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I lean closer, my forehead nearly touching hers. "Well then. Do you know what happens now, Mrs. Ravelli?"

Fear finally flickers in those golden eyes. "What?"

I slide my hand into her hair, gripping the roots just tight enough to sting. "To claim you, I must have you."

Chapter Seven

Luca

Theapplauseisstillechoing in the cathedral as I lead her through the back corridor, away from the guests, away from the prying eyes of criminals who smiled like saints while fantasizing about our downfall.

Bianca’s hand trembles in mine, but she's done well tonight. She played her part and smiled when she needed to, nodded and spoke when she was spoken to.

Now, as I drag her away, she doesn't look at me, doesn’t ask where we’re going.

Maybe she knows better. Or maybe she’s just too overwhelmed to fight.

Good. Let her be overwhelmed. Let her be consumed.

The heavy wooden door at the end of the corridor opens into my private quarters and I move down the corridor towards my bedroom. The only place where no one else dares to walk uninvited.

This isn’t the room she woke up in this morning. That was a stage.

This is the throne room.

The moment the door shuts behind us, she exhales like she’s been holding her breath for hours.

I shrug off my jacket, hang it with care. Unbutton each cuff, roll my sleeves.

"Why aren't we staying at the reception?" Bianca's voice breaks the silence, her eyes following my hands as I roll up each sleeve.

"Because I've shared you with those vultures long enough." I unbutton my collar, watching her gaze lock onto the movement. "Two days ago, you were cleaning hotel rooms. Tonight, you became my wife. And you did beautifully."

Her throat bobs as she swallows. "I didn't do anything."

"You stood there like a queen while they all stared."

I stalk toward her, close enough to catch the rose scent she bathed in. Slowly, piece by piece, every part of her will become my property. First my soap claiming her scent, then my sheets claiming her consciousness, then finally… my children claiming her soul.

"You didn't flinch when I kissed you."

"That wasn't a kiss." Her chin lifts. "That was a statement."

"Everything I do is a statement." I trace one finger down her jaw, remembering how she melted against me at the altar. "But you liked it anyway."

She doesn't deny it. She can't deny it.

Even now, her pupils are blown wide, tracking every shift of muscle beneath my rolled sleeves.

"So that’s all I am? A trophy?"

"No." I stop inches from her, letting the heat of my body bleed into her space. "You’re the prize."

She looks up at me, lashes thick and dark. “I still don’t belong to you. I am my own person. Just like your mother was.”

The mention of my mother hits like a blade between my ribs. My vision blurs red at the edges as I close the distance between us.

"You don't speak of her." My voice comes out loud. Too loud. "You know nothing about my mother or this family."