Chapter 6: Tame the Flame

POV: Serena

The collar sat on the pillow like a curse.

I stared at it till the sky bled morning light through the tall home windows, after which I stood, legs sore, wrists raw, disgrace curling up my backbone like a second skin. I touched the velvet container once with fear and anger, then hurled it across the room. It struck the wall with a weak, final thud and dropped into the shadows.

I didn’t cry.

I wrapped myself in silence, in the clean linen robe hanging on the bathroom hook and entered the bathtub to bathe. I showered for a long time and scrubbed too hard.

My skin became red by the time I stepped out; however, nothing washed him off my skin, not his fingers, not his mouth, or even the phantom pain he left in me.

And then I went downstairs.

The marble staircase spiraled like a ribcage around the villa's open center. Each step I took echoed and I felt like a prisoner on her way to sentencing, not breakfast.

The dining room smelled of roasted espresso, smoked meats, and something sweeter that I couldn’t place. Adrian sat at the top of the long mahogany table, legs casually spread, tie undone, sleeves rolled, like he owned the goddamn world and the sky had knelt down just to kiss his shoes.

I almost turned around... Almost, but then he saw me.

He didn’t rise, didn’t smile, but just sipped from a white porcelain cup and nodded at the empty seat to his left, the one that used to belong to a woman I hadn’t asked about.

I sat, slow and stiff. There were others at the table, men in suits, watches thick as shackles and eyes that flicked over me like they were weighing meat. They didn’t speak, nor did I, not until Adrian did.

“You forgot something.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

He reached into a black leather box sitting beside his plate and pulled out the collar.

"The collar," he said.

The one I had thrown across the room like an exorcism. His fingers were slow and deliberate. The silver clasp glinted in the light as he stood and walked around the table.

“Adrian,” I hissed.

He didn’t answer; instead, he stopped behind me. The scent of him hit first like cedar, leather, and danger. Then his voice slid like smoke into my ear.

“Hold still.”

I didn’t move.

I should have.

He touched the small of my back after he slid the collar out again. His fingers brushed mine, nudging them forward. The collar clicked shut around my neck with a sound too soft to justify the weight it carried.

My hands trembled as I touched the leather over my neck.

When I met his eyes, I saw both triumph and a dark promise. He clicked the clasp with a soft snap.

I felt the metal settle at the base of my throat. My breath caught. Adrian leaned forward and pressed his mouth to my ear.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured. “They all know who you belong to now.” A slow heat poured through me.

My cheeks burned and my spine felt aflame. My defiance flickered. The men exchanged glances. I was aware of their attention, watched and marked.

A tremor ran down my spine. Not just from the collar, but the stillness in the room. The men had been quiet, not out of shock, but reverence.

Like he had just crowned me in steel.

When he sat back down, his eyes didn’t leave me. I didn’t eat, nor did I sip the espresso I suddenly hated. I could only breathe and even that felt like asking for too much.

“Get dressed,” Adrian said after a long silence. “We’re expected at brunch.”

I blinked. “What brunch?”

“The Capodelli estate. You'll be civil, sit beside me and you will also wear something that lets them see the collar.”

I said nothing. My silence was sharper than any curse.

He smiled anyway. “You have an hour.

A few minutes later, the dress was delivered to my bed.

The dress was black silk and backless. Thigh-high slit. Adrian had it laid out on the bed before I returned to the room. The tag was still attached and custom-made. It is giving my size, my taste and my punishment.

I dressed without speaking.

The drive was short, through winding vineyard roads that smelled like summer rot and secrets. Adrian’s hand never left my lower back as we walked from the car to the mansion.

He didn’t lead me. He steered me. Subtle, constant pressure, like he was guiding a prized mare at auction.

Inside, chandeliers glittered above tables of crystal and blood oranges. Men in dark suits and women in dresses sharp as knives turned to stare.

And then I saw her, Chiara.

I didn’t know her, but I knew her. The kind of woman who smelled like power and cruelty and too many buried girls. She sipped champagne slowly, her dark red lips leaving perfect prints on the rim.

She walked by me once and let her hand brush mine as if by accident.

“The last woman he collared,” she murmured, “is buried in that vineyard.”

I froze.

She didn’t look back.

Adrian guided me to a table on the patio. Long white tablecloth, linen napkins and crystal glasses that clinked like tiny bells. The view behind us was endless, rolling green hills, twisted vines, and enough graves to swallow every secret ever whispered between mafia lovers.

When we sat down, I tried to make my legs still, not to imagine the collar tightening, but then Adrian slid his hand under the table.

I didn’t react at first. Not even when his fingers traced my thigh beneath the silk. But when he slipped between my legs and parted them, I caught my breath.

“Don’t,” I whispered.

He smiled faintly, not even looking at me. “Let them think you’re shy.”

His fingers moved slowly and intentionally.

“I know the truth.”

My body betrayed me; a gasp caught in my throat as he pressed harder, finding that place that had no dignity left to protect. I clenched my fists in my lap, desperate to stay still, but my hips moved without permission.

He never looked at me.

He just kept talking to Chiara and the Capodelli don like nothing was happening.

It wasn’t a pleasure. It wasn’t even about me. It was power, brutal and clinical. A message written in flesh and humiliation.

I snapped.

Slapped his hand hard away beneath the table.

The silence was instant.

Adrian slowly turned to me, his face unreadable. A beat passed, then another.

I stood up immediately.

“I need air.”

I didn’t wait for permission. I walked out and stormed through the French doors and onto the marble balcony.

The wind hit me like a slap. I yanked at the collar once, twice, but it wouldn’t budge.

Chiara.

Then I felt a hand clamp my arm. Chiara stood just behind me, face tight with meaning. Her tone was gentle, but her words were heavy.

“You think Adrian saved you? He destroyed your father. Ask him.” My breath froze. She said it quietly enough that no one else would hear.

My chest clenched like it had shattered. My voice came out hollow and unsteady.

“What?” He destroyed my father. Not once, but how many times? And why didn’t I know? I stared at Chiara. She leaned closer, her voice softer. Chiara’s smile was venomous. “Ask him what really happened to Giancarlo Moreni. Then decide if that collar’s a leash or a shroud.”

The words felt like a blade slicing open the dream I was living. I didn’t hear laughter, only the rush of air over the treetops, the distant chatter of men at the table, and the rustle of fabric.

My legs went weak and I didn’t know what to do, whether to run away or stay, fight or surrender.

All that was echoing in my head at that moment was Chiara’s voice. “Ask him what really happened to Giancarlo Moreni.”

I stepped away immediately; I touched the collar, the silver ring pressed into my skin and tears grew in my eyes.

The crowd was a painting behind me, blurred and distant. My pulse was the only thing I heard.

Did he destroy my father? Did I belong to him now? Was I playing a part I could never leave? I closed my eyes, and my lips cracked open. Everything I thought I wanted crashed down around me like a lit match to dry leaves and I didn't know what was left.

And for the first time, I realized…

I might have slept with the man who killed my father.