"Where are you?"
"Luca Vitali's estate. I think life is finally smiling at me, Sophia. I'm closer to the target than I've ever been."
"What? What the hell are you doing there?"
"I'll explain everything later. I have to go—I just remembered something important."
"Elena? What are you talking about—"
She cut the line before Sophia could finish. She tucked the device back into its hiding spot and turned her attention to the massive wardrobe. It was packed with designer dresses, but as she scanned the floor, her eyes narrowed. Not a single pair of shoes.
"Idiot," she muttered to the empty room. "Prepared the gowns and forgot the footwear. Guess I'm walking barefoot."
She slipped out of the room, her bare feet silent against the cold floor. As she expected, the hallways were eerily quiet. The few servants she encountered were sparse and kept their heads down, none of them daring to breathe a word or bar her path.
"He's upstairs."
The voice came from behind, sharp and unexpected. She spun around to find Enzo standing there. They hadn't officially crossed paths yet, but he carried himself with a polished, lethal politeness that set her on edge.
"You're looking for Luca, right?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"First door on the right. You'll find him in his office."
She tilted her head, a mocking glint in her eye. "You aren't worried I'm just going to bolt out the front door?"
Enzo offered a thin, enigmatic smile. "And what would be the problem with that?"
"No problem at all?" she challenged, her voice dripping with skepticism.
"Not a single one," Enzo replied, a treacherous glint in his eyes. "In fact, I'd thoroughly enjoy mocking Luca if you actually pulled it off."
A slow smirk spread across Elena's face. "I think you and I are going to get along just fine."
"It certainly seems that way. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll leave you to have a word with your husband."
As she padded away, Enzo watched her retreat, his brow furrowing in genuine bewilderment. "Walking barefoot? Christ, he really did pick a lunatic just as unhinged as he is."
'Your husband.' The words felt like grit between her teeth—foreign, heavy, and utterly wrong.
She climbed the grand staircase, her bare soles silent against the polished wood until she reached the heavy set of doors that could only belong to his sanctuary. She didn't bother knocking; she simply pushed her way in.
The air in the office was thick with the scent of old leather and expensive bourbon. Elena's bare soles made no sound on the plush Persian rug, but her presence was a loud, discordant note in Luca's silent sanctuary.
He didn't look up, but the way his pen stalled for a fraction of a second told her he was tracking every inch of her approach.
Luca was buried in a mountain of paperwork, his focus sharp until she strode across the room and came to a halt right beside his desk.
"And what does Madame Vitali want now?" he asked without looking up, his voice a cool drawl. "To come see me in the flesh so soon?"
She didn't answer with words. She grabbed him by the shoulder, forcing his chair to spin toward her. As she fisted his silk necktie, the fabric strained against her knuckles a silent testament to her fury.
For a heartbeat, the only sound in the room was the ragged edge of her breathing and the steady, infuriatingly calm thrum of his pulse. He smelled like winter and old wine, a combination that made her want to either scream or sink her teeth into his jaw.
"Whoa, hold on," she hissed. "That's it? Between one heartbeat and the next, I'm just... your wife? Just like that? That simple?"
He met her gaze with infuriating indifference. "Why not? What's the issue?"
"The issue?" She let go of his tie and gestured wildly at herself. "Look at this!"
His eyes traveled slowly, deliberately, from her ankles all the way up to her throat. "I don't see a single problem with your body," he murmured, a predatory heat flickering in his dark pupils. "In fact, it's remarkably perfect, and—"
She crossed her arms, her stare hardening into pure ice. "My face is up here, not on my chest. Look me in the eye when you talk to me. And I was talking about the dress, you prick, not my body. Are you even listening? Do you have even a shred of self-respect, checking me out like that?"
A slow, wicked grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "We're already married, Elena. And I learned something very early in life: when you're blessed with a view this divine, you owe it the respect of a very long look."
"Forget your pathetic excuses," she snapped, waving a dismissive hand. "A piece of paper doesn't make me your wife. Where's my dress? Where's my reception? And more importantly—"
She thrust her bare hand into the air, shoving her fingers inches from his face. "I don't see a ring here. Do you? Because I sure as hell don't."
Luca let out a dry exhale, pushing back from his desk to lounge on the leather sofa, watching her tirade with a flick of amusement. "I get it. You're a woman after all. You want a wedding? Fine. It's not like it's a difficult ask. From my side, Enzo will be there as a witness. I'm not planning on inviting my family, but you're free to bring whoever the hell you want."
"From my side, I'm inviting my grandmother and my best friend," she countered.
He raised an eyebrow. "Is this a wedding or a goddamn family dinner?"
"Call it whatever you like, but I'm having a wedding. I'm not some girl you scraped off the street and slapped a label on. I want every bit of what I'm owed. Besides, I need to convince my grandmother this is a love match. She'll bury me alive if she finds out I got tangled up with a psycho like you."
"You'll get everything you're entitled to, just like I promised. Do whatever you want," Luca muttered, starting to stand up to return to his desk.
But she wasn't finished. She reached out, shoving him back down onto the sofa with a firm hand against his chest. "Where do you think you're going? I wasn't done talking."
His gaze sharpened, a low, dangerous warning in his voice. "You've got a hell of a lot of nerve. Have you forgotten who I am?"
She leaned in, trailing a single, mocking finger along his jawline. "My dear, sweet husband..."
Luca shifted, fighting the flicker of heat her artificial seduction sparked in his gut. "Fine. What else do you want?"
"Money."
He blinked. "What?"
"Cash. How the hell am I supposed to set all this up? Magic?