Wife of Alessandro de Luca

Rose clutched the thin silk of her nightdress like a lifeline, her fingers trembling as she sat on the edge of the bed. Her pulse drummed loud in her ears.

Three hours ago, she had stood before an altar. A bride in ivory. A pawn in a game she didn't understand.

Now, she was alone in a mansion soaked in silence, in a bedroom far too lavish for someone who felt like a prisoner.

His bedroom.

The man she had just married—Alessandro De Luca was no husband. He was a shadow wrapped in tailored suits and a name that made grown men shiver.

He had left after the wedding, without a word. No explanation. No glance her way.

And now... he was back.

She heard the heavy click of his shoes before she saw him, broad shoulders cutting through the dim light as he entered the room like he owned it. Owned her.

Not a word.

Not a look.

He walked past her, shedding his jacket and undoing his cufflinks with clinical detachment. She watched as he disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water soon filling the silence.

She didn't breathe. Not properly.

When he reemerged, damp hair slicked back and a towel slung low around his hips, he moved with quiet, predatory calm. He opened a drawer, and what he pulled out made her blood run cold.

Protection. A handful. More than necessary.

Her eyes widened. "Alessandro..."

He didn't meet her gaze. His voice was flat, void of emotion. "Lie down. Flat on your back."

The command shattered the stillness like a slap.

Her body stiffened. "W-what? What do you mean?" The fear in her voice betrayed her.

He finally looked at her, cold eyes sharp as blades. "I don't like repeating myself. Lie down. Now."

"No. No, I'm not doing that. I'm not an animal," she said, voice cracking but firm.

His jaw clenched. A dangerous stillness settled over him. Then came the quiet, lethal reply:

"Perhaps cuffing you would be more effective."

He turned to the drawer again, searching for something she didn't want to see.

Panic surged. Rose shot off the bed and bolted for the door. It was locked.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Then his phone rang. Sharp. Urgent. He froze, the sound slicing through the room.

He glanced at the screen, then answered in Italian—his voice suddenly ice and fire.

"Che cazzo hai detto?" (What the fuck did you just say?)

She watched as his entire posture changed. Whatever he was being told... it wasn't good. His grip on the phone tightened like he wanted to crush it.

More harsh words. A low curse. And then he hung up.

Slowly, Alessandro turned toward her. That unreadable, terrifying smirk curved his lips.

"Calm down, principessa. Not tonight, it seems. But soon. I've waited seven years to marry you. You're mine now. Mine."

He dressed swiftly, his fury barely contained beneath his skin. Then he stormed out, the door slamming behind him like a gunshot.

Rose stood in the center of the room, heart pounding, her body rigid with fear and rage.

She clutched her chest, as if to still the shaking.

That man... was a devil wrapped in charm and cruelty.

But she would never give him the satisfaction of breaking her.

Let him think she was weak. Let him believe she was nothing but a debt to be owned.

He had no idea who she really was.

She was her father's daughter.

And this game?

She would learn to play it too.

She drifted off to sleep, but her mind was consumed by thoughts of her new husband, Alessandro de Luca.

She couldn't shake the feeling that this man, with his chiseled features and commanding presence, would be difficult to navigate. His piercing gaze seemed to bore into her soul, as if daring her to defy him. As she lay there, her mind racing with uncertainty, Alessandro was already miles away, meeting with his loyal men who had summoned him with urgent news. A attempted breach of his warehouse had been reported, and Alessandro's expression darkened with each passing moment. No one crossed him and lived to tell the tale. The most powerful and feared mafia lord in the game, Alessandro wouldn't tolerate any disrespect.

His honeymoon, supposed to be a celebration of his union with her, would have to wait.

Business came first, and he would make sure those responsible paid dearly.