Page 43 of Hunted to the Altar
“Sleep,” I ordered her.
She glared at me.
The silence that followed was deafening, the air between us charged with unspoken words and unresolved tension. Finally, she closed her eyes, breaking the connection.
“You can’t keep me here forever,” she said, her voice steadier now. “One day, I’ll find a way out.”
I smirked, though the expression didn’t reach my eyes. “You can try. But you won’t succeed.”
As she rolled away, her shoulders squared and rounded in her sleep, I couldn’t help but admire her resilience. She was fire and steel, a woman who refused to break no matter how much pressure was applied.
And, God help me, I wanted her more than ever.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Nina
That morning,my body was still tangled in the soft, expensive sheets, and every muscle ached with the memory of Samuel. My lips still felt swollen, my skin hypersensitive, as if his touch had branded me. But the satisfaction I had felt in the moment now curdled into something dark and heavy.
Regret.
I rolled over, pulling the sheets with me as if I could wrap myself in them and block out the world—block out him. My gaze flicked to the empty side of the bed. He was gone, of course. Samuel never stayed, not really. Even when he was physically present, there was always a part of him that seemed untouchable, locked away.
A lump rose in my throat as I stared at the rumpled pillow where his head had been. What had I done? What kind of woman allowed herself to fall into bed with a man like him? Aman who killed without remorse, who saw people as pawns in his twisted game of power?
I pushed myself up, the cool air biting at my skin as the sheets fell away. My reflection in the ornate mirror across the room caught my attention, and I almost didn’t recognize myself. My hair was a tangled mess, my cheeks flushed, my eyes…my eyes were wide and raw, like I’d been cracked open and all my secrets had spilled out.
I clutched the sheets tighter around me, a feeble attempt to hold onto some semblance of control. The memories of last night played on a loop in my mind. The intensity in Samuel’s eyes, the way his touch made my body betray my mind, the way I had surrendered despite everything I knew about him. Despite everything I hated about him. I had crossed a line I could never uncross, and now I was trapped on the other side, tangled in his web.
A sharp knock at the door jolted me, and I yanked the sheets back around my body. “What?” I snapped, my voice harsher than intended.
The door cracked, and one of the soldiers peeked in, his gaze careful and neutral. “Mrs. Caputo, breakfast is ready downstairs.”
Mrs. Caputo. The title hit me like a punch to the stomach. I wasn’t just Nina anymore. I was his wife. And after last night, there would be no annulment, no way to undo the vows that now felt like a noose around my neck.
“I’ll come in a minute,” I said tightly, and the woman nodded before retreating. I exhaled shakily, letting my head fall into my hands. “What have I done?” I whispered to no one.
I had let my guard down. I had let Samuel get too close, and in doing so, I had chained myself to a man I could never escape. The way he touched me, the way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered. For a moment, I hadbelieved it. I had let myself believe the illusion that there was more to him than violence and control.
But it was just that—an illusion. Samuel Caputo wasn’t a man who loved. He was a man who possessed, who took what he wanted and never let go. And now, I was his possession, his trophy, his pawn. The part of me that still wanted to believe in redemption felt crushed under the weight of his dominance.
I dragged myself out of bed, the sheets pooling at my feet as I stood. The air was cool against my bare skin, a stark reminder of how vulnerable I had made myself. My legs felt unsteady as I moved toward the chair, picking up my simple silk robe. As I tied it around my waist, my reflection caught my eye again. The marks he had left on my body—faint bruises, scratches—were like a roadmap of the night we had shared. A night that had irrevocably changed everything.
I hated myself for the way my body reacted to the memories. The heat that flushed my cheeks, the way my pulse quickened at the thought of his hands on me. How could I feel this way about someone who had taken so much from me? Someone who had forced me into this life, into this marriage?
The knot in my stomach tightened as I turned away from the mirror. I couldn’t dwell on it. Not now. I needed to focus on what came next. On how I was going to survive this.
The small kitchen was opulent as if created for a King who needed room. Samuel sat at the head of a rounded table, dressed in a crisp black suit, every inch the mafia kingpin. His calm, predatory confidence only made me more self-conscious as I walked in, clad in the silk robe.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice smooth and low. His gaze swept over me, lingering just long enough to make my skin prickle. “Sleep well?”
I didn’t answer, instead sliding into a chair at the far end of the table. The food was already plated, but I barely glanced at it. My appetite had evaporated the moment I saw him.
“You’re quiet,” he remarked, sipping his coffee. “Not regretting anything, are you?”
His words made my stomach churn. I glanced up at him, forcing a neutral expression. “What would be the point? Regret won’t change anything.”
His lips curved into a smirk, but his eyes remained sharp, studying me like a puzzle he was determined to solve. “Wise answer.”
