Chapter 2 Sold to the Devil

Legs like lead, breath stuttering to short, uneven bursts as the contract lay in trembling fingers.

"Your father sold you."

The words ricocheted in her head, louder than the clanging echo as the prison gates crashed shut behind her.

Stunned, her lips separated as a shaky breath slipped loose. "This ... this has to be a mistake."

The man before her - the scarred face, the dark calculating eyes - tilted his head slightly, amusement flashing in his gaze. "There is no mistake, señora. Now you are the property of Rafael DeLuca."

Her property?

Another wave of nausea twisted in her belly.

This couldn't be happening.

Her father was ruthless, yes. A cold businessman. But selling her? Delivering her to a mafia boss like a cow?

She shook her head, backing away. "I won't do this. I won't-"

The man raised a hand, and two armed guards rushed her, grabbing her by the arms.

Valeria fought, panic bursting inside her. "Let me go!"

No one listened.

The scarred man - Matteo, she had heard one of the guards call him - sighed as if it were all a tiresome bother. "Señor DeLuca does not like disobedience."

He nodded once, and the guards pulled her toward the black car.

"Wait!" they shouted, their feet slipping on the gravel. "I won't sign it! You can't force me to-"

"Your father already signed it in for you," Matteo cut in smoothly. "Your fate was already determined long before you stepped out of your cell."

Her blood ran cold.

That was it. The final betrayal.

She had clung to some stupid, pathetic hope that perhaps-perhaps-her father had recognized the error of his ways. That he would set it all right.

But no.

He hadn't just discarded her. He had sold her to Mexico's most dangerous man.

Before she could scream, she was pushed into the backseat of the car, the door slamming behind her.

Dark-tinted windows. Soft leather seats. The faintest whiff of something expensive - cologne and cigar smoke.

She didn't have a moment to process before the engine roared to life and the car lurched.

Her heart pounded wildly.

"Where are you taking me?"

Matteo looked at her through the rearview mirror. "To your new home, naturally."

Home.

She pushed against the door, every pore of her body demanding to be let out.

But where would she go? She had nothing. No dough, no pals, no juice.

All that remained was the sadistic man who waited for her at the end of this road.

Rafael DeLuca.

The Arrival at the Estate

It felt like hours driving through, where the city was swallowed up by winding roads and darkened trees.

When the car finally came to a stop, Valeria's heart raced.

Before her was not a mansion - a mansion - but a fortress.

High iron gates, guarded by men with rifles strapped to their chests. The walls had security cameras, and beyond them, the estate stretched into the distance, all golden lights.

A palace that is really a prison.

As the gates began to part, she could feel it: the weight of power.

Whoever lived here controlled more than a mafia empire. He owned everything. Everyone.

The car halted, and the door swung open. Matteo's voice was controlled but stern. "Time to meet your husband."

Valeria hesitated.

Her body screamed to run. But where?

She took a deep breath and stepped out, her legs wobbly.

And as soon as she did, the mansion doors opened.

And then-he stepped out.

Rafael DeLuca.

Of course she had seen pictures of him before. All the newspapers in Mexico had written him up. The invincible King of the Underworld.

But nothing could prepare her for the real McCoy.

Tall. Powerful. Dangerous.

Clad in a sharp black suit, he walked down the steps as though the world belonged to him. His hair was sleek and black as an oil slick, his jaw hard as a knife blade, and his unsettling emerald-green eyes drilled into her like a predator studying prey.

A slow, lethal smile creased his lips.

"Oh," he murmured, voice as low as sin. "My bride has arrived."

Valeria's blood ran cold.

The First Encounter

Rafael DeLuca did not run to her. He didn't demand submission.

He simply watched.

Stood still and watched her. Like they were seeing if she was going to snap or stand up.

Valeria refused to break.

She lifted her chin and made sure her voice didn't waver. "I didn't agree to this."

Rafael's smile didn't falter. "I didn't come here to ask your permission."

Something dark flickered in his eyes, and she had the icy realization that this man had never in his life heard the word no.

Her hands balled into fists. "I'm not something you can buy, I'm not a possession."

Rafael moved closer to me, as if his presence could suffocate me. "And yet, here you are."

Valeria stepped back - dumb move.

His smirk deepened. "Are you afraid, Valeria?"

Fear?

She was terrified. But she didn't let him see it.

She held his gaze, steel in her spine. "I hate you."

Rafael laughed-a low, girthy sound sending tingles across her spine.

"Good," he murmured. "Despise me all you want, querida. But remember one thing-"

His hand rose, skimming one finger along her jawline. As feather-light as it gets, but the heft of a thousand unsaid threats.

"You belong to me now."

A tremor shot through her.

No.

Absolutely not, she wasn't going to be nobody's pawn anymore.

But as she looked into the eyes of the devil himself, she knew - this was a different kind of prison. One she might never escape.

And worse?

There was part of her that still wasn't sure she wanted to.

How will Rafael treat his new bride?