Chapter 3 The Rules and Game

His voice still lingered in the hallway, curling around me like smoke.

"Mine."

Lucien didn't wait for my reply. He turned and descended the grand staircase like he hadn't just branded me with a single word.

I stood there for a breath.

Then two.

The ruby necklace burned against my throat-too tight, too heavy. It wasn't jewelry. It was a leash dressed as luxury.

I followed him anyway.

The black Maserati waited out front, its engine purring like a predator ready to run. A driver opened the door for me with a slight bow, but I didn't move.

Lucien glanced back.

"Ava."

It wasn't a command.

It was a warning.

I got in.

The leather interior smelled like power and danger. Lucien sat beside me, calm as still water, one arm resting along the seat like he owned the world-and maybe he did.

I kept my hands in my lap.

He didn't speak for a long time.

Then: "Tonight is important."

"To you," I said.

Lucien's mouth curved faintly. "To us."

"There is no us."

"You're wearing my ring. My necklace. You sleep in my house. Eat my food."

"None of that is by choice."

Lucien turned to face me fully. His gaze locked with mine.

"You're right," he said softly. "But survival rarely is."

The event was held in a Renaissance-era palazzo in the heart of Florence.

Guards flanked the entrance. Paparazzi hovered like vultures outside the gates. Guests arrived in Rolls-Royces, draped in couture and dripping diamonds.

But when Lucien stepped out, the world seemed to hold its breath.

I followed him into the ballroom beneath chandeliers the size of carriages, walking beside-not behind-him. Every eye tracked us.

Men nodded.

Women stared.

A few whispered my name.

Ava D'Amore.

The daughter of a disgraced mafia don. Now wearing the devil's ring.

Lucien leaned in, murmuring against my ear, "Smile, cara mia. Let them see what I own."

I smiled-but not for him.

For the game.

Let them think I was broken.

Let them underestimate me.

I would burn every one of them to the ground.

He introduced me as his fiancée.

They believed it.

Of course they did.

Lucien Moretti didn't lie.

He simply turned truths into weapons.

At the edge of the room, I saw them-men who looked like wolves in tuxedos. Lucien's allies. Rivals. Enemies pretending to toast champagne while plotting his downfall.

One of them approached us.

Tall. Blond. Ice in his smile.

"Lucien," the man drawled. "You've upgraded your taste."

Lucien didn't blink. "Ava, this is Viktor Barinov. Russian syndicate. Imports, arms, and cheap vodka."

Viktor chuckled. "And she is...?"

"Mine," Lucien said.

That one word again. Like a curse. Like a claim.

Viktor's eyes swept over me, slow and assessing. "She's beautiful. But young. Dangerous to keep something so tempting so close."

Lucien's tone never shifted.

"I like dangerous."

The night wore on in glitter and venom.

I watched Lucien work the room-every word calculated, every glance intentional. He didn't speak often, but when he did, people listened.

Feared him.

Respected him.

But there was something else in their eyes when they looked at me.

Pity.

Or maybe hunger.

I wasn't sure which I hated more.

Later, in a dim hallway outside the ballroom, I slipped away for air. The walls were covered in tapestries older than America, but I felt no history here-only silence. Suffocation.

I didn't hear him behind me.

But I knew it wasn't Lucien.

"You shouldn't be alone," came Viktor's voice.

I turned.

He leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets. The wolf without the smile now.

"Lucien might own the building," he said, "but that doesn't mean you're safe."

I straightened. "Is that a threat?"

He smirked. "A warning."

"I don't need warnings. I need exits."

Viktor stepped closer. "Careful, Ava. The devil doesn't like disobedience."

His hand brushed my arm.

And then-

Lucien was there.

I didn't see him arrive.

Didn't hear his footsteps.

He grabbed Viktor by the collar and slammed him into the wall so hard the tapestries trembled.

Viktor choked out a laugh. "Protective, aren't we?"

Lucien's voice was lethal calm. "Touch her again, and I'll bury your hands in separate countries."

Viktor's smirk cracked.

Lucien released him-shoved him back-and turned to me.

His eyes were thunder.

"You don't wander off."

"I needed air."

"You need permission."

"No," I snapped. "What I need is not to be groped like some prize cow!"

Lucien stared at me, breathing hard.

Then he turned, walked away, and said, "Get in the car."

I didn't move.

"Now."

We didn't speak on the drive back.

The silence was a loaded gun between us.

When we got home, I ripped the necklace off the second we stepped inside. Threw it at his chest.

"You don't get to parade me like some whore and then act like my savior."

Lucien caught the necklace midair.

Held it.

Then tossed it to the floor.

"I told you the rules."

"Screw your rules!"

He moved.

Fast.

In a flash, I was pinned against the wall, his hand braced beside my head, breath ghosting across my face.

His voice was low, controlled, brutal.

"I warned you," he said. "This world eats weakness. I gave you armor. You threw it away."

"I'm not weak."

"No," he said. "You're something worse. You're reckless."

I shoved him.

He didn't move.

He just looked at me like he could see every thought I hadn't said.

"You're angry," he said. "But not because Viktor touched you."

"Don't tell me how I feel."

"You're angry," he said again, quieter now, "because part of you liked that I stopped him."

I slapped him.

Again.

He caught my wrist this time.

Didn't let go.

The silence between us cracked wide open.

Lucien leaned in.

His mouth near mine.

But he didn't kiss me.

He whispered, "Tell me you don't want me."

I should have.

I should have screamed it.

But the words stuck in my throat, frozen by the heat in his eyes.

By the truth I didn't want to say.

He released me.

Turned away.

And this time, he was the one who walked out.

I stayed in the hallway long after he left.

Staring at the ruby necklace on the floor.

It still sparkled.

Still looked beautiful.

But I saw it now for what it was.

Not a gift.

A noose.