Bound (The Devil’s Vow #2)

1. Traditions

Chapter one

Traditions

Hours later and hand in hand, we walked through the castle halls.

Our fingers were intertwined as if they had always belonged that way.

I couldn't help but glance down at the dress Gianni had picked out for me.

It was a simple white dress, the color of fresh snow. Elegant black roses had been embroidered around the bottom. The soft material hugged my curves, and I was also acutely aware of the red panties and matching bra underneath—his request, of course.

It felt strange being dressed by him, like I was giving up some small part of my autonomy, yet at the same time, I couldn’t deny that I liked it.

The power he had over me, even in something as simple as choosing my outfit, sent a thrilling shiver through my body.

How interesting will this day continue to be?

I glanced up at Gianni.

While I had hoped to one day marry a goodlooking man, never did I think it would be someone on Gianni’s level.

Today, he looked effortlessly handsome.

He wore a black V-neck shirt that fit him like a second skin. The way the black ink of roses and skulls on his chest peeked through the collar of his shirt made him look even more dangerous.

More irresistible.

While the shirt was casual, there was something about the way he wore it that made it seem more expensive, like everything he touched somehow elevated to luxury.

His biceps strained against the fabric, and I could see the ripple of his muscles as he walked next to me.

His pants were perfectly tailored, hugging his powerful legs in a way that made it impossible not to notice his strength.

Mmmm.

Heat rose within my core.

I swallowed.

God, he is attractive. We may end up having kids well before the three-year compromise.

Every inch of him screamed power and control, and I couldn’t help but be drawn to it.

Crave it even. . .

As we moved deeper into the castle, the scent of fresh bread and something sweet filled the air. The aroma led us to the dining room, and when Gianni pushed open the door, I couldn’t help but stop and take it all in.

This is amazing.

The dining room was stunning.

Sunlight streamed in through large arched windows.

But what truly caught my eye was the large, golden cage on the right. It shimmered in the soft light, encrusted with small emeralds and sapphires that glinted like stars.

The top of the cage arched gracefully, and within it, perched on a sleek black branch, was an exotic bird unlike any I had ever seen.

Oh my.

I let go of Gianni’s hand and walked over to the cage, drawn in by the sheer beauty of the creature inside.

And the little bird followed my movements, its black beak opening and closing as if testing the air.

So cute.

I peered closer, and the bird shifted. Those glossy grey feathers caught the light. The shades of grey were so intricate. Some feathers were almost silver. Around its wings, the grey feathers faded into darker charcoal.

It was mesmerizing, the way the feathers overlapped perfectly, like finely woven silk.

The bird’s eyes were large and intelligent too.

Bright and piercing.

And, the bird’s beak was black and curved.

When I smiled, the bird shifted from side to side, and then clicked softly, in a rhythmic pattern.

I reached out, letting my fingers graze the cool metal of the cage, and the bird cocked its head, watching me.

Gianni stood next to me. “Hello, Isabella.”

I blinked. “That’s her name?”

“It is.”

“That’s my middle name.”

“I named her after you.”

I turned to look at him in surprise. “How long have you had her?”

“For a while.” He put his view back on Isabella. “How are you, my love?”

To my shock, the bird croaked, “Fine.”

I widened my eyes. “She talks.”

“Who would ever want a bird that doesn’t talk?”

I chuckled. “What kind of bird is this?”

“An African Grey Parrot.” Gianni pointed to me. “Isabella, I would now like you to meet my wife which will be your new mother.”

The bird cocked its head my way. “Pretty. Very pretty.”

I blinked in surprise, and then laughed. “Did you teach her to say that?”

“She speaks what she believes to be true.”

I smiled at Isabella. “Thank you.”

The bird bobbed it’s head. “Wel-come.”

“That is so cool.” I looked at Gianni.

“African Grey Parrots are incredible mimics. They can copy voices, words, even sounds.”

I grinned. “So, you like birds?”

“No.”

“What do you mean no?”

He shrugged. “I don’t hate them.”

“But then, why do you have a bird?”

“I got Isabella to teach me something very important.”

“What is that?”

“That lesson is something I will tell you later.”

I frowned. “I’m starting to lose my patience with all of these secrets.”

“The time will come soon, Queen.”

“It better.” I put my view back on Isabella, watching the parrot's intelligent eyes track my every movement.

Suddenly, I noticed something unusual.

The golden cage—shimmering with emeralds and sapphires—had its door slightly ajar, just wide enough for the bird to leave if she wished.

I raised my eyebrows. “Why is the cage door open?”

His expression turned unreadable for a moment, then his lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. “I'll answer that another time too.”

