Page 55 of Hunted to the Altar
Ignoring him never worked, but the defiant part of me still itched to try. My fists clenched at my sides before I let out a breath and moved toward the closet. The selection of dresses was a reminder of my captivity—expensive, chosen by him, meant to make me look like I belonged at his side. A silent claim wrapped in silk and lace.
I picked a dark red gown, something elegant but easy to move in. If this dinner was anything like I imagined, I would need the freedom. By the time I emerged from the room, Samuel was waiting, his sharp blue eyes scanning me with aterritorial intent that made my stomach tighten.
"Perfect," he murmured, offering his arm. "Let’s go."
The car ride was silent, but tension crackled in the air between us. I could feel his gaze lingering on me, the weight of his attention suffocating yet intoxicating. When we arrived at the restaurant, it was nothing short of opulent—marble floors, chandeliers dripping with gold, and a hushed atmosphere that told me only the elite dined here.
Samuel’s hand settled on the small of my back as he guided me inside. "Eyes on me, Nina," he murmured, his voice low enough that only I could hear. "Not them."
Them. I followed his gaze and saw the way the other patrons turned, some nodding in recognition, others watching with thinly veiled curiosity. Mafia. Powerful men who controlled entire empires, and the women beside them who knew better than to question their place.
Samuel pulled out my chair, his fingers brushing against my bare shoulder as I sat. A shiver ran down my spine, a mix of anticipation and something darker, something more dangerous.
The waiter appeared instantly, and Samuel ordered without glancing at the menu. When the man turned to me, I hesitated. Samuel’s eyes flicked to mine, an unspoken command lingering in their depths.
"The same," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
"Good girl," he murmured, satisfaction threading his tone.
As the wine was poured, he leaned back in his chair, watching me. "You’re tense."
"You dragged me out to dinner with criminals. Forgive me if I don’t feel relaxed."
He smirked, swirling his wine before taking a slow sip. "You think this is dangerous? This is nothing, sweetheart. This is where you learn."
"Learn what?" I challenged, lifting my chin.
"Who you belong to."
I stiffened. "I don’t belong to anyone."
His smirk vanished, replaced by something darker. "You do. And I won’t let anyone forget it." Before I could react, Samuel stood abruptly and extended his hand toward me. "Dance with me."
I blinked. "Samuel, no one is dancing."
His smirk deepened, his grip tightening slightly around my wrist as he pulled me to my feet. "Who’s going to stop me?"
Heat curled in my stomach as he led me onto the polished marble floor, where the dim lighting cast dramatic shadows. The restaurant hushed, all eyes turning to us, but Samuel didn’t care. He held me possessively, one hand splayed against the small of my back while the other captured mine, lifting it to his chest. The warmth of his palm seared into my skin.
"I don’t know how to waltz," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.
"You don’t have to," he murmured back, his lips dangerously close to my ear. "Just follow me."
The music swelled, and then we were moving. His steps were confident, each motion precise yet fluid. I had no choice but to match his rhythm, my body pressed against his as he guided me effortlessly across the floor. The world around us faded, the restaurant, the onlookers—none of it mattered. It was just him, just the intoxicating scent of his cologne, the steady beat of his heart beneath my fingertips.
His grip on my waist tightened as he spun me, our bodies brushing, igniting something dark and undeniable between us. "You see, sweetheart? You fit here with me. Just like this."
A shudder ran through me, and I hated how much I liked the way his voice wrapped around me, how it claimed me in ways words never could. "This isn’t real, Samuel. This is just another one of your games."
His hold on me stilled for half a second before he pulled meeven closer, his lips ghosting over the shell of my ear. "Then why do you feel it, too?"
Before I could answer, a sharp voice sliced through the tension.
"Samuel."
Matteo, Samuel’s snitch, stood just at the edge of the dance floor, his eyes locked on us, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. The moment shattered. My breath caught, and Samuel’s grip on me turned rigid, his entire body coiling with barely restrained fury.
"Enjoying yourself?" Matteo mused, tilting his head. "I almost feel bad interrupting. Almost."
