Claimed

6. Bound to Him

Chapter six

Bound to Him

The moment Gianni’s command left his lips, Vito let go of me so fast, it was as if I had burned him.

Vito even took a hasty step back, putting a cautious foot between us as though distance could shield him from whatever storm was about to descend.

O-kay.

My heart pounded as I watched my brother and was shocked by the sudden change in his demeanor. Vito, who had been the main psychotic brute of this evening, was now cowering like a child caught in a naughty act.

My stepfather cleared his throat, his voice coming out strained as he spoke to Gianni. “Bella had a performance today, which is why we are late, and she is wearing. . . this attire.”

Gianni bared his teeth in a snarl that made my blood run cold. “What did you do? Pull her right off the fucking stage?”

Oh damn. That’s right. Fucking explain yourself to the Devil!

My stepfather’s voice faltered. “You asked us not to be late—”

“But I also assumed you would have common sense and not be idiots.” Gianni’s voice dripped with venom.

A few of the male guests snickered, telling me that they must have belonged to his crew.

Meanwhile, I was absolutely stunned.

No one had ever dared speak to my stepfather like that. In all my life, I had known him to be the one who held power over everyone around him.

His word had been law in this brutal city.

But here was Gianni, cutting him down with nothing more than a few well-placed words.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut—the tables had truly turned since I’d been gone. The man who had ruled with an iron fist for so long was now subject to the will of another—someone far more dangerous.

And I was marrying this dangerous person. . .

Gianni prowled toward me, and each step sent a fresh wave of terror crashing over me.

Oh God. What is he going to do?

I wanted to step back, to put distance between us, but I was frozen in place, unable to move.

When he got less than a foot away towering over me. . .I felt so damn small.

Insignificant.

Like a lamb being led to slaughter.

This close, Gianni assessed me even more.

“You’re shaking.” His voice was low and almost gentle.

Almost.

But there was a hardness that made me tremble. “Are you scared, Erica?”

Of course he knows my first name. . .

I swallowed.

My mouth was suddenly dry.

Was I scared?

No.

I was terrified.

And not just of him, but of the marriage and everything he represented—the life I was being forced into, the horrors I would endure.

I swallowed again. “Well. . .yes. . .I’m scared.”

The line of his jaw twitched. “Why?”

“Well. . .I spent months preparing for the premier of my new ballet, and then suddenly I was told that I would be getting married.”

His eyebrows furrowed in anger as he narrowed his eyes. “You had no idea?”

I shivered. “No.”

Clearly pissed, he turned his view to my stepfather. “Explain yourself.”

My stepfather, who until this moment had maintained a stoic facade, was now visibly sweating. “This was not to be an insult to you or to catch her off guard. I believed it would be best for the family and Bella. This way she could live her life in independence—”

“No. You thought she would run off.”

My stepfather took out a red handkerchief from his pocket and dapped at the sweat on his head. “Perhaps.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered.” Gianni curved his lips into a wicked smile. “ I would have found her.”

Uh. . .okay.

Gianni turned his menacing gaze back to me. “And what do you think of this arrangement, Erica?”

I hesitated a little bit and then spoke, “I don’t want to get married.”

The guests reacted with a collective gasp. Then, their whispers swirled around the room like a physical presence.

Even Vito looked taken aback by my audacity, and my stepfather went pale as a sheet.

Gianni's eyes bore into me, unblinking, and his face was unreadable.

Silence filled the room.

I could almost hear my own heartbeat echoing in my ears.

Gianni spoke, “Everyone go to the other side of the room!”

What?

I stiffened.

Gianni's command was met with a flurry of movement as the guests quickly scattered to the other side of the ballroom. Vito and my stepfather hesitated for a moment before following too.

Now we stood alone in the middle of the elegant room.

The Devil and me.

As the last of the guests made it there, my mind spiraled into a vortex of fear.

My heart pounded so hard in my chest that I feared it might burst.

