Page 5 of Scar

Juliana's eyes widen with shock, but she quickly masks her reaction with a practiced, respectful nod. “As you wish, Senora Gatti,” she murmurs before she carefully helps me out of the dress and gathers the fabric in her arms, carrying it away as if it were a wounded animal.

Left alone in the room that is meant to be mine but feels more like a gilded cage, I move to the window that offers a picturesque view of the sprawling Gatti estate. The grounds are immaculately kept, with gardens that bloom in riotous color and fountains that dance in the sunlight. It's beautiful, suffocatingly so.

I need air. Fresh air, not this perfumed prison breeze.

In a moment of defiance, I decide to make my way outside. I change quickly into one of the simpler outfits Juliana had shown me — a soft cotton dress that doesn’t feel like a costume. Slipping out of the room is surprisingly easy; perhaps they don’t think I’m desperate enough to run yet, or maybe Lucky's report of my fiery spirit hasn't yet made it to security’s ears.

The hallways are quiet as I make my descent through the mansion, taking care not to draw attention. My heart pounds with every step towards freedom, fleeting though it may be. Once outside, I breathe deeply, filling my lungs with the crisp evening air that tastes like sweet escape.

I wander aimlessly through the gardens, following paths lined with roses and jasmine that remind me bitterly of home, another place I might never see again if I can't find a way out of this madness.

As twilight blankets the sky with shades of purple and gold, my solitude is interrupted by footsteps behind me. Scar strides towards me, his expensive suit hugging his toned frame. I feel my muscles tense as he stops a few feet away, hands buried in the pockets of his tailored trousers. His words cut through the silence like a blade.

“We need to lay down some rules, Allegra.”

My jaw tightens and I stiffen as I prepare for yet another confrontation with this man who has become my husband. “More of your demands?”

He smirks, but there is no humor in it. “You may not like it, but you are now my wife. And running away won't solve anything.”

I raise an eyebrow and cross my arms defensively. “Do I look like I'm running?” My eyes flick down to my delicate dress, accentuating the absurdity of his accusation.

A hint of amusement crosses Scar's face before it transforms into a hard mask once again. “Let me make this easy for you.”

The breeze picks up, carrying echoes of the tension between us with it. It feels like a warning, but I refuse to be intimidated. “By all means...”

“Look at this place,” Scar continues softly, gesturing at the opulence surrounding us. “It’s a prison made of gold and velvet.” His gaze meets mine squarely, intense and piercing. “It’s your prison. It will be your final resting place.” I bite down on my lip but say nothing. “Make no mistake, if you try to run, I will find you and I will drag you back here by the hair. Then I will make what is left of your parents’ lives a living hell on earth to punish you.”

He looks up at the darkening sky with a satisfied smile playing on his lips. Then he winks at me, as if we are in on some inside joke together. The nerve of this man!

“I hope my stance is clear now, Allegra.”

“Painfully so,” I grit out between clenched teeth.

CHAPTER 6 – SCAR

I walk through the dimly lit club, the pounding bass of the music reverberating in my chest, drowning out any thoughts of the outside world. My club, my pride and joy, is a haven for the elite. A place where deals are made, and power and influence are on display.

The opulent details of the club are impossible to ignore; from the plush velvet couches to the gleaming mahogany bars, every aspect exudes sophistication and luxury. And it's all by design. This is not your average strip joint - no sleazy corners or sticky floors here. Only the best for my clients.

But let's not forget about the women. Ah, the endless stream of beautiful, captivating women who grace my club every night. Performers with a flair for drama, socialites dripping in designer labels, and trust fund babies with more money than sense - they come from all walks of life to bask in the allure of this place.

What sets my club apart is the variety. It's like a never-ending carousel of elegance and charm, offering me so many options that sometimes it's overwhelming. But when there are so many stunning women vying for my attention, who am I to resist? It's not uncommon for me to leave with two girls by my side at the end of a wild evening.

The smell of sweat and alcohol hits me as I continue through the throng of bodies. My brother Brando is already sitting at the bar, nursing a drink with a scowl on his face. Helooks up as I approach, and I can see the disappointment in his eyes.

“Shouldn't you be at home with wifey?” he asks, taking another sip of his scotch.

I take a seat next to him and signal for the bartender to bring me a drink. The noise from the stage is deafening, but I try to focus on my brother.

“What's wrong with you?” I ask, gesturing to his half-empty glass. I turn my stool towards the stage, where four scantily clad women are performing their routines.

He shakes his head like I wouldn’t understand and takes another hearty gulp of his liquid.

“Really, Scar? You got married two days ago and tonight you're at the club?” he says, giving me a disapproving look.

Brando’s a bitter man when he’s on his way to being drunk. His denim eyes look at me with a measure of distaste.

“You know why I married her. A scrap of paper doesn’t make her my lover.”

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