Actually I want you

Cecilia sat stiffly at the far end of the long mahogany table, her hands clasped tightly on her lap, her gaze fixed on the untouched plate of food before her. Across from her, Edward leaned back in his chair, the sharp angles of his face illuminated by the flickering firelight. His dark eyes glimmered with a mixture of arrogance and something deeper—something he fought fiercely to conceal.

Edward swirled the deep red liquid in his crystal goblet, his lips curving into a smile that barely touched his eyes. His laughter, low and mocking, echoed in the vast room as he tilted his head back and took a leisurely sip. "Ah, Cecilia," he drawled, his voice dripping with derision. "You sit there so prim and proper, as if you're a guest here by choice. But let's not pretend. You’re here because I willed it." 

Cecilia’s jaw tightened, her nails digging into her palms, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. She loathed the man before her—his arrogance, his cruelty, his relentless need to dominate every aspect of her life since he had forcibly brought her into his world. Yet, beneath her hatred was confusion. Why did he torment her so, and yet, why did his gaze linger on her as if she were the only thing keeping him tethered to this earth?

Edward leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table, and studied her with an intensity that made her skin crawl. "Why so silent, my dear? Lost in thought about your former lover, perhaps?" His smile widened as he saw her flinch. "You must know by now that he was... an obstacle. And obstacles, Cecilia, are meant to be removed." He raised his goblet in a mock toast. "To your late beloved. May his soul rest... somewhere far from us."

“You’re despicable,” Cecilia spat, finally breaking her silence. Her voice trembled with a mixture of fury and heartbreak. "You think this is love? Taking everything from me and forcing me to live in this prison? You don’t love anyone but yourself, Edward."

For a brief moment, something flickered in Edward’s eyes—pain, perhaps? But it was gone before Cecilia could decipher it, replaced by a smirk so cold it could freeze the fire burning behind him. "Love?" he repeated, laughing bitterly. "You misunderstand, Cecilia. I don't do love. Love is a weakness, a chain meant for fools. What I have for you is... possession. You’re mine. That’s all there is to it."

But even as he spoke, his chest tightened. He hated himself for the way he felt when he saw her. The fire in her eyes, the defiance in her stance—she was unlike anyone he had ever met. She made him feel alive in ways that terrified him. Edward Poletto, the ruthless mafia king who bowed to no one, found himself at her mercy. Yet he could not show it. To love her openly was to expose the vulnerability he had spent his entire life burying beneath layers of power and arrogance.

Born into wealth and privilege, he had been surrounded by luxury but deprived of affection. His father, a tyrant obsessed with legacy, had raised him to be strong, ruthless, and unyielding, while his mother had been little more than a shadow in the background, too afraid to challenge her husband's authority. Edward had learned early on that emotions were a liability, a weakness that could be exploited. He had built walls around his heart so high and so thick that even he believed they were impenetrable—until Cecilia.

“You hate me now,” Edward said, rising from his chair and walking toward her, the wine glass still in his hand. “But in time, you’ll understand. This world is cruel, Cecilia. People take what they want, no matter the cost. I simply ensured you would be mine before someone else tried to claim you.” He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the harshness of his words. "You’ll learn to accept it. Or you won’t. Either way, you’re not leaving."

Cecilia slapped his hand away, her eyes blazing with defiance. "You can force me to stay here, but you will never have my heart. You don’t even know what love is, Edward."

His laughter rang out again, but this time, it was hollow. He stepped back, raising his glass to his lips and draining it in one long gulp. "Perhaps you're right," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "I don't know what love is. But I know what it feels like to need someone so much it consumes you. And that’s why you’re here, Cecilia. Because I can’t let you go."

For the first time, Cecilia saw past his arrogance and cruelty. She saw the broken man hiding behind the mask, the boy who had never known love or kindness and had grown into a man who believed he didn’t deserve it. Her hatred wavered, replaced by a flicker of pity she quickly suppressed. Edward Poletto was dangerous, and no amount of pain or loneliness could excuse what he had done.

