The next few days were a psychological war.

Eric was everywhere and nowhere. I would catch him watching me from the balcony, his amber eyes following my every move as I paced the gardens. Gifts appeared in my room, copies of my favorite books, a sketchpad with charcoal pencils, and bouquets of lilies that filled the air with their sweet, heady scent.

"He is obsessed with you, Seraphina," his mother, Caterina, told me as she helped me into a fresh silk robe during one of her visits. Caterina was a striking woman, her silver hair pinned in an elegant chignon, her eyes the same amber as her son's. "My son has never looked at another woman. For him, you are the sun. And like the sun, you can either warm him or burn him to the ground."

"But why me?" I asked, my voice cracking. "I'm no one special."

Caterina smiled sadly. "To Eric, you are everything. He first saw you at fifteen, reading in Washington Square Park. You smiled at a stray dog and fed it your lunch. In his world of violence, that kindness was a beacon. He's protected you from afar, scaring off bad boyfriends, ensuring your father's business deals went smoothly when they could. But now, with Daniel's betrayal, he couldn't stay away."

Her words unsettled me. Protected me? It sounded romantic, but it felt like stalking. Yet, as I wandered the estate, I couldn't deny the pull toward Eric. His presence was a constant hum in my veins.

The peace was shattered at two in the morning on the fourth night.

A thunderous explosion rocked the house. The glass of my balcony doors shattered inward as a flash-bang grenade blinded me. I screamed, covering my head as figures in black swarmed the room.

"Get the asset!" a voice barked in Russian.

Rough hands grabbed me, dragging me from the bed. Panic surged among Volkov's men. They were here for the auction.

I kicked and clawed, but they were too strong. One pinned my arms, his breath hot against my neck. "The boss will enjoy breaking you."

The door to my suite flew open.

Eric stood there, bare-chested, his body a map of scars and dark ink. He held a submachine gun in one hand and a combat knife in the other. He looked less like a man and more like a vengeful demon.

The room erupted into gunfire. Eric moved with a lethal, fluid grace, a dance of death that left three men on the floor in seconds. He grabbed me by the waist, his arm a band of iron, and hauled me into the hallway.

"Stay behind me!" he roared.

He shielded my body with his own as we moved toward the safe room. Bullets whizzed past, one grazing his shoulder, spraying blood onto my white silk robe, but he didn't even flinch. He pinned me into the corner of the reinforced steel room, his chest heaving, his amber eyes searching mine for injury.

"Are you hurt?" he barked, his hands roaming over me, not possessively, but checking for wounds.

"You're bleeding, Eric!" I cried, reaching for his shoulder. The sight of his blood, warm and sticky, made my stomach twist.

He grabbed my hands, pinning them against the wall over my head. His skin was burning with adrenaline. "Let me bleed. As long as they didn't touch you. They came for the five-million-dollar prize, Seraphina. They think they can still collect on Daniel's deal."

His face was inches from mine. I could feel the heat radiating from his bare torso, the hard planes of his stomach pressing into me. My fear was being replaced by a terrifying, electric attraction. In the face of death, I didn't want to run. I wanted to crawl into his arms.

"Eric," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Thank you."

He released my hands, but didn't step back. His breath fanned across my lips. "I would die for you, Seraphina. But I'd rather live for you."

The air between us crackled. I tilted my head, and our lips met in a kiss born of survival and desire. It was urgent, his mouth claiming mine with a hunger that made my toes curl. His hands slid down my sides, pulling me closer, and for a moment, the world outside, the gunshots, the shouts, faded away.

But the kiss was interrupted by more gunfire in the hall. Eric pulled back, his eyes fierce. "Stay here. I'll end this."

He left, and I huddled in the corner, the taste of him on my lips, my body alive with a mix of fear and longing.

The aftermath was chaos and interrogations. Eric returned bloodied but victorious. "It's over, for now."

His vulnerability in that moment drew me closer. We shared a quiet dinner, where he opened up about mafia traditions, the importance of family alliances through marriage, and the code of honor that bound him. "My world demands I marry within the families," he admitted. "But for you, I'd break it all."

That night, I expected him to come to me. After that kiss, after everything, surely he would. But he didn't. He kissed my forehead at my door and left me alone, confused and aching.

The silence in the villa was louder than the attack had been. In the week that followed, Eric was a ghost that haunted my periphery-attentive, protective, but chillingly distant. He ensured my favorite meals were served and that my security was absolute, yet he treated me with the clinical detachment of a precious artifact.

He didn't touch me. He didn't mention the kiss in the safe room. It was as if that moment of shared lightning had been a hallucination.

The rejection stung worse than the kidnapping ever had.

One humid evening, the air thick with the scent of coming rain, I found him in the library. He was bathed in the amber glow of a single desk lamp, a glass of bourbon sweating in his hand. I had spent an hour preparing, choosing a silk robe the color of spilled wine. It was thin enough to feel like a second skin and short enough to flash the length of my thighs with every step.

