No Escape from His Gilded Cage

Alessio's POV

The atmosphere quivers with tension emanating from Eleonora, and it's almost ridiculous that she wears winter clothes on such an oppressive day.

Although I have a long list of tasks to complete before tonight's darts game, the knowledge that Eleonora will visit Father Coppola today compelled me to instruct Joey to drive past the cathedral. It gives me a chance to keep her within my sight.

However, I never intended to spend the entire day as her fucking chauffeur. Given that she is destined to be my wife, I suppose it's time I get used to taking care of her needs.

Once we are married, she'll have both a driver and a bodyguard at her service, prepared to escort her anywhere her heart desires.

As I struggle to focus on the contract in my hands, I succumb to distraction, shifting my gaze to the enchanting woman beside me. I notice the white lily she clutches, nearly destroyed now, and mutter, "You're crushing it."

Her eyes widen in disbelief, and she gasps, "Come again?"

I gesture toward her hands. "You're holding that flower a bit too tightly."

She glances down, then murmurs, "Oh no." She loosens her grip on the wilting lily, adding with a small sigh, "Honestly, it was already dying when I got it."

As I admire her delicate features, I ask, "Why venture out on such a hot day?"

With a hint of embarrassment coloring her cheeks, she replies, "I had some errands to run." Nervously fidgeting with the flower, she begins to pluck its petals unaware.

"And these errands couldn't wait?" I prod, eager for more of her soft voice.

"Um..." Her fingers quicken, tearing off more petals. "I always meet Father Coppola on Tuesdays to bring him a homemade meal and discuss the baked goods for after Mass."

It's characteristic of her to think of the holy man like this, showcasing her nurturing nature.

She hesitates, her tongue flicking out to moisten her lips as she continues, "I just stopped by Martina's shop to pick out flowers for Sunday, and now I'm heading to grab the ingredients for the cannolis we'll serve after Mass." She finally pauses to catch her breath.

Her tendency to ramble is fucking charming and surprisingly endearing; it reveals the true Eleonora, unguarded and sincere.

Meanwhile, the lily is utterly ruined, and when she realizes it, panic crosses her face. "I'm so sorry!"

Clearly terrified that I would chastise her for the mess in the vehicle, she hurriedly scoops up the fallen petals, glancing around as if seeking an escape.

Just then, Joey finds a parking space near the grocery store, prompting me to say firmly, "We're going in with her."

"What?" Eleonora exclaims, her wide eyes betraying her shock.

"This isn't open for debate," I reply as I step out of the SUV, taking pleasure in this assertive exchange.

I stand waiting for her to exit, and when my hand lands gently on her lower back, she nearly jumps, startled.

I pay no mind to her reaction, confident she'll grow accustomed to my presence once we are married.

Joey lingers a short distance behind as we enter the store, and I grab a shopping cart.

Eleonora casts me a confused glance, but her courage fails her; she doesn't question why I've chosen to accompany her.

As we head toward the baking aisle, shoppers' eyes fixate on me, their fear palpable as people scatter in our wake, making Eleonora glance nervously up at me.

"What do you need?" I inquire, redirecting her attention.

Shaking her head slightly, she retrieves a crumpled note from her purse and quickly moves from one ingredient to another, hustling to gather supplies.

By the time we reach the checkout, the cashier avoids eye contact, scanning items with trembling hands.

The overwhelming sense of fear in the store is something I've carefully crafted over the years-an aura that speaks to power.

Eleonora extracts a few dollars from her bag, and I interject, "Let me take care of this."

"It's meant for the parish," she protests, uncertainty flickering in her eyes, but I choose not to repeat myself.

Ignoring her objections, I present my black unlimited card to the cashier, covering the meager cost of the ingredients that barely fill a single bag.

I make a mental note to arrange for Eleonora to have her own card soon.

As the payment processes, I remind myself not to forget this.

The cashier shakes like hell as she returns my card, which I place back into my wallet while Joey takes the shopping bag.

Outside the store, Eleonora scurries to stay close to me, whispering, "Thank you. I'll tell Father Coppola you took care of everything."

"You will not," I respond firmly.

"But I didn't use the money he gave me," she counters, her expression conflicted. "He'll want to know why."

For a moment, I respect her bravery in challenging me.

"Then just don't tell him the reason and keep the money for yourself," I suggest, watching her freeze in astonishment, as if I were fucking crazy.

"I can't lie to Father Coppola, and I certainly won't keep the parish's funds."

She makes the sign of the cross, clearly incredulous, and I let out a soft chuckle. "Why not?"

"To lie and to steal," she marvels, looking utterly aghast.

My lips curl into a mischievous grin as I lean closer, reaching out to caress her cheek. She flinches, her complexion paling.

Unfazed by her strong reaction, I maintain eye contact as I lean in slightly, causing her to hold her breath, and I can't help but laugh softly.

"It's not theft if I'm the one paying for it. I'm explicitly telling you to keep the money, which ultimately belongs to me."

Instead of responding verbally, she emits a small squeak and gives a nervous nod.

I raise my head slightly and meet her gaze once more. "Calm down, Eleonora. I have no intention of murdering you.

A surge of air escapes her lips, and sensing I've toyed with her emotions long enough today, I guide her toward the SUV. "Get in."

She dashes to the truck, like a small rabbit, and hurries inside.

As I settle next to her, she practically squishes herself against the far door.

I realize it's somewhat twisted, but I can't deny the fucking thrill I feel from her evident fear; a smile creeps onto my lips.

There's something undeniably intoxicating about the hunt for my little rabbit-this blend of vulnerability and strength in her captivates me endlessly.