Page 19 of The Merciless Don's Bride

“Alright, let’s hear it,” I prompt. “Might as well since everyone seems to have an opinion today.”

He shakes his head, keeping his mouth shut.

“What? No complaints. You don’t want to question my decision to force a woman into a marriage she clearly doesn’t want?”

“I would never question any of your decisions, boss.”

I start walking towards my room, “But you’re wondering why.”

He doesn’t reply but his silence signals agreement.

“She was made for this,” I tell him. “For me. I can’t explain how I know, but I just do. Cassandra Solis was always meant to be my wife.”

“How are you going to make her come to the same understanding, boss? She doesn’t seem willing in the slightest.”

“That’s easy,” I reply. “I’m going to charm her.”

Luca makes a short noise that may very well be a disbelieving snort.

“Rude, you don’t believe I’m capable of charming people?” I ask, annoyed.

“I believe you’re capable of anything, boss.”

“Exactly,” I murmur.

CHAPTER SIX

CASSIE

I wake up in the same dress I wore at my father’s funeral. Questions swimming in my mind. Not that I got that much sleep anyway. I spent the majority of the night tossing and turning, going over the events of the day. And then I thought some more about my dad’s death.

Nothing makes sense at the moment. Absolutely fucking nothing.

The sun shines through the blinds of the windows in the beautiful room fit for a queen. It’s nauseatingly perfect, my dream room when I was a teenager, except it’s a more mature. Which makes it all the more unsettling. It feels like a cage and not something to enjoy.

The last place I want to be is here.

This brand new day comes with some clarity though and new resolve. I’m not just going to sit down and take it when some mobster crashes my father’s funeral and demands that I go home with him. I’ve come to the decision that he’s certifiably insane and I need to get out of his hold as soon as possible.

I hear the door open before I see him. Heavy footsteps. Steady. Unhurried. Damien Luciano doesn’t knock. Of course he doesn’t.

I don’t turn around. I stay curled on the edge of the couch, arms wrapped tightly around my knees, facing the window trying to hide the scratch I made trying to break it earlier. But every nerve in my body sharpens. My skin prickles like it knows he’s here before my brain fully catches up.

A soft click breaks the silence as he sets the tray down on the table.

“I thought you might be hungry,” he says. His voice is low. Smooth. Measured.

“I’m not,” I reply without looking at him.

The silence stretches, and I feel his eyes crawling across the room.

I can’t see him, but I feel him.

There’s something about him, like I’ve met him before in a dream I can’t quite remember.

That face. That voice. That brutal kind of beauty you don’t forget.

And yet… my pulse reacts like it knows him.

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