Still His

The word "wife" rings in the air, wrapping around my throat like a barbed wire noose. I turn to solid stone at the mere sound of that mocking confirmation. Hearing the cruel truth that he has moved on, gotten married, and built a family with a Russian woman wraps my chest in an agonizing, suffocating pain. I know deep down I should never have expected him to wait for me. Five years have passed since everything went wrong. Why would a powerful man like him put his life on hold for a ghost? I made the choice to run away and orchestrate my own demise. Yet, the harsh reality of his new life, of another woman sharing his bed and bearing his name, shatters whatever fragile pieces of my heart remain intact. My chest aches with a sorrow I have no right to claim.

Dario does not even glance at the man who dared to speak. A lethal calmness settles over his broad shoulders as he stares right through me, his dark eyes unreadable. He breaks the suffocating tension with a single, uncompromising order.

"Get out."

His deep voice echoes off the walls, carrying a dark, unquestionable authority that sends a shockwave through the room. The men scramble over themselves like frightened rats fleeing a sinking ship. They knock over crystal glasses and shove heavy chairs aside in their desperate haste to escape his wrath. In mere seconds, the heavy mahogany door clicks shut, leaving just the two of us alone in a sudden, heavy silence that presses hard against my lungs.

I stand rooted to the spot, my breath catching in my throat. My hands tremble at my sides as I finally let my eyes trace over him in the dim lighting of the VIP room. The realization hits me with the force of a speeding train: the reckless, emotional boy I once loved with all my soul is gone. He has been replaced by an older, commanding, and breathtakingly handsome man. He has aged like fine wine. Time has hardened his once-boyish features into sharp, unforgiving angles. His jawline looks as though it was chiseled from marble. He oozes a quiet, dangerous authority in his tailored black suit, his sheer physical magnitude demanding respect. Knowing that this magnificent, terrifying man is no longer mine to hold only makes the dull ache in my chest burn worse.

Nervousness consumes me, eating away at my rationality. I need to escape the heavy, predatory tension radiating from his body. My mind spins out of control, desperate to find an exit. My tongue betrays me as words begin to tumble clumsily out of my mouth in a pathetic bid to play dumb.

"Dario, it has been a long time. I want to congratulate you on taking over the Famiglia and becoming the Don. That is quite an accomplishment. I also heard what that man just said about your marriage. I am very happy that you moved on and found a wife to build a life with."

He just sits there, offering no response. His silence stretches, thick and suffocating, making my skin crawl with raw apprehension. I let out an awkward, breathless laugh, forcing a fake smile onto my trembling lips. My throat tightens with every passing second.

"You probably do not even remember who I am after all these years. Thank you for stepping in and helping me with those men just now. If you do not mind, I will just go and get your drink order so you can enjoy your night."

I turn my body on my heel, ready to sprint toward the safety of the busy club floor. The loud, grating scrape of his chair against the floor stops me dead in my tracks.

I glance over my shoulder and watch him stand to his full, towering height. His immense, muscular presence instantly fills every corner of the VIP room, sucking the oxygen straight out of the air. He takes a slow, deliberate step forward. His polished dress shoes click against the floorboards, the sound echoing in my ears like a sinister countdown.

My treacherous body betrays my mounting fear. Despite the deadly danger rolling off him in waves, my skin hungers for the raw heat radiating from his broad chest. It is a forbidden warmth I have not felt in five long years of living in a barren emotional desert. Since the day I walked away, no man has touched me. My mind flashes back to the way his large hands used to feel tracing my skin, the way his mouth used to devour mine with an unmatched, consuming passion.

He stops right in front of me, stepping so close I can feel the overwhelming heat of his body seeping through my thin waitress uniform. Because of his towering height, I am forced to tilt my head back just to meet his cold, furious gaze. The dark fire burning in his eyes makes my breath hitch in terror.

A slow, terrifying smirk touches the corners of his lips, transforming his handsome face into a mask of pure cruelty.

"Oh, I remember you, Serafina Sartori. I remember you as clear as day."

His voice is a dark rumble that sends a vicious shiver down my spine. The deep sound instantly resurrects the ghost of his old, chilling promise. On the day I vanished, he promised I would deeply regret breaking his heart.

The mocking tone of his voice quickly shifts, turning cruel and biting. He leans in closer, deliberate and calculating, wanting his next words to inflict maximum pain.

"Setting that horrific fire at your house was a brilliant little trick. Your parents mourned you, Serafina. They wept over the ashes, believing their precious daughter had burned to death. They went through sheer hell mourning your loss, and they are probably still trying to piece their broken lives back together."

The mention of my staged death and my parents' immense grief feels like a physical blow to my stomach. I swallow the bitter lump forming in my throat, trying to mask the overwhelming guilt threatening to consume me. I did what I had to do to protect the people I cared about.

"But you can never run away from me, Serafina. I knew I would find you and have my revenge."

The undeniable promise of violence lingers in the stale air between us. Raw, unfiltered terror grips my heart in an iron fist. He looks at me with an intense, burning hatred that promises slow, agonizing destruction. I cannot die tonight. I cannot let him kill me in the back room of a sleazy club. I have a tiny son waiting for me in a cramped, rundown apartment. A sweet, innocent little boy who knows no one in this dark, unforgiving world but me. My son needs his mother to survive.

"Please do not kill me."

The desperate plea escapes my lips in a broken whisper. Tears prick the corners of my eyes, blurring my vision. My entire body shakes under his piercing glare.

He raises a large hand toward my face. Anticipating a brutal, punishing strike, I flinch hard and squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for the bone-crushing impact of his fist.

But the blow never comes.

Instead, his warm fingers brush against my cold skin. He caresses my cheek with a horrifying, smooth tenderness that short-circuits my brain. The soft, gentle touch is a stark contrast to the venom in his spoken words, messing with my mind and leaving me utterly confused.

He lets out a wicked, dark laugh that echoes ominously in the quiet room.

"Why would I want to kill someone as beautiful as you, Serafina Sartori?"

His rough fingertips trail down my jawline, burning a path of fire across my skin. His strong grip locks onto my chin, tilting my face up so I am forced to look into the bottomless depths of his dark eyes.

"Every single man in this room just wanted a piece of your body. They watched you walk in and lost their minds, practically foaming at the mouth to drag you onto their laps. They wanted to rip those clothes off and claim you as their own prize."

His thumb strokes my lower lip, his gaze dropping to my mouth before snapping back up to meet my terrified stare with absolute dominance.

"Not knowing you already belong to me."

He finally steps away, severing the physical connection. The sudden loss of his intense body heat leaves me shivering in the cold air conditioning. I watch in paralyzed silence as he walks back to the head of the table. He settles into his large, leather chair with the effortless ease and absolute authority of a dark king reclaiming his rightful throne. He unbuttons his suit jacket and leans back, spreading his legs in a display of pure, arrogant power.

When he speaks again, his voice holds zero warmth. There is only a lethal, unshakable finality in his dark tone.

"From now on, Serafina Sartori, you are mine to use. Mine to play with. Mine to do with as I please."

He smirks, his dark, bottomless eyes locking onto mine, stripping away any fragile illusion of freedom I thought I still possessed.

"Your body belongs to me. Your mind belongs to me. Your soul belongs to me. I own you."