Chapter 6 My Only Gamble

The sun filtered in through velvet curtains, casting a golden hue across the bridal suite. Valencia blinked against the light, her eyes dry, her body sore-not from touch, but from tension. Every part of her ached like she had spent the entire night fighting ghosts.

She sat up slowly.

Silence greeted her. The kind of silence that follows a storm.

Her eyes shifted toward the leather armchair across the room.

Empty.

Luca was gone.

A strange breath of relief slipped past her lips. She didn't know what she'd expected-an argument, a demand, maybe even consummation-but not this. Not space. Not quiet.

She swung her legs over the bed, her bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. The white nightgown they'd laid out for her was still in place, untouched except for the creases where she'd curled into herself during the night.

There was a note on the bedside table.

"Meet me downstairs at ten. Dress well. -L"

She checked the clock.

9:12.

Valencia exhaled through her nose, then stood.

Whatever this was... it wasn't over. The wedding might have ended, but now came the part where she learned what kind of man she'd really married.

And what kind of woman she'd have to become to survive him.

The wardrobe was full of elegant dresses, none of which she'd chosen. Someone had already anticipated what she'd wear-sleek, simple, black. Like armor disguised as silk.

She dressed slowly, applying makeup with a practiced hand. Her hair was pulled into a low, neat bun. No emotion. No statement. Just control.

By the time she walked into the dining room, it was 9:59.

Luca was already there.

Seated at the head of a long glass table, coffee in hand, suit crisp as if he hadn't just survived a wedding.

He looked up the second she walked in.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, with a flick of his fingers, he gestured to the seat beside him.

Valencia sat, quiet but alert.

He poured her a cup of coffee himself. No words. No questions.

Just a single statement: "We leave in an hour."

She lifted her gaze. "Where?"

"To see your new home. The main estate."

"I thought this was the estate."

"This is one of many. That"-he took a slow sip of coffee-"is the only one that matters."

She nodded slowly. "Will my father be there?"

He raised a brow, almost amused. "You still care what he thinks?"

"I care what he's planning."

"Smart," Luca said. "But no. He won't be there. You and I need to talk alone."

Her stomach twisted.

Not from fear. From the weight of whatever was coming.

The drive was long.

Long enough for questions to start building in her chest like steam, pressing against her ribs. But Valencia didn't speak.

Luca didn't either.

Instead, he sat with his head leaned back slightly, fingers resting on his thigh, watching the trees blur past the tinted window. He looked more like a predator conserving energy than a man reflecting on his wedding night.

By the time the car rolled past the black gates of the Moretti main estate, Valencia finally turned her head.

And stopped breathing.

The mansion loomed like something out of a forgotten empire-five stories tall, with carved pillars, wide marble steps, and iron statues guarding the entrance.

But what caught her attention weren't the structures.

It was the guards.

Dozens of them.

Armed. Alert. Watching.

"This isn't a home," she whispered. "It's a fortress."

Luca glanced at her, unfazed. "You're not wrong."

She turned to him. "Why bring me here?"

"Because," he said, opening his door, "this is where you'll live now."

Inside, the place was eerily quiet. Grand chandeliers, white floors polished like mirrors, and halls wide enough to disappear in. Valencia kept her footsteps light, her eyes tracking everything.

They stopped outside a wide oak door. Luca turned the knob and gestured for her to go in first.

She did.

It was a private library-walls of books, a massive desk, and two chairs.

"Sit," he said.

She obeyed.

Luca leaned on the edge of the desk, arms crossed.

"I'm going to be clear," he said. "There are rules in this house. Non-negotiable. You'll follow them, or you'll face the consequences."

Her jaw tightened, but she said nothing.

"Rule one," he continued. "No sneaking out. No running. Ever again."

He waited.

Valencia finally responded. "Or what?"

His eyes darkened. "You don't want me to show you."

The silence that followed was razor sharp.

"Rule two," he said, voice calmer now. "You don't lie to me."

"I haven't," she replied quickly.

"Yet," he said. "And rule three-if you're ever in danger, you call me. Not the police. Not your father. Me."

She frowned. "Why would I-"

"Because I'll come. And I'll finish it."

His eyes bore into hers, and for a second, she believed him.

Every word.

"Why these rules?" she asked.

"Because I'm not just your husband, Valencia. I'm your shield. Your chain. And your sword."

Her heart thudded once, hard.

She stood up slowly, moving to face him. "And what am I to you?"

He stepped closer, close enough to feel his breath.

"You?" He tilted his head. "You're the only gamble I've ever taken."