There was no way a De Luca would ever marry a Russo. He would keep her as his mistress. Even when he found a wife worthy of the De Luca name, he would keep Milah in place, by his side, never allowing her to escape.
He waited for Milah to wrap a towel around her beautiful, curvy body before entering her room.
Damon closed the door and nodded at his guard to flick the lock into place. There was no escape.
Pocketing his cell phone, he moved toward the bed and waited for Milah to enter. The moment she did, wrapped in a towel, she froze, jerking to a stop.
He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her.
She stood still, her hands gripping the edge of the towel as if that alone could protect her.
Every single part of this room was covered in cameras, so he would have the joy of watching her whenever he wanted. There was no weapon. Nothing to protect her. Even when he sent food in, he made sure there were no knives. Nothing to tempt her to act irrationally.
He smiled. “Hello, Milah.”
“What do you want?” she asked.
“Is that any way to greet your master?”
“You’re not my master. You will never be my master.”
He chuckled. There would come a day when she would crawl across broken glass for him, and when that day arrived, he would fucking relish it. He would break this woman. So much spirit. So much passion. He couldn’t wait to unleash it and to finally have a taste of what he’d been waiting for. His cock stiffened at the thought.
Damon got to his feet and took a step toward her. She stayed perfectly still, tilting her head back and glaring at him.
That’s right, little cat, fight me. Your submission will be so much sweeter.
“Your father gave you to me.”
“I’m a person. I’m not a thing to be passed around like an object.”
He cupped her cheek, and she shoved his arm away.
Smiling, he gripped the back of her neck and hauled her up against him. She did have some skills, but she was no match for him. There was nothing she could do to fight him off. He was the one with complete power, ultimate control.
“You are mine, Milah. Your father gave you to me because he is nothing but a coward. He would rather sell his own daughter than lose his life.”
She tried to wriggle in his hold, but all it did was dislodge the towel bound at her breasts, bringing her scantily clad body closer to his.
There was no use in fighting.
With his spare hand, he gripped the shapely curve of her ass, holding her against him. He made her very much aware of his rock-hard cock.
What saved Milah right now was that her final submission would be so much sweeter than to break her by raping her.
He held her neck, forcing her to look up at him, and he stared down into her blue eyes that so reminded him of the ocean.
She was beautiful.
He’d heard rumors of men claiming her beauty was no match for her mother’s, but they were wrong. Damon had met her mother, and he’d never been attracted to her. Milah, though, she drove him wild.
She was the reason he set this plan in motion. To finally claim her for his own. Those full lips would look so good wrapped around his cock. He couldn’t wait to see her body shaking with her release as she begged for him to fuck her.
All of that would come soon enough.
He didn’t kiss her. Instead, he let her go and walked to the door, slapping his palm twice on the hard wood. The lock flicked open, and he stepped out without saying a word.
His guards moved out of his way as he locked the door and pressed his palm against it.
Milah would put up a fight. She was his captive, but she wouldn’t submit easily. No, he anticipated a fight.
He pulled away and forced himself to go to his study, where he poured himself a large glass of whiskey. The temptation to look at the cameras was strong, but he denied himself that very pleasure. His desire for her was too strong.
Damon needed to control himself. No woman had ever made him act like a fool or a schoolboy, begging for attention.
Milah was his now, and there was no way Russo could take her back.
Sipping at his whiskey, he stared at the sofa where his father had once sat. His mother and father’s deaths were the only times he’d mourned someone.
According to De Luca rumor, there was no love between father and son, but that had always been lies. He’d been close to his father.
Damon hadn’t killed him. Cancer had ravaged his father’s body, weakening him, breaking him, until finally death had claimed him. As per his father’s instructions, he didn’t release a tear. He wasn’t to cry. He was to take the De Luca name into greatness, and that didn’t allow for men to show weakness. Just strength.
Sipping at his whiskey, he took a seat opposite the sofa. They had spent many hours talking about how to bring down the Russos.
It was only a matter of time before Russo was on his knees with no way out of the hole he’d dug himself into.
After finishing off his drink, he put the empty glass on the coffee table and sat back. Resting his head on the back of the chair, he stared up at the ceiling, attempting to relax.
With Milah in his home, he didn’t think for a second he’d be getting much sleep. His men would guard her, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t attempt an escape.
That night, three years ago on her birthday, she’d looked so fucking regal. Like she was indeed a queen. Even then, he’d been plotting Russo’s demise.
She was a queen of a dying empire. The Russos would one day cease to exist.
He intended to wipe out the entire line, including all the bastard children Russo had fathered. From his sources, Milah had at least three brothers who were older than her, but there could have also been other children. No one knew for certain how many women Antonio had knocked up.
Did she know of her distant family?
He doubted it.
Running a hand down his face, he tried to clear his thoughts, but they kept on returning to Milah. The woman was already a thorn in his fucking side.