Chapter 2 The Devil's Cage.

Aria: POV

The SUV rocked gently beneath me, but something about the stillness felt wrong. Exhaustion struck like a drug, my limbs went heavy; my vision blurred and before I could ask where we were going, darkness swallowed me whole.

When I woke, the first things I noticed were the scent of salt and the faint metallic sting of copper on my tongue.

Pain pulsed behind my eyes, hot and drilling, as if something sharp had been lodged into my skull. I tried to sit up, but the sudden yank on my arms stopped me short. Cold steel bit into my skin.

My wrists were cuffed in thick leather restraints, fastened securely to the headboard of a bed I didn’t recognize. The sheets beneath me were black silk, cool, smooth, and disturbingly sensual.

They contrasted too much with the violence implied by my restraints, and somehow that made the situation more terrifying. The room wasn’t a dungeon.

It was far too elegant for that. Candlelight flickered from bronze sconces mounted on the walls, casting a soft, golden glow over polished wood floors and floor-length sheer curtains that swayed gently in the sea breeze.

Somewhere nearby, waves pounded against cliffs, and the air smelled of salt, lemon trees, and something darker—masculine, dominant, and expensive, like smoke-laced cologne and warm spice. The scent slithered into my lungs and anchored itself there, clinging like possession.

Panic surged in my chest. I yanked hard against the cuffs again, the metal links clinking uselessly as my breathing grew ragged. My throat ached as I fought the building's scream.

I was just about to let it loose when a voice, low and quiet, spoke from the shadows. “Easy, Aria.” I froze. The air thickened instantly, my panic morphing into something sharper, more alert.

He stepped forward, unhurried, completely in control. The shadows peeled back to reveal a tall figure dressed in a charcoal button-down shirt rolled at the sleeves. The fabric stretched tight across a broad, muscled chest, every movement slow and economical like that of a predator stalking prey it had already claimed.

Tattoos and scars covered the exposed skin of his forearms, old and deep, the kind earned through violence, not accidents. His hair was dark and controlled, and his eyes, when they found mine, made my heart stop altogether.

Enzo Moretti.

The name alone had been enough to make hardened men flinch. Don of the Moretti family. The Black Wolf of Naples. My father’s most feared rival. And now, somehow, the man who had me chained to his bed.

“Where the fuck am I?” My voice cracked, barely more than a croak. He didn’t answer at first. Instead, he walked over to a side table, poured himself a glass of something amber from a decanter, and took a slow sip, all while keeping his gaze on me as if he were measuring how far I’d break before I begged.

“You’re here because I wanted you,” he said finally, voice calm, with just enough steel beneath it to remind me who held the leash. “And because Luca gave you to me.”

I blinked at him. “What?” The word fell out of me in disbelief. Surely I’d misheard. Surely he was lying. Luca was arrogant, disgusting and possessive, but not to this level.

Enzo tilted his head slightly, studying me the way one might observe a painting, curious, clinical, almost fascinated. “Luca traded you for territory. He sold you, Aria. You were the fucking payment.”

A bitter laugh crawled out of my throat, sharp and broken. “No. That’s not me. He wouldn’t dare to try that.”

Immediately, the memory came rushing in like ice water. Luca smirked as I was dragged away. His glass was raised. That faint, satisfied glint in his eyes. He had known. And he had smiled. My blood boiled under my skin, and I trembled from the inside out.

“I’ll kill him,” I whispered.

Enzo’s mouth curved upward, but it wasn’t a smile. “Good. But not yet. You’ll live long enough for me to enjoy what’s mine.” He crossed the room with lethal grace, the way wolves moved before striking, slow and certain.

He stopped at the edge of the bed, towering over me. His gaze moved over my body with unhidden hunger, and when our eyes met, I felt it. That deep, terrifying certainty. He would devour me, not just my body, but every inch of my defiance, every scrap of control I had left.

I forced my chin up, even though my heart thundered in my chest. “I don’t belong to you.”

His eyes darkened with satisfaction. “Aria, you belong to me now.” Then, slowly, with deliberate control, he reached forward and untied the silk robe wrapped around me. I hadn’t even realized I was wearing it.

The gown from the gala was gone. I was left in lace, barely concealed, exposed and vulnerable. I sucked in a breath as the robe slipped off my shoulders.

