Chapter Three

Luca

While driving, I made a terrible mistake by allowing one of my hands to stray from the steering wheel. Even though it was a minor lapse in judgment, I feel a sense of guilt and regret. However, I refuse to let the hurt inflicted by the woman sitting next to me control my thoughts and actions after all these years. As a soulless killing machine, I have long buried my emotions, but now they are resurfacing, and I won't let them consume me. It's clear to me that she took what wasn't hers and then ran away. Despite all this, we find ourselves betrothed to each other. I wonder if it's merely a coincidence. I think not; nothing in my line of work is marked down to something as simple as coincidence. But at least I won't have to lie to my father when I say I've taken her virginity on our wedding night; the only small white lie will be the timeline in which I had taken it.

I am hesitant and taken aback by my thoughts as I consider the possibility of marrying this stunning yet untrustworthy woman. My mind is in turmoil, struggling to reconcile my attraction to her with my knowledge of her deceitful tendencies.

So in a sudden, impulsive move, I reached out and wrap my hand around her delicate neck. My fingers clench tightly, applying pressure to the vulnerable column of her throat. She remains entirely still as if resigned to the fact that I might choose to hurt her. The tension in the air is palpable, and even I am left wondering what will happen next.

My fingers itch to tighten, and I allow them, imagining her naked body submitting to me before I blink back into the car.

Her cheeks are turning red with her effort not to claw at me despite her eyes panicking deeply, leaving me to marvel at how still she indeed sits, taking this all in her stride like a vixen, making me wonder if this is a kink of hers.

My grip on the steering wheel tightens as I snarl unhappily, feeling the seconds tick by with excruciating slowness. Despite the winding and dangerous roads ahead, I steer the car one-handedly at a breakneck speed of 57 mph. My knuckles are whitening with each passing moment, betraying the strain I'm under.

Only when I steal a glance at her do I realise something is wrong. The tiniest sliver of something I hate flickers in her eyes, and I feel a knot form in my stomach. It's then that I realise she hasn't taken a breath in well over two minutes, and I know we've reached a crucial crossroads in my choices.

Two choices surfaced simultaneously. I either needed to choose to carry on with my impulsive decision to strangle her, and my soon-to-be wife would cease to live in this car at my hand before we even made it home. Or I should release my hold on her neck, and I'll have to marry her and accept the burdens that might come along with that, including the all-consuming love that still sits somewhere in my consciousness for her. Apparently, I chose the latter as I watched her close her eyes in slow motion. I couldn't help but notice the purplish hue of her lips. My fingers, which had been flexing of their own accord, loosen, and she takes in a small breath of air, almost as if questioning why I let go.

But as I look deeper into her eyes, I realise that I can't read her. There's nothing there, just a blankness that unnerves me.

This is not the same woman I knew before. The girl who used to speak volumes with just her eyes is now gone, replaced by an ice princess who will soon become my queen.

The irony of it all is not lost on me.

Once upon a time, I wanted this very thing. The need to bed her and claim her was so rife in my teenage mind that I ignored the one rule my father gave me too late.

"We abide by a strict code of conduct, son. No fornicating until marriage is one of them, Luca," he had told me. "There's an order in which we play our cards, and sex before marriage is one rule that women in our line of business must never break," he had told me that very night I had already defiled the very girl we were speaking of. I avoided his gaze guiltily until he demanded that I look at him, and that night was the first time I lied to my father with enough courage to convince him that I understood the task, yet I had already known I had made Emma break that ironclad rule.

The morning after, I woke up to the unsettling realisation that she was nowhere to be found. As I made my way to her room on the second floor of her house, I couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that gripped me. Though the room looked as it always did, the drawers were open and empty, and the closet was much the same. The door creaked as I pushed it open slowly. I stepped inside the room, clutching the bouquet of wildflowers I had picked that morning, and the heirloom ring that I had my uncle steal from the safe was clutched in my hand. Going to her room was a routine I had followed for years, but something felt different at that time.

As I reminisce about the past, I can vividly recall the moment when the harsh reality hit me that Emma and her family were no longer there. The intensity of that memory causes a searing pain in my chest, just like it did on that fateful day. My attention now draws to the ring on a necklace around my neck that I wear every day, which serves as a constant reminder of the foolish mistakes I made as a naive teenager and the ensuing consequences of heartbreak that I cannot undo.

Fuck, that silent house haunts my mind, even now. There was not one person or guard of the Rossi's.

Gone.

Empty.

Missing.

