Page 14 of Hunted to the Altar (Caputo Crime Family #3)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

N ina

The weight of the blood-soaked wedding still clung to me as Samuel drove us back to his penthouse.

The silence between us was suffocating, punctuated only by the rhythmic hum of the tires against the road.

My fingers dug into the stained fabric of my dress, the coppery tang of blood clinging to my skin no matter how many times I wiped at it. I didn’t dare speak. Not yet.

Samuel’s hands gripped the steering wheel with a calm that felt anything but reassuring.

His movements were precise, methodical, as if he were holding himself together by sheer force of will.

The man who had orchestrated this entire nightmare radiated an air of composure that made my skin crawl.

What was going through his mind? Did he feel any of the turmoil I did? Did he even care?

The city lights blurred through the window, their glow doing nothing to pierce the darkness that surrounded me.

I stared at my reflection in the glass, my face pale and hollow, my hair disheveled and matted with sweat and…

other things I didn’t want to think about.

The white gown that Marcello had placed me in was ruined, clinging to me like a macabre second skin.

I wasn’t sure which was worse: that I had married Samuel, or that I was still alive because of him.

The car slowed, the looming shadow of his penthouse coming into view. Samuel pulled into the underground garage with the precision of a man who controlled every facet of his life. As soon as the car stopped, I reached for the door handle, desperate to escape the stifling confines of the vehicle.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice low and calm. It wasn’t a command, not exactly, but it froze me all the same. I turned to glare at him, my fingers still on the handle.

“Don’t what?” My voice was sharper than I intended. “Don’t breathe? Don’t leave? What exactly am I allowed to do, Samuel?”

His blue eyes flicked to mine, cold and unyielding. “You’re allowed to survive, Nina. Everything else is a privilege.”

The words were like a slap, and I recoiled, my anger flaring to life despite the fear that coiled in my stomach. “A privilege? You think you own me now, is that it?”

He leaned back in his seat, his gaze never leaving mine. “I don’t think, Nina. I know.”

My heart pounded as the weight of his words settled over me. He was serious. Deadly serious. And yet, there was something in his tone—a quiet conviction that made my skin prickle. He wasn’t trying to intimidate me. He was stating a fact.

Before I could respond, he opened his door and stepped out, his movements as fluid and controlled as ever. He walked around to my side of the car and opened the door, holding out his hand. “Come inside. We need to talk.”

I stared at his hand like it was a snake poised to strike. “What if I say no? ”

His lips curved into a faint smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “Then I’ll carry you.”

The threat was subtle, almost playful, but it sent a shiver down my spine.

Reluctantly, I took his hand, letting him help me out of the car.

His grip was firm, his touch warm against my cold, clammy skin.

I hated the way it made me feel—grounded, steady, as if I could lean on him and not fall apart completely.

He led me to the elevator, his presence an oppressive force beside me. The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken tension. When the elevator doors slid shut, I felt the walls closing in, the small space amplifying the magnetic pull of his presence.

“You look like you’re about to bolt,” he said, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

“Maybe I am,” I shot back, crossing my arms over my chest. “Can you blame me?”

He tilted his head, studying me with an intensity that made my skin crawl. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t try.”

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open, revealing the stark luxury of his penthouse.

He stepped out, his movements purposeful, and I followed reluctantly, my gaze darting around the room.

The space was immaculate, every detail carefully curated.

It felt cold, sterile, devoid of any genuine warmth.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the plush leather couch that dominated the living room.

I hesitated, my instincts screaming at me to run, to fight, to do anything but obey. But I was exhausted, my body and mind frayed to the point of breaking. With a sigh, I sank onto the couch, my fingers gripping the edge of the cushion as if it could anchor me.

Samuel disappeared into the kitchen, returning moments later with a glass of water and a small first aid kit. He set them on the coffee table in front of me, his movements precise and deliberate .

“Drink,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I glared at him, my pride warring with my thirst. But my body betrayed me, my trembling hand reaching for the glass. The cool water slid down my throat, soothing the raw ache left by the events of the day. I hated that it felt like a victory for him.

Samuel sank into the armchair across from me, his posture relaxed, but his gaze sharp. “We need to establish some rules.”

“Rules?” I echoed, my voice dripping with incredulity. “You mean more rules? Because being kidnapped and forced into marriage wasn’t enough?”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “This isn’t about control, Nina. It’s about survival.”

“Oh, please,” I scoffed, leaning forward. “Don’t pretend this is about protecting me. This is about owning me.”

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he leaned forward, mirroring my posture, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath hitch. “If owning you means keeping you alive, then yes. You’re mine. And you’ll stay mine.”

The conviction in his voice was terrifying. It wasn’t a threat or a boast. It was a promise.

“Let me reiterate how this is going to work,” he continued, his tone even. “You’ll stay here. You’ll follow my rules. No leaving the penthouse without my permission. No contacting anyone outside this circle. And absolutely no lying to me.”

I bristled at the list, my defiance bubbling to the surface. “And what if I break your precious rules?”

His smile was slow, predatory. “Then you’ll learn not to.”

