His Darkness, My Cage

Aria’s POV

My fingers tightened around the dirty clothes I was holding.

They were still warm from the laundry room, damp with soap and heat, but my hands were cold. Shaking. I forced myself to breathe the way my father had taught me years ago.

Slow breath in.

Slower breath out.

Control the body first.

The mind would follow.

“What does he want?” I asked quietly.

Rosa didn’t answer.

She only looked at me, her eyes filled with fear and warning, the kind that didn’t need words. Then she pressed her rough hand over mine and whispered, “Be careful.”

Careful.

I almost laughed.

Careful had never saved anyone in this house.

Still, I nodded.

I left the dining hall and stepped into the long hallway. My bare feet made no sound against the marble floor. The mansion was too quiet, the kind that warned something bad was waiting.

The guards stood like statues along the walls. None of them looked at me as I passed. Maybe to them I was just furniture. Invisible. Replaceable.

I stopped in front of his door. It was a dark wood, tall and heavy like the man behind it. My heart pounded, but I didn’t knock immediately. I had learned that fear smelled like blood to men like him.

“Enter,” a deep voice said from inside.

My heart slammed hard against my ribs. I stood there longer than I should have, my hand drifting in the air. Fear had a smell. I knew that now. And men like him could sense it.

I hadn’t knocked.

My throat tightened as I pushed the door open.

Luciano stood by the window with his back to me. Tall, still and dangerous. He looked like he belonged to the darkness. One hand rested inside his pocket. The other held a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the city lights beyond the glass wall. Mexico City stretched behind him, endless and sharp.

“Close the door,” he said.

I did.

The sound echoed too loudly, sealing me inside.

“Why did you bring me here?” I asked, my voice rising despite my effort to sound strong.

That was when he turned.

Fury burned across his face.

“Your father took something precious from me,” he snapped. “He killed my father.”

My chest burned.

“And you,” he continued, stepping closer, “will pay for it. With every ounce of your sweat. Every drop of your blood.”

“Don’t talk about my father like that!” I shouted. “He was a good man!”

He gave out a cold, sharp, and mocking laughter.

“I didn’t expect more from the daughter of a murderer.”

He closed the distance between us in two long strides. 

There I could see his bare chest more and smell him better.

“Look at me.”

I didn’t want to. But my body betrayed me.

He lifted my chin with his fingers. I could see his bare chest now, feel the heat rolling off him, smell the whiskey and something darker underneath.

“You belong to me now,” he said slowly. “My slave.”

His fingers moved. Drew a slow circle around my chest, then stopped right above my heart.

“My plaything.”

My body reacted before my mind could stop it.

Heat spread through me. My nipples hardened beneath the thin cloth. I felt a sticky warm sensation between my thighs. I hated myself for it.

Why did my body respond to his touch? He was meant to be my greatest enemy but why did my body suddenly become hot, my nipples hardened under the cloth. 

Ignoring the growing feeling I almost cursed myself  then I looked directly into his eyes…

“Kill me,” I said. “I would rather die than be your toy.”

His lips curved slightly.

“No,” he replied calmly. “I won’t give you the comfort of death.”

He turned away, lifting his glass again.

“You need to live,” he continued, staring out at the stars in the sky, “to feel every pain I felt when I lost the most important person in my life.”

He paused.

“Oh, pretty little thing,” he added softly, “I will make your life so miserable you’ll curse the day you were born.”

My eyes burned. Only a few tears slipped out before I wiped them away.

“You are no better than the beasts in that strip club,” I said hoarsely. “You’re worse.”

The glass trembled in his hand.

The liquid shook.

He turned slowly.

My heart jumped into my throat as he approached me. I braced myself, eyes squeezed shut, waiting for the sound of a slap.

It never came.

I felt his presence instead.

Close, his warm breath too close.

He leaned down until his breath brushed my lips.

“What did you say?” he whispered.

I opened my eyes.

His face was inches from mine. His eyes were dark, unreadable.

I couldn’t speak.

Then he straightened and walked back to the window.

“Please,” I cried, my voice breaking. “Let me go.”

He turned his head slightly, his gaze darker than before.

“No, pretty bird,” he said. “I’m not letting you go.”

Never.

“You will pay for your father’s sins.”

The words shattered me.

My legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the floor, the cold stone biting into my knees.

I watched as he reached for the phone, spoke in low words I couldn’t hear, then set it down.

A loud knock followed.

“Come in,” he said.

The door opened.

“Our meeting is over,” he added without looking at me. “Take her back to her room.”

I barely understood what was happening before rough hands pulled me up and shoved me out.

The door closed behind me.

And just like that, I was alone again.