Edward turned away, his back to her as he stared into the fire. "Hate me all you want," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But you’re mine, Cecilia. And I’ll destroy anyone who tries to take you from me—even you, if I have to."

 Cecilia’s heart pounded. Her breaths came shallow and fast, her mind racing with one desperate thought: escape. She had no plan beyond getting as far away from this gilded prison as possible.

Seeing Edward with his back to him, he stood up and ran, Edward who saw that just laughed 

"Marco, follow him, make sure all the bodyguards are on guard and don't let him leave here." 

"Okay sir."

The main doors were heavily guarded—Edward had made sure of that after her last attempt to flee. But she had overheard the maids talking about a side entrance near the servant's quarters. It was her only hope.

As she reached the narrow hallway leading to her escape, a rough hand clamped down on her arm. A gasp escaped her lips as she was yanked backward with startling force. Cecilia turned to face her captor and found herself staring into the stony eyes of Marco, Edward’s most loyal bodyguard. 

"Where do you think you’re going?" Marco's voice was a low rumble, his grip unyielding.

"Let me go!" Cecilia hissed, struggling against his iron-like hold. "I don’t belong here. I’m not his property!"

Marco’s expression didn’t waver, but there was a flicker of pity in his eyes. "You know I can’t do that, Miss Cecilia. Orders are orders."

Before she could protest further, Cecilia heard the unmistakable sound of approaching footsteps. Her heart sank as Edward emerged from the shadows, his face a mask of cold fury. He was dressed impeccably, as always, the sharp lines of his tailored suit a stark contrast to the wild anger in his dark eyes. 

"So," Edward said, his voice deceptively calm, "you thought you could just walk out of here? Out of *my* house?" He stepped closer, his towering presence suffocating. "Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?"

Cecilia glared at him, refusing to show fear. "You can lock me up, Edward, but you’ll never keep me. I’ll keep trying. Every day, every night. I’ll never stop until I’m free from you."

Edward’s lips curled into a cruel smile, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of something more—hurt, perhaps? "Admirable determination," he said, his tone mocking. "But futile. Marco, take her to her room. Lock it from the outside. And make sure she stays there."

Marco hesitated for a moment, glancing between Cecilia and Edward. But a single look from his employer was enough to make him obey. He dragged Cecilia down the hallway, ignoring her struggles and protests.

"Edward!" she shouted, her voice echoing through the empty halls. "You’re a coward! You hide behind your power because you’re too afraid to face what’s real. You’ll die alone, and no one will mourn you!"

Edward stood frozen, her words cutting deeper than he cared to admit. As the sound of her protests faded into the distance, he clenched his fists at his sides. He hated the chaos she stirred within him. Hated how her defiance made him feel something he couldn’t control—something he didn’t want to feel.

Moments later, Marco returned, his face unreadable. "She’s locked in, sir," he reported. 

Edward nodded curtly, pouring himself another glass of wine. "Good. Make sure she doesn’t try this again."

Marco hesitated, then spoke cautiously. "If I may, sir… keeping her locked away won’t make her stay willingly."

Edward’s eyes darkened, and he turned to face his bodyguard. "She doesn’t have to stay willingly, Marco. She just has to stay."

Marco inclined his head and left without another word, leaving Edward alone in the vast dining hall. He sank into a chair, the weight of his own actions pressing heavily on him. He took a long sip of his wine, the bitterness mirroring the turmoil in his chest.  

He didn’t want her to hate him. He didn’t want to hurt her. But he didn’t know how to love her without losing himself. Edward Poletto had spent his entire life building walls, wielding power, and ensuring no one could ever hurt him. And now, this woman—this infuriating, beautiful, stubborn woman—had shattered everything he thought he knew about himself.

Edward closed his eyes, the firelight dancing across his features. "You’ll understand one day, Cecilia," he whispered to the empty room. "You’ll understand why I can’t let you go."