The implied threat sent a chill down my spine, but I refused to let him see my fear. Instead, I leaned back against the couch, crossing my arms over my chest. “Fine. Your rules. What else?”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. His gaze swept over me, lingering on the curve of my shoulders, the defiance in my posture. “You’ll sleep in my bed. ”

My heart lurched, and I shot to my feet, my fists clenched at my sides. “Absolutely not.”

He stood as well, his calm composure unwavering. “It’s not negotiable, Nina. This isn’t about anything more than appearances. If anyone tries to get close, they’ll see you belong to me. My wife. My queen.”

The word felt like a mockery, a title meant to placate me while stripping me of my autonomy. But the fire in his eyes, the raw conviction behind his words, made me pause. He meant it—every word.

“And if I refuse?” I whispered, my voice trembling.

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, his breath warm against my cheek as he leaned in. “You won’t.”

My resolve cracked, just slightly, as I felt the weight of his control pressing down on me.

But I wasn’t ready to surrender. Not yet.

Not completely. I pushed past him, moving to the window and staring out at the city below.

The lights blurred as tears filled my eyes, and I blinked them away, refusing to let him see me break.

“I hate you,” I whispered, the words barely audible.

He was silent for a moment, then moved to stand beside me. “Good,” he murmured. “Hate me all you want, Nina. As long as you’re alive to feel it.”

I turned to face him, my anger flaring once more. “Why? Why are you doing this? Why me?”

His hand reached out, brushing a stray curl from my face. The touch was gentle, almost tender, and it sent a shiver down my spine. “Because you’re mine,” he said simply. “And I don’t let go of what’s mine.”

The finality in his voice left no room for argument. I was trapped, bound by his rules, his expectations, his unyielding need for control. And yet, as I stared into his piercing blue eyes, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to him than the monster he portrayed .

But even if there was, I wasn’t sure I wanted to find it.

As the night stretched on, I tested the edges of his rules: small things, subtle defiance. I left my water glass on the edge of the counter instead of in the sink. I adjusted the pillows on the couch after he straightened them. Little acts of rebellion that I knew wouldn’t go unnoticed.

He didn’t react immediately, but I could see the tension building in his jaw, the way his fingers twitched as he resisted the urge to correct me. His control was ironclad, but I could feel it fraying, thread by thread.

By the time I finally retreated to the bedroom—his bedroom—the air between us was electric, charged with an unspoken battle of wills.

I slipped beneath the covers, my body rigid as I waited for him to join me.

When he finally did, the bed dipped under his weight, his presence a constant reminder of my captivity.

“Goodnight, Nina,” he whispered, his voice carrying a dangerous edge.

I didn’t respond. Instead, I closed my eyes and vowed to escape—to break free of his control.

Even if it killed me.

But I wasn’t done pushing him yet. By the second day, my attitude wasn’t as subtle.

I deliberately ignored his command to keep the penthouse in pristine order, leaving cabinets open and throwing blankets carelessly over the couch.

When he returned from his study and saw the chaos, his sharp eyes locked onto mine.

“Nina,” he said, his voice a warning, the calm before a storm.

I crossed my arms and stared at him defiantly. “What? You said I could stay here. I didn’t realize there’d be consequences.”

He closed the distance between us in three long strides, his hand gripping my wrist firmly but not painfully. “I told you there would be repercussions for breaking my rules,” he murmured. “Don’t break them and you’ll be fine. ”

Before I could retort, he pulled a length of silk rope from his pocket—as if he’d been waiting for this moment. My breath hitched as he tied my wrists together, his movements calm and methodical.

“What are you doing?” I demanded, panic lacing my voice.

He didn’t respond immediately, his focus on the precise knots he was forming. When he finally looked up, his expression was unreadable. “Teaching you,” he said simply.

“You can’t do this!” I shouted, my voice rising with panic. I struggled against the bindings, but they were secure, holding me in place with unnerving efficiency.

Samuel leaned in close, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispered, “I can do whatever I want, Nina. And if you keep screaming, I’ll make it worse.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but he pressed a piece of cloth against my lips, muffling my cries. His eyes darkened as he secured the gag, his hands brushing against my skin with an almost tender precision.

“Silence,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, “is blissfully sweet.”

I glared at him, my fury simmering beneath the surface. But deep down, beneath the anger and fear, a strange sensation flickered. His dominance was overwhelming, suffocating, and yet…it demanded a response I didn’t fully understand.

Samuel stood back, admiring his work with a faint smile. “You’ll learn, Nina. Eventually.”

He lied down beside me, and I shuddered. I huffed and twisted against the silk binding my wrists, my breath shallow, my pulse erratic. The scarf was soft, but his presence was suffocating. Every shift of my body made the bed creak, a sound swallowed by the quiet dominance of Samuel beside me.

“Stop,” he murmured, his hand slipping between my legs, possessive, testing. I froze, my body tensing, terror threading through my veins. “I’m not punishing you tonight, no matter how much you beg.”

I scoffed. This guy was unbelievable.

“Go to sleep, little bunny,” he ordered, his voice smooth, final.

I forced my breaths to slow, my body to still, feigning the surrender he expected. My lashes fluttered shut, my heart hammering beneath my ribs.

Because I knew—if he sensed resistance, he wouldn’t stop.