Chapter 5 Chapter Five
I slid the tiny pin into the knot securing the rope to the footboard. It wasn't a complex knot, but it was pulled tight by Matteo's strength. I poked, wiggled, and worked the metal tip against the taut loops of the rope, relying on my dancer's fine motor control. Sweat dripped from my forehead, making the marble dust stick to my face.
After maybe five minutes that felt like an hour, the knot yielded. One strand slipped. Then another. Finally, with a sharp snap, the rope loosened just enough for me to yank my hand free, leaving a burn mark on my skin.
I stood up, the red gown flowing around me. I felt exposed, still barefoot on the cold stone.
The first thing I did was rip the white veil off my head and toss it into the corner. Then, I went straight for the nightstand, checking the drawers.
Empty.
Then the dressing table. Mirrors, brushes, perfume, all gold and crystal. I swept the contents of the top drawer onto the floor. Underneath the velvet liner, there was a hidden compartment. Inside was a black satellite phone, not a standard burner, but a military-grade device. Matteo used this for serious business.
I grabbed it. My fingers trembled slightly, but I locked the action down.
The phone was heavy, complex, and locked with a six-digit passcode. I tried my father's birthday, my own, and Sofia's. All failed.
I pocketed the phone, tucking it deep into the fold of the silk gown's waist. It was a risk, but I couldn't leave it.
I made it back to the broken window, peering out cautiously from behind the thick curtain.
The villa sat on a precipice. Below, the sheer cliff face dropped straight into the Mediterranean. The front lawn, however, was a mess. Two dark shapes lay near the perimeter wall. Matteo’s men, I assumed. Beyond them, a few cars were parked, and men in black suits were moving around, talking into radios.
I saw Matteo. He was standing near the edge of the cliff, looking out at the sea, his profile sharp against the rising dawn. The sky was turning a violent, beautiful orange and pink, the exact color of the silk dress I was wearing.
He looked uninjured, dominant, and utterly calm. He was talking to a man who wore an earpiece and looked terrified. Matteo didn't gesture wildly. He didn't shout. He just spoke, and the man nodded frantically. I didn't need to hear the words to know he was issuing a death warrant.
I pulled back from the window. The debt was settled, but the war wasn't over. I had to survive, and survival meant pretending to be the perfect, compliant wife.
I quickly tied the two loose ends of the red rope back to the footboard, mimicking the tightness of Matteo's original knots, making it look like I had never moved. I even smeared a tiny bit of my blood from the rope burn onto the silk for authenticity.
I settled back onto the floor, pulling the heavy curtains around me, positioning myself exactly where he had left me. I closed my eyes and focused on slowing my breathing, trying to erase the frantic energy from my posture.
The door burst open. Matteo was back.
He didn't look at the room, only at me. He crossed the floor in three silent strides, his shadow engulfing me.
"You're still here," he noted, his voice flat. He wasn't surprised or pleased. It was a statement of fact, as if he expected no less than perfect obedience.
He yanked the curtain aside and grabbed the rope at my wrist, testing the knot. It held. Good.
"Why didn't you run?" he demanded, his face inches from mine. Wine and smoke still clung to his breath, but now there was a sharper, metallic edge to it... blood.
"Where would I go?" I whispered, looking up at him, letting my eyes fill with the fear I genuinely felt. "You have Sofia."
His expression softened fractionally, a minuscule shift that only confirmed I had chosen the right answer. He knelt, his hand brushing the marble dust from my cheek, lingering near the small scratch left by the bullet shrapnel.
"Smart girl," he murmured. "See? We understand each other."
He stood and held out a hand to me. The gesture felt wrong... way too tender for the monster he was.
I took it. His skin was rough, calloused, the scar tissue on his knuckles proof of a violent life.
He pulled me up. I was still shaking, and he must have felt it through my hand.
He didn't release me. He stepped closer, his body heat radiating through the thin silk of the gown. He traced the line of my jaw with his thumb.
"You saved me," he said, his eyes finally meeting mine, dark and intense. "That makes you valuable. Don't mistake value for affection, moglie."
He leaned down, whispering, "Now you are truly bound. The moment you save a man's life, you become responsible for it. You gave me your blood, your name, and now, my future."
He tilted his head, a predatory glint in his eyes. "Tell me, piccola fiamma. Was it worth it? Is the mess I made of your life worth the safety of your little sister?"
My heart pounded against the satellite phone hidden in the fabric of my gown. I pushed the fear away, replacing it with a cold, clear focus.
I met his gaze, my own eyes hard. "I'll do what I have to do to survive," I said, my voice barely a thread. "Just like you."
He smiled, a dark, slow curve of his lips that was genuinely pleased. "Good."
He released my hand. "The wedding feast is canceled. The guests are gone. I have work to do." He walked toward the wardrobe, pulling out a heavy black leather trench coat, covering the white shirt and tattoos.
"You will stay in this room," he ordered, not looking back. "The doors are locked. The windows are sealed. Don't touch the phone. Don't talk to the staff. You are still my captive, Lila. Don't forget that just because you put your spit on my cheek."
As he moved to the door, I took a risk. "Who was it?"
He paused, his hand on the handle. "Don't worry about them." He looked over his shoulder. "Worry about me. They wanted to kill me quickly. I intend to keep you alive and make you regret every minute of it."
Then he was gone, the heavy door clicking shut behind him.
I waited until the sound of his footsteps had completely faded into the depths of the villa. Then, I pulled the satellite phone from my gown, walked to the un-shattered side of the room, and sat down on the silk sheets of the bed.
The revenge started now. I couldn't run, not yet. I couldn't kill him, not yet. But I could learn. I could listen. I could become the perfect wife while secretly dismantling his empire from the inside, piece by piece.
I looked at the six-digit lock screen. I had tried the obvious numbers. Now, I needed something only the cartel would know. A shipment date, a ledger code, a favorite number. Something he would never suspect his captive wife had access to.
I needed to find the ledger he had thrown at me earlier, the one with Dad's blood signature. It might have the clue.
My eyes swept the floor. It wasn't there. Matteo must have picked it up.
Frustration simmered, but I controlled it. I closed my eyes and pictured the dungeon. The chains, the screen, the table.
He had shown me the video to break me. I would use it to build my defenses.
I took a deep breath. You're mine now. His words echoed in the room.
No. I was a weapon. And the first thing a captive flame does is wait for the right moment to burn.
I stood, walked to the bedside table, and opened the bottom drawer again. I ran my hand along the back panel, searching. There had to be a way out, or at least a way to communicate.
My fingers brushed against a rough patch of wood. I pressed it, and a tiny click sounded. A small, concealed safe was set into the back of the drawer space, hidden by a false bottom.
I smiled for the first time that day, a cold, dangerous expression that mirrored the one Matteo had given me.
The game had officially begun.