arms were thick with muscle, veins visible beneath inked skin. Tattoos crawled up his neck and disappeared under his collar, dark lines and symbols that looked less like art and more like warnings to whoever defies him.

His face was devastatingly handsome in a way that made my instincts scream. Sharp jaw and crooked nose like it had been broken at least once. Sensual mouth that is set permanently in a scowl and promised violence rather than words. But his lips seemed soft.

His blue eyes found me instantly, he probably got them from his mother since the old man has gray eyes.

They were cold, assessing and dangerous. Lorenzo De Luca, my father told me about him before I left the mansion. Salvatore has two sons Lorenzo who is here and Marcial De Luca who is younger and stationed in Brazil.

The firstborn son of Salvatore. He must be around thirty based on the subtle beard on his jawline. He must have forgotten to shave this morning.

He is the heir of the De Luca empire. He shut the door behind him himself. The click echoed too loudly in the room.

"So," he said, in a rough accented, and unapologetically rude voice. His eyes menacingly looked down on me. "You're the girl." He scanned me from the tip of my head down to my toes which made my stomach churn. I felt like the room was suddenly on fire.

My heart slammed against my ribs, but I forced myself to calm down. I would not curl up in front of him. He has no right to hurt or kill me, at least I have agreed to his father's condition.

"If you're here to intimidate me," I said, my voice shaking despite my effort, "your father already did that."

A slow, humorless smile tugged at his lips. I have to crane my neck just to meet his gaze, he is so big and tall. That if he gets angry I have a huge feeling he could just throw me out the window in one hand.

"Oh, believe me," he said, rolling his shoulders like a predator loosening before a strike, "I'm not here for intimidation, Miranda."

My name spelled like poison on his lips. He stepped closer. The room suddenly felt very small for just the two of us. Every instinct told me to back away, but my legs refused to move. I could smell him, leather, smoke, something metallic beneath it. Blood, maybe. Or gun oil I am not sure, but somehow I find it very manly.

He stopped an arm's length from me and looked down, eyes dragging over my face with open hostility. If the devil has come down to earth, I'm sure his eyes are blue.

"I'm here to clean up a mess," he continued. "And you are the mess."

I swallowed. "I didn't ask for this, Mister De Luca."

"No," he snapped. "You didn't. My father did, I know he purposely bought you to be his new wife even when he had women lined up to fill his bed. More mature women. Not some girl."

His eyes scanned my face and smirked. Heat crawled up to my cheeks and I had to bite my tongue in order not to swear at him. It's the first time a man almost called me ugly. But he isn't just any man, he is a De Luca.

He pulled a folded document from the inside of his jacket and tossed it onto the table beside me. It slid across the polished surface and stopped near my hand.

A prenup as it was titles on the top corner.

"What is this?" I whispered, though I already knew.

"A contract," he said flatly. "One that says when my father gets bored of you, or dies, or decides you're no longer useful, you leave with nothing. Just as how you get into this family."

My fingers trembled as I touched the edge of the paper.

"I haven't even fully agreed to marry him yet," I said.

Lorenzo laughed. He wasn't amused. It was sharp and ugly.

"You don't get to agree, sweetheart," he said sarcastically. "You get to comply."

I looked up at him, confuse on the endearment he uses despite sounding angry. "Does your father know you're here?"

Something dark flashed in his eyes. I was afraid he would suddenly hit me or slap me.

"No."

The word dropped like a blade.

"And he won't," Lorenzo added, leaning closer until I could feel his breath against my cheek, "because this is between you and me."

Fear flooded me, cold and paralyzing. My back against the cold concrete wall as I managed to keep a short distance between us.

"If you don't sign that," he said quietly, "I will personally make sure your father doesn't live long enough to regret it."

My chest tightened. "He said he would live if I married your father."

"That was my father's promise," Lorenzo replied. "This one is mine."

I shook my head. "You can't do that!"

"I can," he interrupted, his hand slamming down beside me, close enough to make me flinch. I smelled his breath against my face and surprisingly it is fragrant far from what I expected. "And I will."

His face was inches from mine now. I could see a faint scar cutting through his eyebrow. Another along his knuckles. But it did not make him less handsome or powerful.

This was not a man who threatened lightly.

"Your father," he continued calmly, "your relatives, anyone who shares your blood, accidents happen. Fire will burn down whatever you own. Cars losing control. Wrong place, wrong time I could make it happen with just a snap of my finger."

My eyes burned with tears threatening to fall down my face. "Why do you hate me so much?"

He froze and let out a harsh breath. For a brief second, something raw flickered across his expression. Then his jaw tightened.

"Because you're marrying into my family, replacing the name of my mother and you don't deserve it," he said. "And I won't let you steal some of her wealth."

I stared at him, finally understanding. This wasn't just about Salvatore's money. It was her mother's legacy too. It was about power. A son watching his aging father choose a young bride instead of naming him king.

Lorenzo straightened and slid a pen across the table toward me.

"Sign," he said. "Or I start with your father tonight."

My hand hovered over the pen, my entire body shaking. I had never felt smaller in my life.

And as Lorenzo De Luca stood there, arms crossed, eyes cold and unyielding, I realized something even more terrifying than the prenup in front of me. Marrying Salvatore De Luca might bind my future. But crossing his son? That could cost everyone I love their lives.