Luca’s POV

Bruno’s voice on the other end of the line was tight. Controlled. But I could hear the tension beneath.

> “She’s gone.”

Two words.

Two seconds.

That’s all it took for my blood to ignite.

I didn’t shout. I didn’t curse.

I just stood from my chair, cracked my neck once, and said coldly:

> “Find the guard. The one stationed outside her room.”

---

The bastard was already on his knees when I arrived.

Blood dripping from his lip. Eyes swollen. But not nearly enough.

Bruno had done the polite part. Now it was my turn.

“Coglione.”

Idiot.

I didn’t yell. I whispered it. And then drove the heel of my boot into his ribs.

He choked. Fell to the floor.

“You let her sweet talk you?” I hissed. “You thought she’d cry, flutter her lashes, and that made her yours to pity?”

I slammed his head against the wall once. Twice. Until he bled properly.

“Mai più.”

Never again.

---

We checked every camera feed. Every route out. I knew her pace, her fear, her eyes — I knew her better than she knew herself.

She’d been running scared.

But not smart.

Still wearing the red dress I put her in.

Still glowing with the fire I’d lit.

And I wasn’t done watching her burn.

---

The club wasn’t mine.

But everything in this city answers to me — eventually.

A friend owed me a favor. I made one call.

Told them to catch her.

Alive.

Humiliate her. Strip her dignity. Don’t touch her.

She’s not for anyone else’s hands. Only mine.

---

I arrived fifteen minutes before they pushed her onto the floor.

She didn’t see me at first.

Didn’t know I was the one behind the lights. The commands. The stage.

But when I spoke… “Dance,” …and she turned…

Dio santo.

God help me.

Even humiliated, she was beautiful.

Even broken, she burned.

And still — her eyes screamed rebellion.

Still, she fought.

I told her to strip.

Not because I wanted to see her.

No.

I wanted her to feel the shame coil around her ribs and choke her.

I wanted her to remember that freedom was a fantasy.

And I was the reality.

The moment she reached for the hem of that dress and I saw her fingers tremble… I stopped her.

Why?

Because power doesn’t come from breaking a body.

It comes from breaking pride.

---

The others laughed. Fools. Useless bastardi.

I let them see her. Let them want her. Then dismissed them like flies.

Because the only thing worse than being humiliated…

…is being humiliated, and then realizing you still belong to the man who orchestrated it all.

---

Later, I stood alone in the hallway outside the club’s back exit.

Lit a cigarette. Watched the smoke spiral.

She was inside. Dressed. Silent.

She hadn't cried yet. But she would.

And then what?

More punishment?

More obedience?

No.

I was past that now.

She’d already infected me.

Every night, every step, every silence — she was in my veins.

She didn’t fear me the way she should. That fire in her eyes…

I didn’t want to put it out anymore.

I wanted to trap it. Inside a cage.

Inside my name.

> “Bruno,” I muttered, flicking ash off my sleeve.

“Start the paperwork.”

“What paperwork?”

“Il matrimonio.”

The marriage.

He didn’t flinch.

But he hesitated.

“Luca… marriage?”

I turned to him slowly.

“My father gave my mother a ring to protect her. I’ll give Ira mine to haunt her.”

My lips curled.

“Let her carry my name like a collar.”