He just seductively gazed at my succulent lips down to my breasts and nipples, but he didn’t touch me and that somehow felt worse. I was no longer a daughter of the De Luca empire. No longer a pawn in my father’s game. I was a possession on display, inspected and judged.

“I could take you right now,” he said, his voice quiet, cruel, almost conversational. “No one would stop me. Not your father or Luca, because you’re mine now, Aria. Mine to ruin.”

I glared at him. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you? To break me?” He leaned down, the scent of him crashing into my lungs like sin wrapped in silk. His breath grazed my lips, and my body betrayed me, reacting to the heat in his stare even as I hated him.

“I don’t want to break you,” he murmured. “I want you to choose to bend and beg.” I clenched my teeth.

“Then you’ll wait forever.” He stared at me for a long, heavy second. Then, without another word, he stood and walked out of the room, leaving me breathless, furious, and far too aware of the ache curling between my thighs.

I didn’t and couldn’t sleep that night. I lay there for hours, every creak of the house making me flinch. My body ached and my wrists burned from the restraints. But what kept me awake was not fear. It was something far more dangerous: curiosity. The way Enzo had looked at me. Like I was more than a pawn. Like I was his.

When he returned, morning light spilled through the windows behind him. He was carrying a silver tray with coffee, a slice of orange and warm bread.

Enzo set it on the table beside me and sat down in the same chair, like this was some fucked-up version of breakfast in bed.

“Eat,” he said. I stared at the tray. “I’m not your pet.”

His lips twitched. “Then starve.” I ignored the food. “Why me?” I asked, voice tight. Immediately, his expression changed. “Because your father killed my brother,” he said with a cold voice.

“Two years ago, Lorenzo was shot in the back of the head after a failed deal. Your father signed off on it.” I swallowed hard. “So this is revenge?” He nodded once. “But not the kind you understand yet.”

He pulled a remote from his pocket and pressed a button. One of the cuffs released with a soft click. “Get dressed. We have a dinner guest.” I rubbed my sore wrist, staring at him.

“For what?” “A capo from Palermo. You’ll sit beside me, obey, smile and say nothing unless I say otherwise.”

“And if I don’t?” His gaze locked on mine. “Then I’ll remind you why you should.”

The closet was filled with my size of handpicked silk and lace, colors designed to seduce. I chose the least humiliating option, a navy-blue dress that hugged every curve and left very little to the imagination.

I wore no bra and no panties. That wasn’t an oversight, but it was a message. When I entered the dining room, Enzo looked up from a leather folder and smirked like he’d just won a war. “Beautiful,” he said.

“Like sin waiting to happen.” I said nothing, but my cheeks betrayed me, warming despite myself.

Dinner was hell dressed in velvet and polished glass. The Palermo capo was slimy and lecherous, his eyes crawling over me with a hunger that made my skin crawl.

Enzo said nothing, but his hand never left my thigh, a constant reminder of who I belonged to. When the capo brushed his fingers over mine as he reached for a glass, I didn’t think; instead, I acted. I grabbed the crystal goblet and shattered it against the table. The room froze, glass flew and blood dripped.

Enzo was up in an instant, dragging me from the room with fury simmering off his skin. He shoved me against the hallway wall.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” “Protecting myself,” I snarled. His jaw clenched.

“You don’t need to protect yourself. I do.” I stared him down, breath heaving. “Then fucking act like it.” Something snapped.

His mouth crashed into mine, savage and demanding, while crushing my nipples like they were at war. Immediately, I kissed him back with equal violence. Our teeth and tongues were on fire. It wasn’t gentle and kind; it was war.

When he finally pulled away, both of us were breathing hard. His eyes searched mine. “You’re not what I expected,” he said quietly. “Neither are you,” I replied.

That night, he didn’t cuff me. And for the first time since I woke up in this gilded cage, I touched my lips and realized they still burned from him and not from fear, but from desire and I can't wait for him to unleash what he is cooking next for me.

Just then, the intercom crackled to life above me, and Enzo’s voice came through, smooth, dark, and commanding.

“Downstairs. Now.” My heart lurched in my chest, and I couldn’t tell if it was fear that made it jump… or something far more dangerously exciting.