SEVEN
SOPHIA
Somewhere in this huge mansion, Luca is peeling off his blood-soaked clothes and stepping into a steaming shower. Meanwhile, I’m sitting in a living room that's bigger than our entire apartment, struggling to make sense of the chaos I just lived through.
He killed two men. He was ready to torture them—but didn’t. Only because I asked him not to.
He let all those women go too. Again, just because I told him to. Why? Why would he even listen to me? Why come save me in the first place?
If what Dad said about him is true, Luca shouldn't care about anyone. And now he wants to marry me?
Says putting his last name on mine will protect me. Like that’s enough to keep the monsters away.
I tried to argue in the car, said I couldn’t marry someone who kills people for a living. It was like talking to a wall. I even brought up calling the police, and he told me to go ahead. So I did. They laughed.
Literally laughed. Said cops don’t get involved in matters that have “Morretti” or “Petrovitch” stamped on them.
I called Pamela too—warned her to stay away tonight. The last thing I need is anyone else caught in this mess because of me. Now the only person left to call is Tess. I have to know she’s safe, no matter what Luca promised.
I hold my breath as the phone rings. “Tess?” I ask when she answers, pacing across the room as my eyes drift toward the massive windows overlooking the river.
The view is stunning. I turn back toward the room—it’s perfectly arranged. Everything in place. Like I decorated it myself. How did I not notice before? It’s almost eerie.
“Sophia? What happened? Are you okay?” Her voice is shaky and filled with worry. “Where are you?”
“I’m fine,” I say quietly. “The guys who grabbed me? They were the same ones that used to work with Dad. They took me to a brothel—they were going to use me as leverage to force Luca into something. But he showed up. Got me out before anything happened. Now I’m at his place.”
Even saying it out loud feels like I’m retelling some twisted, violent dream. “He says I need to marry him if I want to stay safe.”
“Wait—what? Why would he even say that?”
“Because Igor Briarwood is behind all this. He’s after whatever was inside the suitcase Dad moved. If he finds out about me, it could get ugly. Luca wants me here, locked down, while he handles it. But what about you? Are you okay?”
“There are guards outside our place. They set up alarms on the windows, too. No one’s made a move since.”
Her voice eases some of my panic, but the knot in my stomach doesn’t loosen. “But Sophia—you were kidnapped. You should’ve gone to the police.”
“I tried. They didn’t care. Luca says this is the only real option.”
“You’re kidding.”
“He didn’t exactly give me a choice,” I admit. My voice is flat. “I’m doing it, Tess. I’m going to marry him, because that way you stay protected. Your therapist too. He said once this Briarwood situation is handled, I can walk away from it—get the marriage annulled if I want.”
“Crap—I’ve got another call coming in. It’s Dr. Summers. Should I get her to call back?”
“No, it’s okay. Take it. I’m not going anywhere. Just… if you hear anything about Dad, let me know. I don’t know if Briarwood will go after him too.”
“Of course. I’ll let you know the second I hear something. Love you.”
“Love you more.”
She ends the call.
I drift toward the massive bookshelf lining the far wall. One book is pushed out just a little. I reach out to nudge it back in place and smile when I see the title—Les Misérables, Volume One. Oh, the irony. Fate really is having fun with me today.
Luca’s voice slices through the silence. “Read the best books first, or you might never get the chance.”
“Thoreau,” I say with a faint smile, turning around to face him. He’s standing there, clean and freshly dressed in another sharp, perfect suit. “My mom used to say that.”
Just looking at him sends a ripple through my chest. His eyes follow my movement, landing on the book.
“It was crooked,” I explain. “I wanted to fix it.”
“First edition,” he says. “Tenth anniversary gift from my father to my mother. It was her favorite novel.”
“It was my mum’s favorite too,” I tell him. I can hear her voice in my head, clear as day, reading it out loud to me. “She always said it was the perfect story about second chances—if you can get through the hundred pages about the Paris sewers.”
He lets out a low chuckle. “Yeah, Hugo liked to wander off. But to me, the story was about justice. Or the lack of it. Javert chased Valjean with so much hatred, it wasn’t rational. If he’d just let it go, he might’ve survived. Valjean was one criminal in a sea of thousands. He let it get personal.”
I smile. “That’s exactly what I said the first time I read it.”
He steps closer, pulls the book from the shelf, looking down at it like it holds something sacred. “I read it again after my parents were killed. It reminded me of my father andBriarwood—two men locked in this endless war of pride and revenge.”