I sucked my teeth.

The open door felt like more than just a forgotten detail—it was deliberate, and now I was left wondering about the many mysteries of Gianni.

“Let’s eat, Queen.” Gianni left me at the cage and moved to the grand dining table set in the center of the room, pulling out a chair and motioning for me to join him. “Come.”

I waved bye to Isabella. “I’ll see you later.”

“Bye. Bye. Pretty.”

Chuckling, I headed away.

The table was set with an elegance matching the rest of the castle—fine bone China plates painted with intricate patterns of gold and emerald and crystal glasses gleaming under the sunlight filtering in through the windows.

A silver bell rested next to Gianni's place setting. No doubt used to summon his staff when needed.

A lavish spread covered the large table. It was all traditional Italian dishes that looked as if they had been crafted by the gods themselves.

There were frittatas with vibrant green spinach and creamy ricotta, plates of prosciutto and mozzarella drizzled with olive oil, freshly baked focaccia, and small bowls of various fruits.

I spotted a large dish of pasta too, simple yet perfect, tossed in a light olive oil and herb sauce.

A savory smell of roasted vegetables with rosemary filled the air, and to my relief, there wasn’t a single trace of shellfish anywhere.

Surely, Gianni had told the castle’s staff about my allergy.

A small smile tugged at my lips. For all his possessive tendencies, he cared in ways that mattered.

Gianni remained standing and stood by my chair. “Here you go, Queen.”

“Oh, sorry.” Once I sat down, he pushed mine in and then lowered into his own chair.

But just as I was about to pick up a fork, he slid my chair closer to him so that there wasn’t even an inch of space between our chairs as if the distance between us could never be too small.

His thigh brushed against mine, and the heat of his body seeped into me.

“You’re mine, Queen.” He leaned over and slipped his lips along the shell of my ear. “And I’ll never let you forget it.”

Alright. I’ll have to get used to his need to be so close.

Without saying a word, he reached over and picked up a piece of focaccia, breaking off a small chunk. Then, he held it to my mouth, urging me to have a bite.

“Thank you.” I parted my lips and took it, and those green eyes watched me intensely. “Mmmm.”

It was delicious, light yet hearty, the perfect balance of olive oil and salt.

Once I swallowed, I smiled. “The chef is talented.”

“He is.”

Our eyes locked as I chewed on the piece of bread in silence.

Instead of feeding himself, he continued to watch me. “Do you want more?”

“Of course.”

The corners of his lips twitched upwards into the hint of a smile. “Good. Then, let me feed you.”

“Oh.”

“You’re my queen.”

I grinned.

From that point on, Gianni took control. He served me every dish himself, never once letting me reach for anything. His large hands moved with purpose, gracefully lifting the silverware as he filled my plate with an array of Italian delicacies.

His gaze never left mine—sharp and possessive—as he made sure I tasted everything he placed before me.

Mmmm. I can get used to this sort of spoiling.

After sampling some of the items, I glanced at his empty plate. “Aren't you going to eat?”

Grinning, he leaned back slightly. “In my family, on the first day of marriage, the husband feeds his new wife until she is close to full. Only after that do I eat.”

“Why?”

“It symbolizes that in our marriage, Queen, your needs will always come before mine. You will be satisfied first, always.”

Those words settled over me.

I smiled. “How long has that been a tradition?”

“I know it was before my grandfather on my father’s side, but I don’t know how far it goes back.”

I found the tradition remarkable. This wasn’t just about caring for me as his wife, it was about taking responsibility for every part of me, every desire, every need.

And the way he watched me, as though I was the only thing that mattered, made it clear that this wasn’t just a symbol to him.

It was a lifelong promise.

“Are you full, Queen?”

I smirked. “No.”

“Then, try this.” Gianni picked up a piece of mozzarella and brought it close to my lips.

I hesitated for a moment, not because I didn’t want to eat it, but because the way he looked at me made each bite feel more like surrender and I fucking loved it so much I. . .yearned to swim in this sensation for as long as I could.

He grinned. “Go ahead, Queen.”

Slowly, I leaned forward and took it into my mouth.

Mmmm.

It was so fresh, creamy, and delicate, melting almost instantly on my tongue.

“Do you like it?”

I swallowed, savoring the flavor. “It’s amazing,” I said softly. “It tastes. . .different than the mozzarella that I buy. It’s. . .fresher.”

“The chef makes this himself. In fact, every ingredient, every dish you’re tasting today, is from our land.”

It sounded so odd with him referring to this property as ours. Just yesterday, all I had ownership of was my little studio apartment.