What had I just done?

The silence between us was deafening.

I could feel his eyes on me, burning into my skin, but I didn’t dare meet his gaze.

Instead, my mind raced with all the terrifying possibilities of what he might do to me now.

Would he punish me for my defiance?

According to Vito, he was a man who dealt with betrayal and disobedience with ruthless efficiency.

Torture, mutilation, death—these were his tools of control, and I had just openly defied him in front of his men, in front of his guests.

What if he decided to make an example of me?

I imagined him dragging me to the center of the ballroom, tearing the delicate fabric of my costume, and exposing my skin to the cold air and to his cruel hands.

Would he force me to my knees?

Make me beg for mercy that would never come?

My thoughts spiraled further into darkness.

What if he did something worse?

What if he took me right here, in front of everyone, to show them that I belonged to him now, body and soul?

The thought sent a wave of nausea rolling through me. I could almost feel his hands on me, rough and unforgiving, as he claimed what he believed was his by right.

Would he kill me afterward, my broken body discarded like a used plaything?

Or would he leave me alive, a shattered shell of a person, forced to endure whatever hell he had planned for me?

I felt the world closing in around me, the walls of the ballroom pressing down, suffocating me. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think beyond the fear that had taken root deep in my chest. My legs trembled, threatening to give out beneath me.

And then, something changed.

I forced myself to look up, to meet Gianni’s gaze.

What I saw there stopped the whirlwind of terrifying thoughts in their tracks.

His expression had softened.

The harsh, predatory lines of his face seemed to melt away, replaced by something almost—human.

The coldness in his green eyes even dimmed, replaced by a warmth that I hadn’t expected, a warmth that sent a confusing ripple of relief through my body.

He was still terrifyingly gorgeous, of course.

This close his chiseled jaw, the sharp angles of his cheekbones, and the dark hair that framed his face like a shadow created this mesmerizing view.

I mean. . .if I had to be forced to marry anyone. . .well. . .looks alone. . .he would do. . .

But now, there was something else on his face, something that made my heart skip a beat. His full lips, which had been twisted into a snarl just moments before, relaxed into something softer, less menacing.

I could feel the tension in the room shift, like a weight being lifted off my shoulders, if only slightly.

The fear didn’t disappear entirely—I wasn’t foolish enough to let my guard down completely—but I found myself able to breathe again, and the tightness in my chest eased just a little.

Gianni took a step closer, now only allowing a mere four inches to rest between us.

His cologne rose to my nostrils—expensive wood, smoky musk, and a floral undertone.

And instead of the overwhelming dread I had felt before, I was left with a strange mixture of emotions—fear, yes, but also curiosity.

He reached out, and I flinched instinctively, expecting the worst. But his touch, when it came, was surprisingly gentle.

His fingers brushed a stray lock of hair away from my face, tucking it behind my ear with a tenderness that seemed at odds with everything I knew about him.

“Tell me something.” Gianni’s voice was no longer laced with anger but with something gentler, something almost. . .caring. “Why don't you want to marry me?”

“I heard that. . .you are called the Devil of Shadows.”

“I am.”

“That’s scary.”

“Fear serves a purpose in this world.”

“I’m scared I would marry into a life of abuse and fear—”

“No, Erica.” His voice grew steady. “I would never hurt you. I would sooner cut off my own hand than lay a finger on you in anger. You are my wife. You will be cherished, protected, loved. But understand this, I will never be the sort of man that is kind to others . You must make peace with my being a monster. Yet, never forget that for you. . .well. . .I will always be different.”

I swallowed. “What if I do something that displeases you?”

A wicked smirk spread across his face. “There are ways to torture a woman that has nothing to do with pain.”

His words hung in the air—potent yet deliciously chilling.

I quirked my brows.

His voice lowered further into an intimate whisper that made me shiver in the most sensual way. “I can make your body want things, things you’ve never even imagined.”

I bit my lip.

