Chapter 50 HATE, CONTROL, DEFIANCE.
\~~~RAINA.
For the first time since I took this job, I felt genuinely, and ridiculously happy that it was Monday. The thought of going to work made my chest feel light, almost giddy. At least, I was going to be away from home till evening. Oh, what a luxury!
“Oh, yayyy,” I muttered to myself, spinning slightly as I moved toward my closet.
I hummed as though I had just won the lottery, my hands brushing over the hangers until I pulled out a gown I thought would do the job. I turned to face the mirror, ready to admire my pick but then froze.
A frown crept over my face.
The red marks were still there. Every inch of my skin seemed to remember what had happened over the weekend, screaming in colors that couldn’t be ignored. I ran my hand over my arm, wincing as I noticed more bruises than I thought possible. My thighs, my shoulders, even the curve of my collarbone… oh, the evidence was everywhere.
I sighed, frustrated, but also… amused, in a twisted sort of way. Only I, I thought, could manage to look like a walking crime scene after one weekend at home.
Knowing the gown wouldn’t cover much of my body, I returned it to its place. The last thing I wanted was people staring at me and asking if I’d been kidnapped and tortured over the weekend.
Instead, I pulled out a wide, loose-fitting nude shirt and paired it with white pants. It looked comfortable, modest, and practical and it sure would cover the worst of the bruises while still letting me move without feeling trapped.
I stepped out of the closet, fully dressed, and caught my reflection in the mirror. The shirt was loose but tucked neatly into my white pants, giving me a clean, professional look. On my feet were a pair of nude stilettos, and they were sharp and elegant.
Oh, oh! Maybe I am starting to like heels after all, I thought, wiggling my toes slightly in them.
I moved to the dressing table, pulling my hair up into a high ponytail, smoothing out the edges until they lay perfectly. My lips felt bare, so I applied a soft swipe of lipstick, just enough to give color without looking overdone.
And then the door opened.
Luciano stepped in like he owned the room, which, of course, he did by the way, and my chest tightened as his eyes scanned me, slow and deliberate, from my heels all the way up to my eyes. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to meet his gaze, though my heart betrayed me, hammering against my ribs like it wanted to escape.
He was wearing a short-sleeved top that revealed the muscles of his arms, and for the first time in a while, I let my eyes linger on the tattoo that ran from his shoulder down to his wrist. Most times, he wore long sleeves, or I wasn’t in the mood or the right frame of mind to stare. But now, seeing the complicated patterns and the way they flexed over his skin, I couldn’t help but admire the raw intensity of it.
His gaze didn’t leave me. It was sharp, assessing, and unyielding, like he was reading me from the outside in.
“What?” he asked, walking in fully.
“You look like you’d want me to bend you over that desk and help you with a quickie to kick your day off,” he said, his voice low, teasing, and dangerous.
Heat rose to my cheeks, and I bit my lip, trying to focus on something… anything other than him. My pulse jumped, and the calm I had been trying to hold dissolved in the way his words lingered in the air, filling the room with a tension that made my skin prickle.
I straightened, pulling the hem of my shirt slightly, as if that would hide the flutter of anticipation he’d already stirred inside me. But the truth was, he had me before he even said a word. His presence was a storm I couldn’t escape, and for the first time today, I felt every rational thought I had crumbled.
“You really do know how to test my patience, don’t you?” I murmured, trying to sound casual, though my voice came out thinner than I intended.
Luciano stepped closer, his shadow falling across the floor between us. His eyes caught mine again, and for a moment, there was silence and it was heavy, suffocating, and electric. I could feel the weight of his gaze, the subtle heat that followed him, and my own heartbeat thudded like a warning drum.
I wanted to look away, to pretend I wasn’t affected, but I couldn’t. Not with him standing there, dominant, unyielding, and infuriatingly aware of the effect he had on me.
“Baby,” he whispered, low and rough, leaning just enough that I could feel his breath against my cheek, “you think you’re safe, getting ready like this, and acting like a perfect little employee… but I see everything. Every inch, every thought, and every damn nerve. And trust me, I intend to remind you who you belong to before this day ends.”
My hands clenched at my sides, trying to anchor myself, trying to find the strength to push him out of my head. But it was useless. He was here, in this room, and he had always been capable of making me forget everything except him.
“You are not…!” I started, pointing my index finger at him, and for a split second, he actually stepped back.
“You are not going to touch me. No, I will not let you touch me. Never again.”
His lips curved slowly, dangerously.
“Are you daring me, sunshine?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat but forced myself to keep going. My voice shook, but I didn’t stop. “What happened over the weekend should never have happened, and it will not happen again. I will never let you…”
I didn’t get to finish.
In one sharp stride, he crossed the space between us. His hand came up fast, gripping my neck, not tight enough to choke, but firm enough to steal my breath and pin me in place. My back hit the dressing table with a dull thud, the mirror rattling softly behind me.
I gasped, my hands flying to his wrist on instinct.
Luciano leaned down until his face was inches from mine, his eyes dark, unreadable, burning with something that made my skin prickle.
“You talk too much,” he said quietly. “And you forget yourself far too easily.”
“I said…” My voice cracked as I tried to push his hand away. “I said don’t touch me.”
His grip didn’t tighten, but it didn’t loosen either. His thumb pressed lightly against my pulse, and I hated that he could feel how fast my heart was racing.
“And I said,” he murmured, his breath brushing my lips, “you don’t get to decide things in this house.”
I shook my head, anger and fear tangling together. “I am not your property.”
A humorless smile touched his mouth.
“No,” he said softly. “You’re my wife and that makes it worse.”
His eyes dropped for half a second to my lips, my throat, the way my chest rose and fell, and then lifted back to mine.
“If I decide to take you right here and now, ain’t no way you’re going to stop me. I would fuck you so hard that you can’t stand on your feet. And you would beg for my mercy, and I would not give it to you. I’d make you hate the idea of sex so much. Until every ounce of defiance is drained out of you.”
His thumb brushed my jaw, not gentle but possessive.
“You would hate me for it,” he continued calmly, “and that hate would still not save you.”
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper.
“That’s the difference between us, sunshine. You still think you have control. I know exactly how easily it shatters.”