Chapter 5 The Devil's Kiss

Serena's POV

The bed was too soft.

Everything about this place felt wrong. The pristine sheets. The white-gold furniture. The faint scent of polished wood and something darker - cologne, smoke, steel. Even the silence had weight, like the walls were holding their breath.

I hadn't unpacked. I wouldn't. Not yet. Not until I figured out what this place was.

A prison?

A stage?

A throne room waiting for blood?

I sat on the edge of the bed, still in my ruined wedding dress. The hem was scorched from the chandelier crash. I hadn't changed out of it on purpose.

Let him see the wreckage.

Let him know I remembered.

A knock sounded. Not timid. Not loud. Just... final.

I stood.

He didn't wait for my permission.

The door opened and Luca Moretti stepped into my bedroom like he owned the floorboards. Black shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, no tie, no jacket. The man didn't wear armor - he was armor.

My pulse jumped. I hated that it did.

He shut the door behind him.

I didn't move.

"You're late," I said.

He tilted his head. "I wasn't aware I was expected."

"You weren't."

He crossed the room, slow and controlled, like a predator in no hurry. "Then what's the problem?"

"The problem," I said, voice sharp, "is that this isn't your room."

"I don't believe in separate bedrooms."

"Too bad," I said, stepping back. "Because I do."

---

Luca's POV

She was angry.

Good.

She looked beautiful in fury - like a queen mid-coup. The torn hem of her dress exposed just enough thigh to see the outline of the holster. Still carrying the knife.

Even better.

But her hands didn't tremble. Her voice didn't crack.

She was still in control.

And that was the problem.

I stepped closer.

She stepped back.

"I'm not here to seduce you," I said.

"No?" she challenged. "Then what are you here for?"

I stopped inches from her. "To set the terms."

She crossed her arms. "Of our marriage?"

"Of our war."

---

Serena's POV

I didn't flinch when he moved closer, but my skin tightened, alert. He didn't touch me - not yet - but his nearness felt like a cage.

"I'm not your prisoner," I said.

"No," he said. "You're my wife."

"You make it sound worse."

"It is worse."

I stared at him, searching for the cracks. There had to be some - no man could be this composed without bleeding somewhere beneath it.

"You don't want a wife," I said.

He didn't deny it.

I took another step back, but he followed. Smooth. Silent.

"You want obedience," I said.

"No," he replied, voice soft.

"You want fear."

He shook his head. "Wrong again."

"Then what?" I snapped.

His gaze pinned me in place.

"I want you to stop pretending you hate this."

The air drained from the room.

---

Luca's POV

There it was.

The flinch.

Just a flicker in her expression, but I saw it. I knew the truth before she did.

She hated me, yes.

But part of her... part of her was curious.

Drawn.

We were two blades pressed tip to tip. Neither retreating. Both gleaming in the same moonlight.

She broke the stare first, turning away.

I stepped behind her, slowly, close enough to breathe against her neck.

"I saw your file, Serena," I murmured. "You broke your ballet instructor's nose when he touched you the wrong way. You stabbed a boy in the thigh at a party because he tried to kiss you. You've spent your whole life resisting cages."

"Is that supposed to impress me?" she asked, voice shaking now.

"No," I said.

"It's supposed to remind you I'm not them."

She turned slowly, mouth parted slightly.

"You think you're better?" she asked.

"No," I whispered. "I think I'm worse. But I never lie about it."

Then I kissed her.

---

Serena's POV

It wasn't a kiss.

It was a claim.

His hand locked around my jaw, tilting my face up - not rough, not gentle, just final - and then his mouth was on mine. No warmth. No tenderness.

Possession.

I stood still, refusing to respond.

Refusing to give him that.

But my fingers clenched the edge of the dresser behind me to stay upright.

My head spun. Not from desire.

From rage.

From heat.

From something that scared me more than both.

When he pulled back, his breath brushed my cheek.

"You'll learn to kneel," he said, low and sure, "when the Devil commands."

I slapped him.

Hard.

His head barely turned.

The silence that followed was louder than the gunshot at our wedding.

I stood there, breathing fast.

He stared at me like I'd just shown him a new kind of weather.

Then he smiled.

Not wide. Not triumphant.

But real.

"I wondered how long it would take," he murmured.

He turned and walked away, leaving the door open behind him.

---

Luca's POV

The slap still echoed as I descended the hallway.

She had fire. Uncontrolled. Dangerous.

Perfect.

I didn't need her to love me. I didn't even need her to like me.

But I needed her broken in exactly the right way.

Not shattered.

Refined.

Tempered like steel.

She was almost there.

---

Serena's POV

I didn't sleep.

I stood by the window for hours, staring out at the dark sea beyond the cliff. The Moretti estate loomed like a fortress, isolated and brutal.

I replayed the kiss over and over in my head.

Not because I wanted it.

But because I needed to understand it.

The weight of it. The power behind it. The calculation.

He didn't kiss me to seduce me. He kissed me to see what I'd do.

And I'd shown him.

That slap had consequences.

But I didn't regret it.

---

At sunrise, there was a note slid under my door.

One sentence, typed in black:

"Breakfast. Eight o'clock. Don't make me come get you." – L

I stared at it, heart pounding.

Then I picked up the blade from my nightstand, slid it into my holster again, and smiled.

Let the Devil wait.

---

I walked into the dining room twenty minutes late, fully dressed, eyes bright, lips calm.

Luca looked up from his coffee without a hint of surprise.

"You're late," he said.

I took my seat across from him, lifted my glass of orange juice, and said,

"Get used to it."