Page 17 of The Scars We Keep
Isabella doesn’t wait; just swings those legs out of the car and walks like the damn queen of Naples.Past the guards who stand frozen, their rifles slung low, watching her.
She climbs the three front steps, the hem of her black dress whispering with each sway of her hips.
I watch how her heels echo on the marble—bold and loud.She doesn’t look back, doesn’t wait, and doesn’t care if I follow.
My guards at the door shift uncomfortably.They sense it.The fucking audacity.A Serrano just married a De Luca, and she’s walking into my fortress with her chin held high and her mouth tight, like she owns every brick in the damn place instead of just fulfilling a contract.
She pushes open the door and steps inside, eyes scanning the marble floors, the twin chandeliers overhead, the staircase that curves like a blade through the space.Cold.Mine, built on blood.
She plants her hands on her hips, spins like a storm, and glares at me.“Where’s my room?”
I take my time, leaning against the doorframe with my arms crossed.I let my eyes drift down her body before I respond.“We share one.”
There’s fire in her eyes, fury in every line of her posture.“You’re joking.”
“Nope.”
“You expect me to sleep next to you?”
“I expect you to get used to it.”
Her laugh is sharp, mean, and razor-edged.“I am not fucking you, Lorenzo.You can jerk yourself off tonight.”
I take a step forward, then another.I close the distance between us with the quiet confidence of someone who knows they already have this game under control.
She doesn’t step back.Just raises her chin as I come near.
Good.
I don’t want a woman who gives up easily.I want a woman who fights back.
I stop close enough to feel the warmth of her body.Her breath falters, and I can feel it, even if she masks it well.
“This is my house,” I murmur.“My kingdom.You came here wearing my name.”
She scoffs.“I came here because I had no fucking choice and you know it.”
“And now you belong to me.”
Her body tenses.“Fuck you.”
“That’s the plan.”
Her hand shoots out, slamming into my chest, but I catch her wrist mid-swing.I hold it there between us.
“Let me make one thing clear,” I say.“If I wanted to fuck you tonight, I will.”
Her eyes flare.“Try it and I will slice your cock off with a fucking steak knife.”
I lean in, my mouth grazing her ear, voice a low growl.“Make sure it’s sharp, Bella.Because I don’t go down easy.”
She jerks her wrist free from my grip with flames in her eyes and venom on her tongue.Her words spit out rapidly in Italian—too quick for me to catch.Her body reveals everything I need to see.She’s furious, defiant, and fucking magnificent.
My cock is getting intensely hard with every second she refuses to back down.Every second she tries to prove she’s not mine.
This marriage...oh, it’s going to be fucking fun.
“You think that threat scares me, Bella?”I ask, my voice low and rough with desire and caution.
