Page 27 of Hunted to the Altar (Caputo Crime Family #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

N ina

The summons came unexpectedly. I had barely settled into my restless pacing when the knock on the door echoed through the room. My heart stuttered. I knew who it was before the voice followed.

"Get dressed. We’re going to dinner." Samuel’s tone left no room for dissent.

Ignoring him never worked, but the defiant part of me still itched to try.

My fists clenched at my sides before I let out a breath and moved toward the closet.

The selection of dresses was a reminder of my captivity—expensive, chosen by him, meant to make me look like I belonged at his side.

A silent claim wrapped in silk and lace.

I picked a dark red gown, something elegant but easy to move in. If this dinner was anything like I imagined, I would need the freedom. By the time I emerged from the room, Samuel was waiting, his sharp blue eyes scanning me with a territorial intent that made my stomach tighten.

"Perfect," he murmured, offering his arm. "Let’s go."

The car ride was silent, but tension crackled in the air between us.

I could feel his gaze lingering on me, the weight of his attention suffocating yet intoxicating.

When we arrived at the restaurant, it was nothing short of opulent—marble floors, chandeliers dripping with gold, and a hushed atmosphere that told me only the elite dined here.

Samuel’s hand settled on the small of my back as he guided me inside. "Eyes on me, Nina," he murmured, his voice low enough that only I could hear. "Not them."

Them. I followed his gaze and saw the way the other patrons turned, some nodding in recognition, others watching with thinly veiled curiosity. Mafia. Powerful men who controlled entire empires, and the women beside them who knew better than to question their place.

Samuel pulled out my chair, his fingers brushing against my bare shoulder as I sat. A shiver ran down my spine, a mix of anticipation and something darker, something more dangerous.

The waiter appeared instantly, and Samuel ordered without glancing at the menu. When the man turned to me, I hesitated. Samuel’s eyes flicked to mine, an unspoken command lingering in their depths.

"The same," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

"Good girl," he murmured, satisfaction threading his tone.

As the wine was poured, he leaned back in his chair, watching me. "You’re tense."

"You dragged me out to dinner with criminals. Forgive me if I don’t feel relaxed."

He smirked, swirling his wine before taking a slow sip. "You think this is dangerous? This is nothing, sweetheart. This is where you learn."

"Learn what?" I challenged, lifting my chin.

"Who you belong to. "

I stiffened. "I don’t belong to anyone."

His smirk vanished, replaced by something darker. "You do. And I won’t let anyone forget it." Before I could react, Samuel stood abruptly and extended his hand toward me. "Dance with me."

I blinked. "Samuel, no one is dancing."

His smirk deepened, his grip tightening slightly around my wrist as he pulled me to my feet. "Who’s going to stop me?"

Heat curled in my stomach as he led me onto the polished marble floor, where the dim lighting cast dramatic shadows.

The restaurant hushed, all eyes turning to us, but Samuel didn’t care.

He held me possessively, one hand splayed against the small of my back while the other captured mine, lifting it to his chest. The warmth of his palm seared into my skin.

"I don’t know how to waltz," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.

"You don’t have to," he murmured back, his lips dangerously close to my ear. "Just follow me."

The music swelled, and then we were moving.

His steps were confident, each motion precise yet fluid.

I had no choice but to match his rhythm, my body pressed against his as he guided me effortlessly across the floor.

The world around us faded, the restaurant, the onlookers—none of it mattered.

It was just him, just the intoxicating scent of his cologne, the steady beat of his heart beneath my fingertips.

His grip on my waist tightened as he spun me, our bodies brushing, igniting something dark and undeniable between us. "You see, sweetheart? You fit here with me. Just like this."

A shudder ran through me, and I hated how much I liked the way his voice wrapped around me, how it claimed me in ways words never could. "This isn’t real, Samuel. This is just another one of your games."

His hold on me stilled for half a second before he pulled me even closer, his lips ghosting over the shell of my ear. "Then why do you feel it, too?"

Before I could answer, a sharp voice sliced through the tension.

"Samuel."

Matteo, Samuel’s snitch, stood just at the edge of the dance floor, his eyes locked on us, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. The moment shattered. My breath caught, and Samuel’s grip on me turned rigid, his entire body coiling with barely restrained fury.

