Great question

Chapter Seven

Mirabelle’s POV

I watched him, unable to say anything. Fucking psychopath. I tried resisting, tried pulling my body away from his grip, but he turned me over in one move. My back hit the bed while he pinned me down above me.

“How the hell are you still strong after all that bleeding?” My voice came out breathless as I struggled, but it was useless. He was heavier, stronger, and my arms felt weak under his hold.

Beads of sweat gathered on my forehead, sliding down my temple. My chest heaved fast, every breath rough from the way he had trapped me.

Then I felt it. Warm blood trickling down my neck again. The bleeding had stopped earlier, but with the way he held me now, it had started all over.

“You’re bleeding too,” he murmured, his eyes on my neck. “I thought you’d die the moment you were in my brother’s arms. I wonder what you did to him to make him act that way.” A crooked smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, making my stomach twist.

“Please… let me go. I need to stop the bleeding before anything else.” My voice cracked, my throat tight, and tears began to sting at the corners of my eyes. The pain burned, but the humiliation cut deeper.

Luca finally rolled off me, his body heavy against the mattress. I sat up quickly, dragging myself to my feet like I had just escaped a cage.

“I wouldn’t want you to die now. Treat your wounds first,” he said simply, resting his head against his palm as though this was all nothing to him.

I didn’t wait. I grabbed the first aid kit and rushed out of the room, my chest pounding. How could someone be that crazy?

---

It had been three days since I last saw Luca. Three days since I last ate. I hadn’t stepped out of my room once. That night, he was too weak to punish me, but I knew he was only waiting. Waiting to show me what he truly had in store.

I lay curled on the bed as my stomach grumbled loud again. Even when I had nothing in life, starving myself was never something I was used to. My body was shutting down. My hands trembled each time I tried to move, and my vision grew faint.

Was this how I would die? Not by Luca’s gun, not by his madness, but by hunger?

“God… why me?” My voice cracked as I rolled over the bed, clutching my stomach tight. My mind spun in circles. What if I lost my sanity before my body gave up?

The creak of the door snapped me up instantly. I jumped to my feet, heart slamming.

It was him.

Luca stood in the doorway, his gaze fixed on me. His eyes trailed slowly over me, from my face down to my legs.

I was wearing a jean short I had found in the wardrobe, and a baggy shirt that barely covered me. His eyes lingered too long on my thighs, and heat rushed to my face.

He didn’t even bother to hide it — the lust in his stare. It was almost mocking.

And God help me, I wasn’t going to lie. He looked… hot. Too hot. His tattoos crawled across his arms, his shirt loose enough to reveal them clearly. His hair messy, his eyes sharp. My gaze betrayed me, falling to his grey sweatpants — and I saw it. His bulge, obvious.

The fuck. I squinted, forcing my face into disgust, a chuckle slipping out after.

“Are you not going to say anything?” His voice finally broke the silence.

“How’s your arm?” I asked flatly. Not that I cared. Maybe it was just a weak attempt to avoid whatever punishment he was planning.

He pressed his fingers against the bandage and shrugged. “This is nothing compared to other injuries I’ve had. I heard you haven’t stepped out of your room for days.” He changed the topic without blinking.

So he hadn’t been home. Was that why he never came to check on me?

“Oh. You weren’t at home?”

“Yes.”

“Do you usually go out frequently? I mean…”

“What? You like it when I’m not home?” His steps carried him closer.

My lips sealed shut. Any answer would dig my grave deeper.

My feet moved backward on their own, nails digging into my palms as I watched him advance. His gaze locked on my neck.

Then his thumb brushed my skin. My body shuddered instantly at his touch. God only knew what he might do now.

“It seems you got better,” he muttered, pulling his hand away and stepping back slightly. His eyes didn’t leave me. “If I want you to die, it’s not going to be because of hunger. Come out now. Let’s eat.”

He turned and walked out.

I let out a shaky sigh, relief washing through me but not enough to calm my nerves. Being around him was like walking barefoot on shattered glass.

Thank God he wouldn’t let me die of hunger. But then again, he might just put a bullet in me any second he wanted.

I followed behind him slowly until we reached the dining room. The table was filled with food, dishes I couldn’t even name, rich flavors filling the air. He wasn’t American, and it showed in the choice of meals.

My stomach growled embarrassingly loud. I dropped into an empty chair without waiting for him to tell me.

“Eat to your satisfaction,” Luca said, taking the seat next to me. His elbows rested on the table, his chin on his clasped hands, watching me.

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

“I told you not to question me, love. Seems like you’ve forgotten already.”

“I’m sorry.”

I shoved food into my mouth, the first bite making my eyes flutter shut. It was so good. My hands shook as I reached for more, hunger controlling me. Still, I could feel his eyes burning into me.

I hated it. Hated how he sat there, monitoring every move.

“I want to ask you a question,” I said, breaking the silence after a few bites.

“Go on,” he answered. His voice — deep, rough — scratched something inside my head, and I hated how much I liked the sound.

I rubbed my palms together, gathering courage, even though I knew this could be dangerous.

“Who is Rafelo?” My voice trembled slightly. “And why did he claim me that way? Why are both of you fighting over me?”