Elena Russo smashed the crystal vase against the marble floor of Dante Moretti’s penthouse, the shards glittering like broken stars. The crash echoed through the sprawling suite, all sleek glass and black leather, a cage disguised as luxury. Her heart pounded, not from fear but from fury. Dante’s demand from last night “Who are you working for?” still burned in her ears, her phone’s incriminating message to Luca Vitale glowing in her mind. She’d dodged his question, claiming a friend’s text, but his gray eyes had cut through her lie like a blade.

Now, standing in the guest suite he’d assigned her, she refused to be his prisoner. The red dress from last night lay crumpled on the bed, replaced by her own black jeans and leather jacket. If she was stuck in this forced marriage, she’d do it on her terms.

A sharp knock interrupted her thoughts. The door swung open, and Dante filled the frame, his black shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a sliver of tanned skin. His presence sucked the air from the room, all controlled power and simmering menace.

“Breaking my things already?” he asked, his voice low, mocking. His gaze flicked to the shattered vase, then back to her, a spark of amusement in his eyes.

Elena crossed her arms, her chin lifting. “If I’m your fiancée, I’ll redecorate however I want.” Her voice was sharp, but her pulse raced under his stare. Damn him for looking like that, too dangerous, too magnetic.

Dante stepped closer, his boots crunching glass. “This isn’t a game, Elena. You’re here to play a role, not throw tantrums.”

“Play a role?” She laughed, bitter and cold. “You mean be your trophy wife while you run your blood-soaked empire?”

His jaw tightened, and he closed the distance between them, stopping inches away. His cologne—sandalwood and smoke—wrapped around her, dizzying. “You’re here to save your family. Don’t forget that.”

Elena’s fists clenched, her nails digging into her palms. She wanted to shove him, to scream, but his closeness sent a traitorous heat through her. “I’m not your property, Dante.”

He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “Not yet.”

The air crackled, and Elena’s heart stuttered. She stepped back, her back hitting the wall, her defiance warring with the pull of his intensity. Before she could fire back, a woman’s voice cut through the room.

“Charming display, cousin.”

Elena turned to see Sofia Moretti leaning against the doorframe, her black hair sleek, her red lips curled in a venomous smile. Her designer dress hugged her curves, but her eyes were cold, calculating. Elena had met her briefly at the estate last night, and every instinct screamed trouble.

“Sofia,” Dante said, his tone clipped. “What do you want?”

Sofia sauntered in, her heels clicking. “Just checking on our guest. She seems… unsettled.” Her gaze raked over Elena, lingering on the broken vase. “Not exactly wife material, is she?”

Elena’s blood boiled. “Say it to my face, Sofia.”

Sofia’s smile widened, sharp as a knife. “Oh, I will. You don’t belong here, Elena Russo. And I’ll make sure everyone knows it.”

Dante’s hand shot out, gripping Sofia’s arm. “Enough. She’s under my protection.”

Sofia yanked free, her eyes flashing. “For now.” She turned and left, her parting glance promising war.

Elena’s stomach churned. Dante’s protection felt like a leash, and Sofia’s hostility was a blade at her throat. She needed a way out, and Luca was her only shot.

That night, Elena slipped out of the penthouse, the city’s neon lights pulsing below. Dante’s guards were stationed at the elevator, but she’d found a service stairwell, her sneakers silent on the concrete. Her burner phone, tucked in her jacket, buzzed with Luca’s message: Midnight. The Docks. Come alone.

The docks smelled of salt and oil, the Hudson River glinting under a sliver of moon. Warehouses loomed like silent giants, their shadows hiding secrets. Elena’s pulse raced as she spotted Luca leaning against a crate, his green eyes catching the light like a cat’s.

“You’re late,” he said, his voice smooth, teasing. He stepped closer, his scar glinting on his jaw. “Having second thoughts?”

Elena crossed her arms, hiding her nerves. “I’m here, aren’t I? What’s the plan?”

Luca’s smile was all charm, but his eyes were sharp. “Dante’s planning a shipment tomorrow, guns, millions in product. Get me the location, and I’ll make sure you’re free of him.”

Her chest tightened. Betraying Dante meant risking everything, her family, her life. But his world had already swallowed hers. She nodded, her voice steady. “I’ll get it.”

Luca’s hand brushed her arm, lingering too long. “Good girl. But be careful. Dante’s not as cold as he seems.”

The words hit like a warning. She pulled away, her skin tingling where he’d touched her. “Don’t pretend you care about me, Luca.”

He chuckled, low and dangerous. “Maybe I do.”

Elena turned to leave, her heart pounding. Luca’s offer was freedom, but his gaze felt like a trap. She needed to play this smart, or she’d lose everything.

Back at the penthouse, Elena slipped into her room, her mind racing. The shipment details were in Dante’s office—she’d seen him lock papers in a desk drawer. If she could get them to Luca, she’d be one step closer to escaping this marriage. But Dante’s words, Not yet”—echoed, stirring something she didn’t want to name.

She crept down the hall, the penthouse silent except for the hum of the city outside. Dante’s office door was ajar, the room dark except for a sliver of light from a lamp. Her fingers brushed the drawer, her breath shallow.

A floorboard creaked behind her.

Elena spun, her heart in her throat. Dante stood in the doorway, his shirt unbuttoned, his eyes blazing with suspicion. “Looking for something?” he asked, his voice a low growl.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, Luca’s message lighting up the screen.