THE DON'S SECRET WIFE Chapter 3: REFUSAL AND DESPERATION

I didn’t sleep that night. Not really. I lay wide awake in the king-sized prison disguised as a guest room, staring at the ornate ceiling, breathing so shallowly I thought my lungs might collapse. The edges of the silk sheets felt like restraints against my skin.

Luciano DeLuca wanted to be his wife.

His wife.

For one year, sure. On paper, it was temporary. A contract. A performance. A business deal wrapped in the ugly bow of my father’s sins. But in reality? It was a cage. A gilded, suffocating cage.

No.

No. No. No.

I wouldn’t do it. I couldn’t.

I shoved the covers off, pacing the length of the room like a caged animal. Every ti my bare feet hit the cold marble, it sparked the sa thought over and over.

Run.

I couldn’t marry him. I wouldn’t. There had to be another way. Any other way.

A sharp knock on the door nearly jolted out of my skin.

"Miss Valencia," a deep voice called, one of his n, "the Don expects you downstairs for breakfast."

Breakfast. As if this was so civil conversation over coffee and croissants. As if he hadn’t threatened to upend my entire life just twelve hours ago.

I squeezed my eyes shut, gripping the bedpost until my knuckles whitened. "Tell him... tell him I’m not hungry."

Silence.

Then footsteps retreating.

Good. One small win.

But it wouldn’t hold. He was giving twenty-four hours. And those hours were running out.

Think, Aria. Think.

I approached the window, fingers curling around the heavy drapes. I peeked between them.

Guards. Two at the gate. Another patrolling the periter. All dressed in black. All ard.

Of course.

The DeLuca estate was a fortress.

Still... not impossible.

I scanned the grounds. Beyond the courtyard was a side garden leading toward a line of trees. If I could make it to the trees... maybe. Just maybe.

But how? They’d never let waltz out the front door. The back was guarded too. The windows were too high to jump without breaking sothing.

Then my gaze landed on the service drive. A catering van was parked by the east wing. The driver was leaning against the hood, smoking, distracted.

My pulse thudded.

There. That’s it.

My brain snapped into survival mode.

I tore open the closet doors. No ti to think about appearances. I grabbed a pair of black slacks, a button-down shirt, and a baseball cap left hanging in the corner. Male clothes. Probably for one of the staff. Perfect.

I yanked them on, tucking my hair under the cap. My heartbeat roared in my ears as I grabbed a pair of sunglasses from the dresser. No makeup. No jewelry. Nothing that scread heiress’s daughter turned mafia bride.

Quietly, I cracked the bedroom door open. The hallway was empty—for now. I padded silently across the marble, moving like a shadow.

Down the servants’ stairwell.

One step. Two steps.

Every breath felt like borrowed ti.

I reached the side corridor, ducking behind a massive potted plant as one guard strolled past, yawning. Oblivious.

When his back was turned, I slipped forward, heart pounding so violently I was convinced soone would hear it.

There. The catering van.

The driver tossed his cigarette, muttered sothing into his phone, and then turned toward the back, opening the rear doors.

I sprinted.

Feet barely touching the ground, I dove inside just as he hoisted a crate. The scent of coffee, bread, and sothing sweet filled the cramped space. I wedged myself behind stacks of boxes, pulling a tarp over just as the driver slamd the doors shut.

Breathe, Aria. Stay quiet. Stay still.

The engine rumbled to life.

We moved.

Every bump in the road jolted , but it was nothing compared to the adrenaline screaming through my veins.

Ten minutes passed. Maybe fifteen. I had no way of knowing exactly where we were, but the distinct sound of the gate opening—heavy, chanical—echoed through the van’s walls.

We’re outside. We’re free.

I bit my fist to keep from crying out in relief.

The van made a right turn. Then another. Slowing. The driver cursed—traffic, maybe—before pulling to a stop.

The mont I felt the engine go silent, I shoved the tarp aside, cracked the doors open an inch, and peeked.

A gas station.

Not ideal. But better than being dragged back.

I waited until the driver disappeared inside the convenience store, then flung the doors open, tumbling out into the sunlight.

Go. Now. Run.

My legs obeyed before my brain could fully catch up. I sprinted across the parking lot, weaving between cars. A bus stop sat at the corner. No questions. No second thoughts. I jumped on the first bus that arrived, ducking my head as I dropped into a seat near the back.

Only when the bus rumbled forward did I let out a ragged breath.

I was out.

I did it. I actually—

My phone buzzed.

I fumbled for it, half-forgetting I even had it shoved in my back pocket.

Unknown Number.

I let it ring.

Then again.

And again.

Then a text.

"You’re braver than I thought. Cute. But futile."

My stomach flipped.

Another text.

"Look to your left."

Panic sliced through . Slowly—terrified—I turned my head toward the window.

A black SUV cruised alongside the bus. Dark tinted windows. Chro rims.

My pulse skidded to a halt when the back window rolled down just enough to reveal him.

Luciano DeLuca.

Calm. Impossibly composed. His arm rested against the window fra, fingers tapping lazily like he had all the ti in the world.

He lifted two fingers in a mock salute.

Then mouthed, "Run."

The SUV surged forward.

"Oh my God," I whispered, slamming the stop button.

The bus hissed to a halt, and I bolted out the doors before they were even fully open.

Down the street. Through an alley. Around a corner.

My lungs burned. My legs scread.

But behind ... tires screeched.

Footsteps.

Shouts.

I whipped around a dumpster and nearly collided headfirst into a brick wall of muscle.

Rough hands seized my arms.

"No—no! Let go!" I scread, thrashing and kicking, but it was useless.

"Calm down," the guard grunted, hoisting up like a sack of flour.

"Get off ! You can’t do this! You can’t—"

A deep voice, smooth and cold, interrupted.

"Correction," Luciano said, stepping into view, "I can do whatever I want."

I glared, breathing hard. "This is kidnapping."

"It’s fulfilling a contract," he countered smoothly.

"There is no contract. I didn’t sign anything."

"Not yet." His lips curved into sothing between a smile and a warning. "But you will."

I spat at his feet. "Over my dead body."

His gaze sharpened, hard as steel. "Careful, Aria. The only reason you’re breathing right now is because I’m offering you rcy. Don’t tempt to reconsider."

The air shifted. Gone was the smooth-talking businessman from last night. In his place stood the Don. The man people whispered about. The man my father had feared more than death itself.

I stilled.

He stepped closer, cupping my chin between two fingers. Not gently. Not harshly. Just enough to command my full attention.

"Run again," he murmured, "and I won’t chase you next ti."

I swallowed hard. "What does that an?"

"It ans I’ll let soone else catch you. And believe , dolcezza, I’m the kindest monster in this city."

A shudder ripped through .

"Now," he said, releasing with a flick of his hand, "get in the car."

I hesitated.

His gaze darkened. "Don’t make say it twice."

With legs like lead, I climbed into the SUV. The door slamd shut behind , sealing my fate.

As the car pulled away, I pressed my forehead to the cool glass, a single, horrifying truth sinking deep into my bones.

There was no escape.

Not from him.

Not from this.

Not from the life that had wrapped its claws around the mont my father’s heart stopped beating.

And God help ... sothing deep inside whispered that maybe... I didn’t even want to escape anymore.