Chapter 2 The Devil In Flesh

I didn't hear him come in.

But I felt him.

The air shifted-like the temperature dropped five degrees, or the silence grew teeth. My skin prickled as if the walls themselves held their breath.

I was standing by the window in the oversized guest suite he'd so graciously locked me in, staring out at the morning fog choking the Florence hills. Freedom looked like a mirage from this high up.

I didn't turn around.

"I thought devils knocked," I said.

Behind me, Lucien's voice was smooth, dry. "Why would I knock on something I own?"

I turned slowly.

He stood in the doorway like a shadow draped in silk. Black slacks. Black shirt. A dark jacket tailored to his tall, broad frame. No tie. No apologies.

The morning sun spilled behind him, backlighting his figure in gold-like even daylight bent around him. A man carved from sin and made to command.

My throat dried, but I didn't let it show.

"I don't belong to you."

Lucien took a step inside.

Then another.

Deliberate. Patient.

"Funny," he said, "you wore my ring."

I glanced at my hand-the black diamond gleamed, mocking me.

"I wore it so you wouldn't embarrass yourself," I said. "Throwing ten million at a girl who wouldn't even flinch for you."

Lucien stopped in front of me.

We were close-too close. Inches between us. His cologne was dark and clean, like cedar smoke and secrets.

He tilted his head.

His voice dropped to a whisper. "You think I bought you for sex?"

His fingers reached up-slow, precise-and brushed my cheek.

I didn't flinch.

Didn't breathe.

"No," he murmured. "I bought you for power."

And just like that, the mask cracked-just enough to let the devil show through.

He walked past me and sat in the armchair like he was already bored of the conversation. Legs crossed. Hand resting lazily over the armrest.

"You'll stay here until I decide what to do with you," he said.

"I'm not your pet."

Lucien met my eyes. "No. A pet is loyal."

I stepped toward him, jaw clenched. "Why not just kill me?"

A flicker of something-curiosity? amusement?-passed through his gaze.

"Because death is a mercy," he said. "And I don't believe in mercy."

Rule One.

He laid it out like a contract etched in blood.

"You don't lie to me," Lucien said, still seated like a king.

"Or?"

"Or I'll find new uses for that mouth."

My stomach twisted-but not with fear. Something hotter. Shameful. Unwanted.

He knew it too. His smile didn't reach his eyes.

"And if I lie to you?" I asked, pushing back.

Lucien rose.

Slowly.

Towering.

He closed the space between us in two steps, standing so close I could feel the heat of his body, the steel just beneath his skin.

"You won't," he said simply.

"I'm not afraid of you."

Lucien's eyes darkened, voice low.

"No," he said. "You're afraid of what I'll make you feel."

I slapped him.

Hard.

My palm met his cheek with a crack, loud in the stillness.

His head turned slightly with the force-but he didn't move otherwise.

Didn't even blink.

Then he smiled.

A slow, dangerous curl of his lips.

"Good," he said. "Hate me."

His hand wrapped around my throat-not tight, just firm enough to tilt my head back. Not possession. Not violence.

Claim.

I hated the way my breath caught.

The way my pulse betrayed me.

"You want me to fight?" I whispered.

Lucien's gaze dropped to my lips.

"No," he said. "I want you to surrender."

He let go of me like I burned him.

I stumbled back, breath shuddering.

He didn't chase me.

Didn't need to.

Lucien Moretti was not a man who hunted his prey.

He waited for it to come to him.

The next morning, I found a note on my vanity in looping black ink:

Rule Two: You don't leave this house without my permission.

Disobedience will be punished.

–L.M.

Below it was a black silk dress. High collar. Open back. Modest and obscene all at once.

A challenge.

I almost tore it in half.

But something stopped me.

Not fear. Not curiosity.

Strategy.

Lucien wanted a reaction.

He wanted to break me.

I'd give him a performance instead.

Dinner was held in a dining hall big enough for a dozen guests-yet we sat at opposite ends of a massive table, like two monarchs at war.

Lucien sipped his wine.

Watched me.

Waited.

I didn't flinch under his gaze.

But I felt it.

Like pressure behind my eyes. Like fingers wrapping around my spine.

"You wear the dress well," he said, finally.

I didn't thank him.

He smirked. "You'll learn manners soon enough."

"And you'll learn I don't bow."

Lucien leaned back, expression unreadable.

"Do you know why I hate your father?" he asked suddenly.

I tensed.

"You think I care?" I said.

"No," he replied. "But I want you to know who you're dealing with."

He told me, then.

About the betrayal. The ambush. The fire in Naples.

How my father cut a deal with a rival syndicate and left Lucien's brother to die.

"You think I'm cruel," Lucien said quietly, "because I bought you."

He set down his wineglass.

"But I let your father live-for years. I waited. I watched. And when he fell..." He looked at me. "I took his most valuable asset."

"My body?" I spat.

Lucien's smile faded.

"No," he said. "Your name."

Later that night, I stood under the rain of the shower in the marble-tiled bathroom, scrubbing his scent from my skin-even though he hadn't touched me.

Not really.

But Lucien Moretti didn't need to touch you to invade you.

He got inside your head.

Your breath.

Your dreams.

When I emerged in a towel, I found a box on my bed.

Inside: a necklace. Platinum. Blood-red ruby.

And a single note: Wear it tomorrow.

I nearly screamed.

Instead, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the ring heavy on my finger.

He wasn't breaking me.

He was turning me into something else.

Someone else.

In the morning, I walked into the hall wearing the ruby necklace.

Lucien was waiting by the staircase, dressed in a black wool coat, a silk scarf around his neck. He looked... untouchable.

Dangerous.

Like a devil dressed for confession.

He looked at the necklace.

Then at me.

"Good girl."

My stomach twisted.

"I'm not doing this for you," I said.

Lucien stepped close.

"This isn't for me," he murmured. "It's for them."

"Who?"

"The world," he said. "When I take you out there, they'll know what you are."

"And what's that?"

Lucien's gaze held mine.

"Mine."