“They hated each other that much?”
He nods slowly. “The usual story. Briarwood wanted something that was never his.”
“What was it?”
“My mother. She was the most admired woman in the city back then. Briarwood hated that my father won her heart. Accused him of cheating. Refused to believe she’d actually chosen him. He waited years, and when he finally realized she’d never be his—he killed them both. Decided if he couldn’t have her, no one could.”
His voice shifts. Cold and full of old hurt. “Of course, I’ve never been able to prove it. The man who did the killing? Dropped dead in jail that same night. Heart attack, they said.”
I catch it—something flickering behind his expression. Pain. Grief. He’s not as cold as he acts, I think.
“That must’ve been hell.”
He gives a small nod. “I locked myself in this house after it happened. I started drinking just to quiet the noise. To numb it all. Took me a long time to step back outside.”
“Agoraphobia?” I ask softly. “You mentioned it, in my room.”
“It’s behind me now,” he says. “I brought our empire back to life. And now I’m about to close a deal with the city that’ll secure everything for decades—if I get that file back.”
“What file?”
“There’s a report inside that suitcase. Dirt on everyone on the appropriations committee. Without it, I can’t force them to sell me the land near the river. I know they’ll approve development eventually. And when they do? We build—and make a billion in five years. Briarwood is trying to remind me he still runs this city. He paid those two dead men to steal the file from my vault. Your father helped move it.”
“You didn’t make a copy?”
He shakes his head once. “You don’t duplicate something like that.”
“So now that he’s got the file, he can use it against them? Twist their arms into giving him that deal?”
“It’s password-protected,” Luca says, jaw clenched. “But if he breaks it? He’ll win. That land will be his. He’ll build more places like the one you saw today. Brothels on every corner. I won’t let that happen.” He pauses, eyes flicking to the bookshelf before straightening a single novel, making sure it's perfectly aligned. “I have to get that file back. For my parents. For me.”
He turns to me again. “You talk to your sister?”
“Just now. She said you’ve got alarms all over the building.”
“My security’s solid. Nothing will touch her.” His voice is steady, certain. “Now, go freshen up. There’s clean clothes in the bathroom down the hall.” He gestures toward a door. “I’ll be in the conservatory when you’re ready.”
I follow him a few steps until he nods toward the open doorway. Then he walks off, silent. I watch him go. He moves like someone in total control—calm, deliberate, sure of every step.
But the more I look, the more I can see it: the cracks, the tightly held trauma under the surface. He’s shaped by what happened to his family the same way I’m shaped by mine.
It makes sense now—why he needs control over everything. But I can tell... there’s more depth to him than he even realizes. He feels more than he lets on.
I close the bathroom door behind me and twist the lock. Leaning back against it, I exhale, then smile to myself. No rituals here. Not yet, anyway.
I strip off my clothes and step under the shower. The water hits my skin, perfectly warm, steady. It’s a small luxury but one that feels like a miracle compared to the apartment I share back home.
There, the shower either scorches or freezes. Mold creeps into the corners no matter how hard I scrub. But here? This bathroom could be in a five-star hotel. Gleaming tiles, flawless design. I could get used to this.
I close my eyes and let the water run over me, my thoughts drifting. For a second, I picture the door opening.
Luca walking in. Fully dressed, soaking his suit just to get to me. I imagine his hands sliding over my body, his mouth brushing my neck as he claims me with no hesitation, no gentleness. The image is so vivid, I can’t push it away.
His fingers between my legs, teasing. His voice rough in my ear, calling me his wife. Telling me he can do whatever he wants with me. I protest, but he silences me with a kiss—deep, possessive, raw.
I picture him being the one to take my virginity. His body over mine, his mouth on my throat, his voice dark and hungry. And as the fantasy grows stronger, I let my hand drift lower.
My fingers circle my clit, slow and desperate. The steam, the water pressure—it all builds around me. I move slightly, letting the shower hit just the right spot. My body arches. My breath catches.
It doesn’t take long. My legs start to shake as pleasure crashes through me, sharp and blinding.
“Luca,” I whisper, unable to stop myself as the orgasm pulses through my core. My knees nearly give out. My heart’s pounding in my ears.
When the wave finally passes, I turn off the water, breath shaky. I dry off with one of the oversized fluffy towels and force myself not to dwell on what just happened. It was just a fantasy. One I really shouldn’t be having.
He’s not the romantic type. He’s a killer. A dangerous man with blood on his hands—not exactly anyone’s dream husband.