Isabella’s POV

I woke to silk against my skin, the kind of softness that felt like a lie. My wrists burned, bound tight with coarse rope, and my head throbbed like I’d been hit with a brick. The room was a blur of opulence—gold-trimmed curtains, a chandelier dripping crystals, a bed so wide it could swallow me whole. But the man standing over me, his shadow cutting across the morning light, made it all feel like a cage. Lorenzo Vito. Those icy gray eyes pinned me down, sharp as knives, his dark hair falling just enough to soften the brutal edge of his jaw. He loomed, arms crossed, his black shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a glimpse of inked skin that promised danger.

“You’re awake,” he said, voice low, like he was tasting the words. “Good. We need to talk about that slap.” He stepped closer, his boots silent on the plush rug, and I scrambled to sit up, my bound hands clumsy against the sheets. My heart pounded, but I forced my chin up, refusing to let him see me shake. I’d survived worse than him—my parents’ blood on my hands, nights spent dodging creeps in bars. This man, with his fancy suit and deadly calm, wasn’t going to break me.

“Why’d you hit me, Isabella?” His tone was almost curious, but there was a current beneath it, something dark and hungry. He leaned down, one hand braced on the bedpost, his face inches from mine. His cologne hit me—sandalwood, sharp and warm, curling into my lungs like smoke. I wanted to hate it, to hate him, but my body betrayed me, a shiver racing down my spine.

“Because you grabbed me like I was yours to touch,” I snapped, my voice steadier than I felt. “I don’t care who you are. You don’t get to put your hands on me.” My hazel eyes burned into his, daring him to push me further. His lips twitched, not quite a smile, but something close, like I’d just handed him a challenge he was itching to meet.

“You’ve got a mouth on you,” he said, straightening, his gaze raking over me. I was still in my bar clothes—ripped jeans, a blouse now stained with whiskey from last night’s disaster. I felt exposed, but I wouldn’t let him know it. “Most people would be begging for mercy right now.”

“I’m not most people,” I shot back, tugging at the ropes, my wrists stinging. “Untie me, and I’ll show you what else I can do with my hands.” It was a reckless thing to say, but recklessness was all I had left. His eyes darkened, and for a moment, I thought I’d pushed too far. Then he laughed, a low, rough sound that made my stomach twist in a way I didn’t want to understand.

“Careful, little fire,” he murmured, stepping closer again. “You’re playing with a man who doesn’t lose.” His fingers brushed my jaw, light but deliberate, and I froze, my breath catching. His touch was electric, wrong in every way, but it sent heat pooling low in my belly. I hated it—hated him—but my body didn’t care, responding like it had a mind of its own.

“Don’t,” I whispered, but my voice wavered, and his smirk grew, like he could smell my weakness. His hand slid down, grazing the collar of my blouse, and before I could pull away, he flicked his thumb over my nipple through the thin fabric. A jolt shot through me, sharp and shameful, my nipple hardening under his touch. I gasped, my cheeks burning, and his eyes gleamed with something feral.

“You like that,” he said, not a question, his voice rougher now. He did it again, slower, his thumb circling, and my body arched before I could stop it, a traitor to my own defiance. My breath came in short bursts, my bound hands useless as I tried to twist away. His other hand caught my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze, and then he leaned in, his lips crashing against mine.

The kiss was fire and fury, his mouth claiming mine with a hunger that stole my air. His tongue pushed past my lips, demanding, and I should’ve bitten him, should’ve fought, but instead I kissed him back, my anger and fear tangling with something darker, something that made my blood sing. His hand slid under my blouse, finding my breast, and when his fingers pinched my nipple, hard and deliberate, I moaned into his mouth, the sound humiliatingly loud. My nipples stood erect, aching under his touch, and I felt him smile against my lips, like he’d won something.

“You’re too innocent for this world,” he growled, pulling back just enough to look at me, his hand still cupping my breast. “But your body knows what it wants.” He sucked my nipple through the fabric, his teeth grazing just enough to make me shudder, and I hated how much I wanted more, how my thighs pressed together against the heat building there. He was a monster, a man who’d held a gun to my head, but my body didn’t care, coming alive under his hands in a way that terrified me.

“Lorenzo,” a voice cut through, low and steady, and I froze, reality crashing back. A man stood in the doorway, broad-shouldered, his dark eyes unreadable. Luca, I guessed, the one who’d been silent last night, watching from the shadows. Lorenzo’s hand stilled, his jaw tightening, and I saw the flicker of something—anger, maybe, or frustration—in his eyes.

“What?” Lorenzo snapped, not looking at Luca, his fingers still brushing my skin. My face burned, humiliation and desire warring inside me as I tried to pull my blouse closed with my bound hands.

“We need you downstairs,” Luca said, his tone flat but firm. “Now.” His gaze flicked to me, not pitying but assessing, like he was trying to figure out what I was to his boss. Lorenzo straightened, his smirk gone, replaced by a cold mask that made my stomach lurch. He was about to say something—maybe do something more—when Luca’s presence seemed to snap him back.

“Lock her in my room,” Lorenzo said, his voice clipped, already turning away. “No one touches her.” He didn’t look at me as he walked out, his boots heavy on the floor, leaving me breathless and trembling, my body still humming from his touch. Luca moved toward me, his face blank, and I scrambled back on the bed, my heart racing.

“Don’t you dare,” I hissed, but he didn’t flinch, just untied my wrists with quick, efficient movements. The rope fell away, leaving red marks on my skin, and I rubbed them, glaring at him. “I’m not some pet you can cage.”

Luca didn’t answer, just gestured toward the door at the far end of the room. “Move,” he said, his voice quieter than Lorenzo’s but no less commanding. I stood, my legs shaky, and walked toward the door, my mind spinning. Lorenzo’s touch lingered like a brand, his kiss a poison I couldn’t shake. I hated him, hated how he made me feel, but a small, traitorous part of me wondered what would’ve happened if Luca hadn’t walked in.

The door led to another room, just as lavish but darker, with heavy curtains and a bed draped in black silk. Lorenzo’s room, I realized, my stomach twisting as the lock clicked behind me. I was alone now, but his presence still clung to me, in the ache of my skin, the memory of his mouth. I sank onto the bed, my fingers brushing my lips, and tried to make sense of it all. He was a monster, a man who thrived on control, but the way he’d looked at me—like I was both a threat and a treasure—made me think I could be more than his captive. Maybe I could use this, use him, to find a way out. Or maybe I was already in too deep, caught in a game I didn’t know how to play.

I stared at the locked door, my heart still pounding, and wondered what Lorenzo would do next—and whether I’d have the strength to fight him when he did.

You all are crazy!!!