"Enjoying yourself?" Matteo mused, tilting his head. "I almost feel bad interrupting. Almost."

Samuel slowly released me, his gaze never leaving Matteo’s. "You should have stayed in your seat."

Matteo chuckled. "And miss the sight of you parading your prize around like a trophy? No, no, I couldn’t resist."

The air turned lethal in an instant. Samuel moved, his body a wall of restrained violence between me and Matteo. "Watch your mouth."

Matteo raised his hands in mock surrender, but his smirk never wavered. "Relax, old friend. Just admiring. Though I have to wonder—how long can you keep her locked in your grasp before she realizes she was never meant to stay?"

I felt Samuel’s fury like a storm brewing at my front. It made him uncomfortable, me holding him like this, I could feel it when he tensed.

Matteo gave me one last lingering look before walking away, and the moment he was out of earshot, Samuel turned back around and leaned forward. "Are you beginning to understand yet?"

I swallowed as we walked back to the table. "Understand what?"

"That keeping you safe isn’t about locking you away. It’s about making sure men like him know you are mine. "

The obsessiveness in his tone sent a shiver through me. I should have hated it. But a part of me—one I wasn’t ready to name—felt something else.

We left after the meal as discreetly as possible and got into the car waiting at the valet.I watched as he removed his suit jacket, fixing his cufflinks.

Samuel’s grip on my thigh tightened slightly, his presence overwhelming even in the silence that stretched between us.

I exhaled slowly, trying to gather my thoughts, but before I could speak, he reached over and lifted my chin with two fingers, forcing my gaze to meet his.

"You don’t need to fear me, Nina," he murmured, his voice almost gentle. "But you do need to understand that I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe."

I swallowed hard, knowing the moment I spoke the truth, my fate was sealed. "I’m not safe with you."

His jaw tensed. "You are safer with me than anywhere else. But you still don’t believe that, do you?"

"No." We passed a wooded area.

I paid little attention to it even as I heard a strange idea in my mind.

Get lost in there. I shook it off the random intrusive thought. As if I’d gain enough freedom from Samuel to accomplish something like that. He held me too tight.

The car screeched to a stop, the sudden force jerking me forward.

I looked out the window realizing we’d made it back.

I hadn’t noticed how close we truly were.

Before I could react, Samuel was out, rounding the car and yanking open my door.

I barely had time to protest before he grabbed me, his fingers digging into my arms, and dragged me out onto the quiet, dimly lit street.

He jerked me close to him, so close that the large holster japped into my ribs. An underling called his name, diverting his attention. As soon as he loosened his grip to address the guy, I grabbed the gun .

Blessed Freedom.

The echo of Samuel telling me to bring my ass back to him was quiet in my ears when compared to the sound of my pounding heart and my high heels tapping the pavement.

I was so fucked.

I took his gun and ran.

At the time, I thought only to protect myself and my baby, but now that I had the heavy weapon pressed to my chest with both hands like I was sprinting with a clutch instead of a pistol, I realized how dumb this was.

Samuel seemed like the kind of guy who’d be insulted by someone taking his gun.

I can’t believe I’m holding his gun while running. I don’t even know where the safety is. I bet it’s loaded and chambered too! I should be alright if I don’t have my fingers on the trigger, though. Right? Right? Oh my god.

My panic only highlighted how sheltered I was. I’d never held a gun before in my life. And what was I going to do with it? Shoot Samuel?

I wove through the property, not stopping even when I heard more shouts in the distance. His men were after me now. I could hear their steps filter into the once quiet night, closing in behind me.

I could shoot them if I had to. I could. I would. Right?

Was I capable of taking a life?

Please Lord, let me just escape this madness.

I can make, I can make it, I chanted to myself. I can escape and never place my finger on the trigger.

I followed the drive to the wooded area around the property. Knowing I could not go out the guarded gate we came in, I detoured onto a makeshift path, well-worn by the guards who patrolled the tree-lined perimeter.

When I saw the fence, I thanked the Lord. He heard my inner pleas .

As I reached the chainlink, I kicked off my heels and, unsure what else to do with it, plunged the gun down my cleavage– handle down, barrel up, just in case.

Please don’t let it be electrical, I prayed. Please don’t let the gun go off between my tits and blow off my head.

It was so close I could taste my freedom.