Chapter 18: I’ll Pay You Back

“I’ll pay you back,” she said quickly. “Every penny. I promise. I’ll work ten jobs if I have to.”

He arched a brow.

“I mean it.”

“Oh, I know you do. You will pay me back.”

His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth. When he spoke again, his voice was a blade.

“I intend to collect,” he said softly. “I intend to collect your very soul, Bambola.”

“I own your breathing,” he continued. “Your living. I own your air, your body. I own your existence.”

“Because as of this moment,” he finished, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for her, “pizza girl… you belong to the devil.”

“The devil?”

Luca’s lips twitched, the barest ghost of a smirk forming. He had been waiting for this moment since she had stumbled into his office with that ridiculous pizza box in her hands, eyes bright and naive, unaware of the chaos swirling around her.

“Yes, Bambola,” he said finally. “I am the devil.”

Vee’s head tilted, brow furrowing. “What are you saying? The devil is… Luciano Genovese. I met him the other day. He—”

She trailed off, staring at him. The smug smile on his face didn’t falter, and that infuriated her more than anything.

“You are Marco,” she blurted. “You helped me. You have been helping me… You said you were Marco!”

He simply waited, letting her unravel a little more, letting her desperation paint the room with tension.

Her hands shook, fingers clenching into fists. Then, finally, her eyes found his—dark, unyielding, and merciless—and everything clicked. Rage, betrayal, disbelief, and fear collided, swirling in her chest. “You lied to me,” she whispered.

“It is what the devil does,” he said softly. “That’s the least of my sins, honey.”

Vee’s vision blurred for a moment with anger. Anger at him, at herself, at the world that had placed her in this hell. He had played her, let them escape, orchestrated every move—and she had walked willingly into it, trusting him.

She stepped toward him, every nerve screaming. Every ounce of fear coiled and snapped into rage. She drew her hand back, and punched him square in the face.

Luca’s head jerked, and yet he looked impressed. He pressed a hand to his jaw.

“You son of a bitch!” Her chest heaved, a storm of anger and disbelief. She could not believe she had ever thought him a good man. Could not believe she had let herself feel—dare she admit it—anything resembling a crush, a flicker of attraction, even a dangerous, fleeting swoon. She had been played, manipulated.

Luca’s eyes glimmered as he reached for her hand. Her fingers—the very ones that had punched him—quivered under his touch. She jerked back instinctively, but he was faster, stronger, and he pulled her back with a grip that was firm. Her body tensed against him, every muscle screaming to flee, yet trapped in the proximity of his presence.

He inspected each finger carefully, stretching them one after another with a gentle precision that contrasted violently with the raw dominance in his gaze. “Do you know what makes the dance between the prey and the predator even more fulfilling?” he murmured.

Vee didn’t dignify the question with an answer. She didn’t want to engage in this game.

In a single, fluid motion, he spun her into his chest. And before she could react, he had her bent over his desk, her face pressed against the cool surface, her pulse hammering.

Vee struggled, twisting slightly, testing her strength against his, and he only smiled. That small, predatory curl of lips that spoke of control and challenge alike.

“When the prey fights back,” he whispered, leaning close, his chest brushing against her back. His hands slid along the curve of her spine, traveling to her bare ass. He caressed her lightly at first, teasing, testing, and then his palm came down hard on her cheek. The sharp sting made her gasp.

“Bambola,” he murmured, his lips brushing near her ear. “Do you feel it? That fighting me only makes the victory sweeter for me?”

“What are you going to do to me?” she whispered.

“Struggle some more, Bambola,” Luca said. “The more you struggle, the more you fight, the more I get from my fucking money.”

His palm came down on her again. A punishment measured to make a point, not to end the conversation.

“When the prey fights,” he continued, “it tastes even more delicious.”

Her breath tore out of her. “It?” Vee snapped, twisting her head to glare at him despite the way he held her pinned. “I’m an it now?”

“The moment you walked into those cuffs willingly,” Luca said, “standing under those lights, letting perverts imagine ownership, yes.” He leaned closer, his shadow swallowing her. “You became it. You became the prey.”

“I cannot believe I thought there was good in you,” she said. “There is nothing but darkness.”

“I never fought who I am,” Luca said finally. “I never pretended I was clean. People who lie to themselves fall faster.” His hand moved again, slower, fingers skimming the inside of her thighs without quite touching, a deliberate denial that made the contact heavier than if he had claimed it. “I embraced the dark. I shaped it. I mastered it.”

His palm came down again on her ass, harder, final.

“You,” he continued, “walked into this madness calling it sacrifice. That’s the lie. You call it saving your sister,” he said. “but you want the fire to consume you.”

“You wanted the darkness all to yourself,” Luca finished softly. “And now you have it.”

Vee struggled harder against him, fury lending her strength she did not know she still had. Her wrists burned, her muscles screamed, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of stillness. Rage tasted metallic at the back of her tongue. “Get the fuck off me, you son of a bitch!”

Luca released her instantly, stepping back. The problem was not her resistance. The problem was his body betraying him.

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