“I could make you crave the darkness, even as you’re basking in the light.” The confidence and erotic power in his words made my stomach flip.

Even more, the whispered promises of dark pleasures danced in my mind, igniting a primitive curiosity within me. It was wrong—sinful even—but it was also undeniably enticing.

“Erica. . .it is unfortunate that you weren’t prepared for our wedding today. For that, I apologize, but. . .”

I widened my eyes.

“You will be my wife, and the mother of my children.”

My bottom lip quivered. “Against my will?”

“So be it. You are bound to me.”

“Why?”

“Because long ago. . .I saw you and I knew that I had to have you. And that was that.”

I thought I’d seen him before. . .

I still couldn’t figure out how I’d known him. “When was the first time you saw me?”

His smirk widened ever so slightly, and those green eyes sparkled with mischief and something else that I couldn't quite place. “That’s a conversation for another day.”

“I want to know now.”

“It is more important to have you become my wife. I’ve waited long enough.”

“How long?”

“So long that it is hard to be this close to you and not rip that costume off.” His gaze intensified, burning through the material of my dress and seeping into my skin.

Despite myself, I shivered under the intensity of his scrutiny.

I took my time saying the next words, “If we get married—”

“If?”

I gulped down fear. “ When we get married.”

He nodded. “Yes, Erica. Much better.”

“Our wedding night. . .”

A dark groan left him.

“I’ve never. . .” I sighed. “I will need time to get used to you before we. . .have sex. . .it can’t be tonight. . .”

“I’ve already planned for that.” That wicked smile deepened. “And I love that no other man has touched what is mine.”

His words sent another shiver down my spine, but this time, it wasn’t entirely out of fear. There was something else there too, something I didn’t want to examine too closely.

But I couldn’t allow myself to forget what he was, who he was. He might have shown me this moment of softness, but he was still the Devil of Shadows.

And devils, no matter how alluring, were still dangerous.

A low chuckle left him as he watched my inner struggle play out. “How was your performance as the Vampire Queen?”

That caught me off guard.

Did my stepfather say the name of the ballet?

I didn’t think so, yet still he knew somehow that I’d been a part of the ballet.

My stomach twisted. “I received a standing ovation, and they chanted my name.”

That line of his jaw twitched. “Of course they did.”

“But, I didn’t get a chance to finish the full ballet. They dragged me out of there.”

“Still. . .” He licked his lips. “The audience should feel lucky to have gotten that much.”

I had no fucking idea what that meant.

But then to my surprise this odd murderous growl left him, and I realized that. . .his gaze fell to the bruises and marks on my arms.

Another low growl rumbled from his chest.

This rough Italian left his lips. “Who would dare to hurt what is mine?”

He raised a hand as if to touch my bruises, but then hesitated a little. Instead, his fingers hovered just above my skin. The air between us crackled with tension, and I held my breath, terrified of what he might do.

Gianni’s eyes then traveled to my neck, and his expression darkened further. More rough Italian left him. “No! How did I not see this earlier?”

Another growl escaped him, more menacing this time like he was some sort of wolfman getting ready to shift into his beast.

I realized with a sickening lurch in my stomach that he must have seen the finger marks on my neck, left by Vito’s choking grip.

His hand moved closer, as if he were about to touch my neck, but again, he stopped short, his fingers twitching with barely restrained anger. “No one harms what is mine.”

Finally, his gaze landed on my lips, and I could see the moment he noticed the swelling there.

Shit.

Gianni’s face twisted into a deadly expression. His eyes narrowed to slits. His lips curled into a snarl that bared his teeth, and his nostrils flared as if he were trying to control the rage bubbling just beneath the surface, but seriously failing.

His jaw clenched so tightly that I could see the muscles ticking under his skin, and those green eyes darkened, turning almost black with fury.

I inched back.

He glanced over his shoulder and roared. “Get Sofia!”

Who the fuck is Sofia? And why are we getting her?