Chapter 5 Failure To Obey Equates Punishment

• His voice had been husky, and it had been louder than the tempest raging outside the doorway. Isabella stepped out from behind the veil in stumbling, slow feet, her eyes bulging and full of unshed tears. She was barefoot, and she slid across the marble floor as if to step would break the ground beneath her feet.
• Luca's eyes were black ice. He pushed ahead, his fingers wrapping around her upper arm in a tight grip that made her take a breath. He did not speak, but he tugged her deeper into the huge hall, slamming the doors behind them.
• He shoved her against the wall—not hard, but hard sufficient to rattle her bones. He loomed over her, arms braced on either side of her head, his face a hairbreadth from hers.
• "Why were you spying?" His voice was a rasp, threatening and low. "Who paid you to pry?"
• Tears streamed down her face. She tossed her head wildly, heaving, breast drooping in horror. "N-no one! I… I heard things—I was afraid, I swear! I didn't mean to—"
• His eyes dropped with suspicion and lust. He reached out, taking her chin and yanking her head back with ferocity so she couldn't look away from him. "Curiosity kills people in my world," he snarled. "Or are you lying to me, little maid?"
• She whimpered, her back pressed against the chilly wall. Her lips opened with broken sobs. "I'm not lying… please… I-I'll do anything, just don't hurt me…"
• His gaze pierced hers for cracks, some glimmer of deceit. There was merely terror—old, powerless, real. A burning rage churned inside him, seething with his rage. He moved in closer still, lips gentle on her quivering lips. "Anything?" he pressed again, his voice a gossamer mist around her.
• They shared each other's breath for a moment.
• He could feel her trembling. Every harsh gasp she breathed stoked the flames of his rage and, worse, the dreadful softness he loathed.
• A harsh rap broke strained air. One of Luca's henchmen slipped in, looked at Isabell, a then shifted it to his master. "Boss, Russo's moved. He's employed two of our crew. They're out of sight."
• A muscle in Luca's jaw flexed as he stood to his full height, never releasing Isabella's wrist. "Names?"
• "We're still confirming," the man said, fidgeting uncomfortably under his boss's black stare. "But if we do not leave immediately, they'll strike one of our convoys.".
• Luca's eyes went blank and murderous. His expression hardened. "Find them," he said to him, cold. It was uninfected, but it contained the promise of blood. The man nodded and melted away, closing the doors without a sound.
• When they were alone again, silence fell—heavy, thick, crushing.
• Luca's attention snapped back to Isabella. She still leaned against the wall, gasping little breaths, her eyes wide and shining with unshed tears. He lifted his hand, his thumb tracing a tear from her cheek with jarring gentleness. His voice was low and rough. "Never enter my hall of your own accord again. Understand?"
• She bobbed frantically, her chest rising and falling in shuddering gulps. "Y-yes, sir."
• His gaze continued to stay on hers, relishing each tremble of feeling on her face—fear, confusion, the holding-on hope that he would not hurt her. His voice became gentle, almost intolerably. "You are different from the others," he whispered, his thumb staying close to her trembling lips. "Not that I am sure that is better… or dangerous."
• She opened her mouth to answer, but her voice cracked, words dying in her throat. All she managed was a tiny, broken whisper: “I’m not… I’m not lying…”
• He walked beside her, chest to her back, eyes black and hooded with something hungry and tired. He breathed in low, half-whispered, so knife-sharp his voice cut silk. "Stupid? Or as innocent?" His breath stroked her ear, and she shivered so violently her knees buckled.
• That was when the doors opened wide again. Another of his men entered, panting, eyes open in horror. "Boss, you've got to see this. Russo's goons are assembling down at the docks. There is going to be an assassination."
• Lightning flashed outside, casting harsh shadows on Luca's face. His face grew dark as a thundercloud. He grabbed Isabella's wrist, jerking her close until she was squashed against his chest. His heart thudded underneath her cheek, hard and furious.
• “You’re coming with me,” he growled.
• She froze, eyes wide, mind reeling. “W-where…?”
• His voice was a steel promise. “You want to live? Stay by my side.”
• He pulled her through the corridors with cold determination. His boys parted to let him through, their eyes glancing nervously from the back of his head to the trembling girl clutched in his vice-like grip.
• His eyes would drift to hers from time to time. He had not even known why he had been holding on to her—to protect her from what he had known would occur? Or to keep her safe? He rationalized it was the latter, but the ache in his heart informed him otherwise.
• She slipped once, naked toes on wet marble. His arm caught her, half-dragging her along. "Don't lag," he growled.
• They reached the private elevator, doors sliding open to a soft ding. He pushed her in, then followed with a smothering blackness which filled up the small compartment.
• With the doors shutting resoundingly behind her, she remained there with arms wrapped snugly around herself, shivering so violently her teeth rattled. She glared up at him through tears-sodden eyelashes, glassy blue eyes wide with horror, and something very nearly less than amazed hope.
• Luca's eyes cut through hers with the elevator beginning to descend, his hand reaching out, thumb brushing aside a tear on her cheek again, almost automatic. "Shh," he said. "And whatever happens. Don't run."
• The lights in the elevator flashed as the tempest beneath them raged, thunder booming. Luca's gaze didn't waver from hers as the drop seemed to take forever, air thick with unspoken words, each second taut like a bowstring.
• When the doors finally swished open, the scream of the storm swept in, heavy with the scent of rain and threat.