I thought about what he said. “So you grow things here?”

“The milk that makes this mozzarella comes from the cows we raise here. They’re fed a special diet to keep the milk rich and creamy.” He pointed down to the floor. “The cheese is made fresh daily and stored in the cheese caves beneath the castle to age properly. Even the vegetables you see.”

He gestured to the roasted vegetables on my plate. “They are from the gardens at the back of the estate. Every herb, every tomato, is grown here.”

“That is amazing. I would love to see the garden and farm and even the cheese caves.”

“If today wasn’t so busy, I would take you down there myself, but I have someone else showing you around.”

“Who?”

“You will see.”

I glanced at the prosciutto. “This came from here too?”

“On the east side of the estate, the pigs are raised in the pastures. They’re treated well, fed the best feed, and when the time comes, they’re butchered on-site, with every cut of meat prepared to perfection.”

“Wow.”

“The prosciutto is cured here as well, aged in the curing rooms that have been part of this castle for centuries.” He slipped his gaze down to my breasts and then brought it back up to my eyes. “Everything that touches your lips, Erica, must be of the highest quality or I will kill the chef.”

I trembled. “Gianni. . .that’s unnecessary.”

“It is a must.” He pointed to the focaccia. “Even the bread you’re eating was baked this morning in the castle’s ovens, using flour milled from the wheat fields we own. And the chef made damn sure that it was delicious because. . .his life depended on it.”

“You can never kill our chef.”

“You already saved one—”

“And I am saving this one, too.”

He frowned, but then nodded. “Fine.”

“Thank you. Our food should not be prepared in fear.”

“Hmmm.” He picked up a bottle of wine and yanked the cork out.

This is my husband.

As he poured me a glass of wine, I could see the faint lines of tension in Gianni’s handsome face, and I wondered if the weight of his world ever became too much.

I gave him a sad smile. “You always seem so in control.”

He paused from pouring for a few seconds. “Control is the only thing keeping me together. Without it. . .I don’t know who I’d be.”

“Sometimes, I will have control.”

“Hmmm.” A wicked smirk spread across his lips. “I can see the possibilities of that.”

“Can you?”

Gianni’s gaze darkened as he looked down at my glass of wine. “I’ve spent my life building walls. Protecting myself, protecting everything I’ve built. But with you. . .”

“Yes?”

“With you, those walls feel like they’re crumbling.”

“Good. I don’t want any walls between us.”

He put the bottle back on the table.

I looked at it. “And the wine is prepared here too?”

Nodding, he placed the glass of wine next to me. “The vineyard is just outside the walls. The grapes are handpicked by the workers on the estate, fermented, and bottled in our own cellars that are right next to the cheese caves.”

“Wow. That’s amazing.”

He gestured to my glass. “Try it.”

“Okay.” Slowly, I reached out my hand for the elegant glass, filled with a vibrant, ruby-red liquid. As I brought it to my lips, I inhaled deeply. The intoxicating scent of blackberries, grapes, and hints of oak wafted from the glass.

This is going to be good.

I took a sip, letting the velvety liquid slide down my throat.

The taste was a symphony of flavors that danced on my palate—dark fruits with subtle earthy undertones, and a silky-smooth finish that lingered like a whisper.

“Oh my God,” I placed the glass back down gently. “That’s incredible.”

Gianni fed me another bite of mozzarella, and this time, it wasn’t just the taste that filled my senses—it was the undeniable fact that I fucking loved being the center of his universe.

God this is so perfect.

I looked around the room, at the lavish spread, the golden bird cage, and the man sitting beside me, and it hit me—I was becoming part of this world.

Gianni’s world.

And as much as I wanted to believe I could still hold onto the girl I was before him, I wasn’t sure anymore.

Could I still be Erica, the ballerina, when all I wanted was to be his queen out in the world and his princess in bed?

For a moment, I caught a glimpse of something deeper in his gaze, something that made my heart skip a beat. “Why did you marry me, Gianni? I know there’s a big secret in there, but there must be a smaller part you can reveal.”

His jaw clenched, and for a second, I thought he wouldn’t answer.

Then, in a low voice, he spoke, “Because I knew, this one time. . .when I saw you, that you would be the only thing capable of calming the storm inside me.”

Those words slipped along my skin, and I witnessed the vulnerability that he always worked so hard to hide.

Before he could feed me anymore, I picked up a piece of the mozzarella. The creamy texture was soft between my fingers, and instead of bringing it to my own mouth, I held it out toward him.

Gianni's green eyes went to the mozzarella between my fingers and then back to my face. His expression was unreadable for a moment. “What are you doing, Queen?”

