chapter 3 Bound and Claimed

The hum of the engine was steady, the car’s interior thick with tension. Sophia’s body trembled, every muscle tight as she fought against the reality of what had just happened. She had been taken. Stolen from the safety of her quiet life and thrown into the hands of a man who radiated power and danger.

The leather seat beneath her felt too soft, too luxurious, a cruel contrast to the fear gripping her chest. Her wrists were still trapped in the iron-like grasp of the man beside her—Rafael De Luca.

The name meant nothing to her, but the way he carried himself, the way he looked at her like she was already his, sent ice-cold terror down her spine.

Sophia’s breath came fast, erratic. Her heart pounded violently against her ribs, but she refused to sit still. She twisted in his grip, kicking her legs, trying to push herself away from him.

"Let me go!" she screamed, her voice cracking with desperation.

Rafael didn’t flinch. If anything, amusement flickered in those emerald-green eyes as he watched her struggle. Watched. Like he was enjoying this.

"You’re only exhausting yourself, bella," he murmured, his voice smooth and composed, as if her attempts at escape were nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

Sophia’s hands balled into fists. "Who the hell are you?" she demanded, trying to mask the tremor in her voice with anger.

He exhaled slowly, tilting his head, as if considering whether she deserved an answer. Then he leaned in, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek.

"The man who owns you now," he said softly.

Her stomach twisted violently, nausea rising in her throat. "You’re insane!" she hissed, jerking against him, her nails digging into his wrist.

Rafael let out a low chuckle. "Insane? No. Just determined."

Sophia’s body was shaking. This couldn’t be real. People didn’t just get taken off the streets like this—at least not people like her. This was something that happened in the movies, in the stories she had read, but not to her.

"Why are you doing this?" she whispered, her voice raw.

For the first time, Rafael’s expression shifted. His smirk faded, replaced by something darker. Something deeper.

"You’ll find out soon enough," he murmured.

Sophia’s breath caught in her throat. She could see it in his eyes—this wasn’t random. This wasn’t just a kidnapping. He had a reason for taking her.

Her stomach flipped, fear tightening its grip on her chest.

She needed to escape.

Her gaze darted toward the car door. If she could just—

As if sensing her thoughts, Rafael’s grip tightened. "Don’t even think about it, piccola."

Sophia clenched her teeth. "Go to hell."

His smirk returned, slow and wicked. "Darling, I own hell."

Before she could respond, he reached into his jacket pocket. Sophia’s pulse spiked when he pulled out a silk scarf, the deep navy blue contrasting starkly against his tanned fingers.

Her breath caught. "No—"

But he was already moving.

"Shh," he murmured, pressing the fabric against her eyes. The world plunged into darkness.

Sophia sucked in a sharp breath, her panic spiking. She twisted her head, but the scarf was already being tied at the back, securing the blindfold over her eyes. The loss of sight made everything worse.

She could still feel him. The heat of his body beside her, the way his scent—a mix of clean spice and something dangerously masculine—filled her senses.

"You don’t need to see where we’re going," Rafael said softly, as if that was supposed to calm her.

Sophia let out a ragged breath. "You won’t get away with this," she whispered, her voice shaking.

Rafael’s fingers traced the delicate curve of her wrist, almost soothing. "I already have."