Panic set in, and I knew I had to tell someone. I turned to my father, hoping he would know what to do. But as I spilled the beans, I realised my mistake. The look on his face told me everything I needed to know. He knew more than he was letting on. He quickly brushed off my concerns, promising to investigate the matter. Yet, I naively nodded with gusto, trusting that my father would find them.

Days turned into weeks, and my anxiety grew with each passing moment. I knew something was amiss, but my father's reassurances were all I had to cling to. He claimed to have searched every nook and cranny of the country, but his efforts turned up nothing. It was as if Emma's family had vanished into thin air.

But deep down, I thought I knew the truth. I knew that something terrible had really happened to them. The mafia was not a safe place to work within, and I had a sinking feeling that Emma's family had met with a terrible fate after doing something they shouldn't have.

That is usually how a whole family goes missing, and up until now, I believed they were killed, that my beautiful little liar had been taken from me in this lifetime.

Now I have a sneaking suspicion my father sent her away. Perhaps he knew how close we had become; maybe he already knew the secret I still guard with every fibre of my being.

Either way, I won't admit to that until my last breath here on earth, maybe not even then.

Some secrets are kept never to be revealed, and that will always be the secret I guard into the afterlife.

I snatch my hand away from Emma, hating the already purpling lines of my fingers around her pasty white complexion on the column of her throat.

I should be happy that I've bruised her. But despite everything that she had put me through, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret amongst the happiness at the thought of her being real. It is as if all the dormant feelings I had been suppressing for so long suddenly appeared.

The beast inside of me that I thought had died long ago was now rearing its ugly head once again. It had always been fond of her, and the mere thought of her seemed to bring it back to life. It was a strange feeling as if my soul was knitting back from two broken parts, making one of which was starting to yearn for her again.

I couldn't help but wonder if his long hibernation was more than just the death that I had attributed to his silence all these years. Perhaps he had just been waiting for the right moment to resurface and take control of my mind once more.

But I knew that I couldn't allow him to do that. Not again. I refused to let him take hold of my mind and heart like he did all those years ago.

And so, I pressed my foot down harder on the gas pedal, driving like a man possessed. I spun around corners that should have been taken at a much slower pace, but for some reason, the thought of death staring me in the face seemed almost poetic.

It was strange to think that this woman—who had once caused me so much pain and heartache—could still have such a profound effect on me. But as I looked at her now, I couldn't help but notice how much she had changed. The babyish features I once knew were now replaced with womanly curves that accentuated her every move. Her breasts were three sizes bigger, her hips wider... she was a vision of beauty that was worth bearing my children.

I wonder how adventurous her sex life has been.

My measly two minutes before I exploded inside her on our first night together will be nothing like the hours of sexual torture I could put her through now. Whores have been my only release after the kills I've been made to make. I've perfected my sexual abilities to the point I could do it in my sleep and still have the girl moaning in fucking ecstasy.

Anger suddenly courses through me as I glance once again at her. I wonder how many men will be on my hit list for touching her.

I've never killed out of choice, but any man who's touched her or even looked at her the wrong way these past six years will experience the great Viper snare of his own volition.

I wonder if she would tell me the truth even if I asked for a . After all, it's not like she had a virginity to protect; she could have got her rocks off at every corner, much like I have in the years since we last saw one another.

Something tells me, though, that isn't the case, yet I can't force my mind out of the haze-filled lust to kill anyone who did, tried, or even thought about having her without my permission.

I growl at her, my voice laced with anger. Her fingers are tightly wrapped around the handle above her head as I take a particularly tight corner, causing her to lean towards me more than I'd like. The car skids sideways, but I know the tyres will gather traction momentarily. I try not to dwell on something that isn't going to happen - our death isn't promised today, perhaps tomorrow, but not today.

"Tell me," I sneers, "what does it feel like to lose me, pretty little plaything?"

"I never lost you, Luca. And deep down, you know that."

"You lost me the day you decided to leave. Where have you been?" I ask, my tone sharp with irritation.

"London," she replies with a single word.

That one word has me baulking in anger. She couldn't have been that close. I would have known. I would have felt her... surely?

"Rome, Venice, Germany, France, Hungary, Hong Kong, Russia, the Philippines, Australia...America," she recites the places she's been to, as if I'd be impressed that she's been travelling all this time, leaving me in the dust of her tyres.

"Couldn't stay in one place for fear you catch emotions?" I snarl, the bitterness in my voice evident.

I slow the car down with a harsh pinch of the brakes, causing her to sling forward until the seatbelt holds her in her place.

"There has been no one else, Luca," she says, her words laced with sincerity.

"Take my name out of your mouth, wench," I retort, my voice cold as ice.