The mafia's king bride claimed by his obsession.

I woke up alone. The bed felt too big without him, but his scent lingered on the pillow sharp, clean, that expensive shampoo he always used.

My feet were still wrapped up. Sunlight sliced through the blinds, striping the black sheets. Everything in Damon's room was hard and cold, like he'd built a fortress and called it a bedroom.

The bathroom door stood open. Steam drifted out.

I pulled the sheet to my chin. My nightgown was ripped and tossed on the floor where he'd dropped it last night.

The shower stopped.

He came out a minute later, towel slung low on his hips, water shining on his chest, tattoos curling over his shoulders. He didn't look at me. He went straight for the closet.

"You're bleeding on my sheets," he said, still facing away.

I glanced down and spotted a small red smear near my foot. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Be still." His voice was flat. He pulled on black trousers, left his shirt unbuttoned, grabbed a first aid kit from a cabinet.

He sat right on the edge of the bed, mattress dipping under his weight. He took my ankle, steady and unhurried, and started unwrapping the bandage. He didn't look at me, just focused on the cut, his hair still damp and falling forward.

"The guy who grabbed you last night," he said, voice low. "He's dead."

I flinched. "You... killed him?"

"Antonio did. After he gave us a name." Damon dabbed something cold and sharp-smelling on my cut. I sucked in a breath, biting back a yelp. "Somebody inside gave them the house layout. Guard shifts."

My stomach dropped. "Who?"

"That's the question," he said, wrapping a clean bandage. Then he finally looked at me. His eyes were a storm. "Until I know, you don't leave my sight."

"What does that mean?"

"It means you're moving into this room."

I froze. "With you?"

"Yes." He buttoned his shirt with quick, clipped movements. "You're a target. The best way to protect what's mine is to keep it close."

He said it like I was a thing, something to guard.

"I don't want to stay in here," I whispered.

He finished with the buttons and leaned over me, hands planted on either side of my hips, trapping me. His face was so close, I could see the scar along his jaw, the thick lashes. He smelled like soap and something darker.

"What you want stopped mattering the second your father shook my hand."

His voice was quiet, but it punched the air out of my lungs.

"You'll dress. You'll eat. You'll stay with me today. Got it?"

I nodded, stiff and small.

He pushed off the bed. "Good. Get up. Wear the blue dress in the closet."

He left. The room was still warm from his body, but I was shaking.

The blue dress fit like it was made for me. Smooth silk, nothing out of place. Another reminder that nothing here actually belonged to me.

Alessandra brought breakfast to the study. Damon sat behind his desk, phone pressed to his ear. "Double the patrols. Reroute all shipments," he barked. He saw me and waved me over.

I sat. Picked at some fruit.

He ended the call. "We're going out."

"Where?"

"Business. You're just here to look pretty. Smile when you're supposed to. Don't talk."

An hour later, we were in the back of the car, city blurring past. Marco drove. Antonio sat up front, eyes flicking everywhere.

We pulled up at some high-end restaurant. Private room in the back.

Waiting for us a man, older, soft around the edges but with sharp eyes. Vincenzo, Damon's uncle.

"Nephew," Vincenzo greeted, standing to hug Damon. Then his gaze landed on me, warm and curious. "And you must be Elena. A beauty. He didn't do you justice."

Damon's hand found the small of my back. Possessive. "Elena, my uncle Vincenzo. The only man I trust in this city."

Vincenzo took my hand, kissed my knuckles. His smile was gentle. "Welcome to the family."

We sat. Someone poured wine. The men talked business, numbers, shipments. I tried to follow, but none of it stuck. Vincenzo's eyes kept darting my way, assessing.

"And how do you like your new home, dear?" he asked.

"It's... an adjustment," I managed.

"I bet. It's a lonely world sometimes." He patted my hand. "If you need anything, or just want to talk, you call your Uncle Vince."

He was so different from Damon. Warm. Human. For a second, I felt like maybe someone here actually saw me.

Lunch ended. As we got up, Vincenzo pulled Damon aside. They talked by the window, voices hushed. I saw Damon's jaw tighten before he gave a sharp nod.

The drive home was tense. Damon stared out the window.

"Your uncle seems nice," I tried.

Damon let out a harsh laugh. "He's the most dangerous man at that table." He turned to me, eyes sharp. "Trust no one, Elena. Especially the ones who smile."

That night, he stayed late in the study. I waited in his bedroom, perched on the bed, feeling like I didn't belong.

He came in near midnight. Didn't say a word. He just undressed with his back to me, then disappeared into the bathroom.

The light clicked off.

I lay on my side, facing the wall, pretending to be asleep.

He came out of the bathroom. The mattress dipped when he got in. He stretched out on his back, careful not to touch me.

We just lay there in the dark. Not a sound.

Then his voice cut through the quiet. "Turn over."

My heart stuttered. I rolled to face him, slow, careful. The moonlight caught the sharp edge of his jaw.

He didn't waste words. "Last night the man who grabbed you. What did you feel?"

That threw me. "Scared," I said.

He stared up at the ceiling. "And when I shot him?"

I couldn't forget the look on his face, cold and focused. "Safe."

He turned his head. Our eyes locked in the half-light. It felt like the room shrank, everything tightening around that moment.

"Good," he said, voice low.

Then he reached for me. Not rough. He just brushed my hair off my cheek, gently tucking it behind my ear. The softness of it made me flinch.

His hand moved down, thumb brushing my lower lip. I sucked in a shaky breath.

"This mouth," he said quietly, almost like he was talking to himself, "asks for things it doesn't even understand."

He leaned in. I thought he'd kiss me. Every muscle in my body went tight, caught between fear and something else.

But he stopped, his lips just shy of mine. His eyes held onto me daring me to move, to breathe, to break first.

Then he shifted, mouth finding my neck instead. His lips burned against my skin. I gasped, gripping the sheet.

His teeth grazed my throat close enough to scare, not enough to hurt. I shuddered.

"You're mine," he whispered, voice rough. "Every gasp. Every shiver. Mine."

He pulled away, leaving my skin flushed and tingling. Then he rolled over, turning his back to me.

"Go to sleep."

I just lay there, heart pounding, my neck still hot where he'd kissed me. The cruelty was gone. In its place, something even scarier.

A promise.

And for the first time, I wasn't sure if I wanted him to break it.