“Feeding my king.”

There was this tiny bit of tension in the air as if he weren’t used to someone trying to take control—even in a gesture as simple as feeding him.

But then, his lips curved into that dangerously seductive smile. He leaned in further and locked his gaze with mine as he opened his mouth and took the bite from my fingers.

And as he did, his lips brushed my fingertips, soft but deliberate, and the sensation sent a shiver racing through me.

Mmmm.

It wasn’t just the touch—it was the power shift, brief as it was. He chewed slowly, and again his gaze never left mine as if he were thinking about devouring my pussy.

God. . .he makes me so fucking horny.

He swallowed, and then, slowly, deliberately, he licked his lips. The movement was so smooth, so sensual that it made my pulse spike. His tongue flicked across his lower lip, catching the last trace of mozzarella, and it was impossible not to notice the way he did it—intentionally slow, knowing exactly the effect it had on me.

Goddman it.

In my head, he was lapping that tongue at my clit again.

My breath hitched.

My body suddenly became hyperaware of how close he was, how easy it would be to close the distance between us.

Then, as if knowing exactly what I was thinking about and what it was doing to me, he parted those lips once again, and the way he dragged his tongue across them once more sent the hottest flush through me.

His voice came out low, and almost like a velvety growl. “Do you like feeding me, Queen?”

I swallowed, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. “Yes.”

“Careful.”

“Why do I have to be careful?”

“You’re. . .starting to have a very specific power over me.”

“That should be a good thing.”

“That kind of power can be dangerous.”

“I doubt it.”

“I’ll let you have it. . .for now.”

I held his gaze, and my pulse quickened as I picked up another piece of that creamy mozzarella. “More?”

He nodded, never breaking our stare. “Yes, princess.”

A shiver ran through me, knowing why he had shifted from queen to princess. His cock must have been very fucking hard.

God, I hope it is.

I brought the morsel to his lips again, and this time, he took the bite more fiercely and his teeth grazed my fingertips.

Mmmm.

The sensation was almost sensually unbearable.

I glanced at one of the servings he’d put on my plate. It was a dish of fried zucchini flowers stuffed with ricotta.

“That is interesting.”

“You’ve never had those, princess?”

“No.” I reached for it.

He smacked my hand away. “That’s enough.”

I chuckled. “You just can’t give up all the control?”

“Never.” Soon, he had one of those delicate flowers in his large hands and was bringing it to my lips. “Open your mouth, princess.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

A dark groan left him.

When I took the first bite, the savory flavors danced across my tongue.

Holy fuck. This is good.

Gianni winked at me. “I like these so much, I always get them on my birthday.”

I could see why. Each bite of the flower became more decadent.

When I swallowed, I asked, “When is your birthday?”

“November 3rd.”

“You’re a Scorpio?”

“Yes.” He leaned his head to the side. “Are you a fan of zodiac theories?”

“I find it interesting that groups of people can sometimes share qualities due to their birthdays being close.”

“It is interesting.” He picked up a zucchini flower for himself and took a bite. Once he swallowed, he winked at me. “And your birthday is March 10th. You’re a Pisces.”

“And how long have you known that?”

“Long enough.”

I frowned.

“Pisces. . .sensitive, artistic, and emotional.” He lifted his fork and grabbed some of the roasted vegetables. “You feel things deeply, don’t you?”

“I do.” I considered the current Fall season. “What do you want to do for your birthday? It’s coming up soon.”

“I want to spend it with you.”

“Doing what?”

“Fucking you. Very hard.” He popped a few vegetables in his mouth.

I grinned. “We can do more than fuck, Gianni.”

“We can, but make sure that part is in there.”

I bit my lip.

He put down his fork. “Did you know that, Pisces and Scorpios are compatible.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“They can have this intense connection, because they understand each other on a deeper level.”

“Is that why you decided to marry me?”

He snorted. “If only my reasoning had been that simple.”

“Then, what was your reasoning?”

His expression turned hard, and all humor left his gaze. “It is a complex answer with a lot of layers. For now, let’s just say that the stars got it right.”

“I’m tired of you not giving me answers—”

“Get to know me first—”

“I know you—”

“Not enough. Not yet.” And in true avoidance, Gianni picked up the silver bell that was next to his place setting.

I eyed him. “What are you doing?”

“Now it is time for a special present.” With a single flick of his wrist, he rang the bell.

The clear sound echoed through the dining room.

Isabella croaked. “Very noisy.”

I studied him. “What special present?”

“You will see.”

I raised my eyebrows and gazed at the door.

What sort of present will this be?