"Can't sleep?" he asked. He didn't look up, but I saw the muscles in his jaw tighten.

"The house is too quiet," I murmured, wandering toward the mahogany shelves. I made sure to walk through the light, letting the silk cling to my hips. "I need something to distract me. Do you have any poetry? Something... visceral?"

His eyes finally snapped to mine. They weren't calm; they were dark, predatory, and tracked the slow movement of my hand as I brushed a stray hair from my neck. "Third shelf. Byron. Read 'Don Juan' if you want visceral."

I reached for the book, standing on my tiptoes, deliberately letting the hem of the robe ride up. I felt his gaze like a physical touch, searing a path down my spine. I stayed there a second too long, heart hammering against my ribs.

"Thank you, Eric." I turned to leave, but his voice dropped to a low, dangerous vibration that stopped me cold.

"Seraphina."

I looked back. He had stood up, his large frame casting a shadow that swallowed mine. He crossed the room with the silent, terrifying grace of a wolf. He stopped inches away-so close I could feel the radiant heat of his body and the scent of sandalwood and expensive tobacco.

"You're playing a game you aren't prepared to finish," he rasped.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Liar." He didn't touch me, but he leaned in until his lips were a heartbeat away from the sensitive skin of my ear. "You come in here smelling like jasmine and provocation, wearing nothing but a prayer, and you expect me not to notice? I can hear your pulse from here. It's frantic."

"Maybe I want you to notice," I breathed, my courage flickering like a candle in a gale.

"Then decide what you want," he commanded, his voice roughening. "Because I meant what I said. I won't take you. I won't be the monster who broke you. I will not have you unless you beg me for it. I want the pride stripped away. I want the 'captive' excuse gone."

"I don't beg," I whispered, though my legs felt like water.

"Every woman begs eventually when the hunger gets too loud." A dark, knowing smile touched his lips. "I can wait, Seraphina. I have the patience of a man who has already waited a lifetime. But tomorrow, the games end. You either stay behind your locked door, or you come to mine and tell me exactly what you need."

He stepped back, the sudden loss of his heat making me shiver. "Goodnight."

I watched him walk out, my body trembling with a Frustration so sharp it felt like a physical ache. I looked down at my hands; they were shaking.

I went back to my room, but I didn't sleep. I paced the floor, the silk of the robe rubbing against my sensitized skin, reminding me of everything he refused to do. He wanted a declaration. He wanted me to choose the 'Mafia King' over the life I had known.

I looked at the heavy oak door connecting our wings. Beyond it lay a man who was dangerous, lethal, and yet the only person who had ever truly seen me. If I did this, there was no going back to being the innocent bride. I would be his.

As the first grey light of dawn touched the windows, the restlessness in my blood turned into a cold, hard certainty. I was tired of being a pawn. I was tired of waiting for life to happen to me.

I gripped the edge of the vanity, staring at my reflection. My eyes were bright with a terrifying new resolve.

"Fine," I whispered to the empty room. "I'll give you your declaration."

I knew what I was going to do. Tomorrow night, I wouldn't just be his captive. I would walk into his room, strip away the last of my inhibitions, and give him the one thing I had left to offer. I was going to lose my virginity to the man who stole me, and for the first time in my life, the choice would be entirely mine.

---

The games continued for weeks.

I tried everything: accidental touches that lingered too long, lingering looks across the dinner table, outfits that left little to the imagination. I wore swimsuits that barely covered anything and found excuses to be near the pool when he was there. I read in the library wearing short robes that gaped when I reached for high shelves. I even arranged for us to be alone in the garden at sunset, wearing a sundress that the evening breeze did wonderful things with.

Eric noticed everything.

I saw it in the way his pupils dilated whenever I entered a room. I saw it in the way his hands clenched at his sides when I brushed past him. I saw it in the way his voice dropped an octave when he spoke to me, rough with restraint. I saw the hunger in his eyes, the tension in his jaw, the way he gripped his bourbon glass like it was the only thing keeping him anchored to sanity.

But he never acted. Never touched. Never took what I was so obviously offering.

It was maddening.

One afternoon, I found him by the pool. He'd just finished swimming and stood at the edge, water dripping down his sculpted chest, his swim trunks sitting low on his hips. I'd never seen anything so beautiful in my life.

I'd worn my most revealing bikini, tiny scraps of black fabric that left nothing to the imagination. I walked toward him slowly, letting him watch me approach.

"Hot day," I said, my voice casual.

His eyes traveled over me, hot and appreciative. But he didn't move.

I dove into the pool, swimming a few laps, aware of his gaze following me. When I emerged, climbing out slowly, water streaming down my body, I expected him to pounce;

He handed me a towel. "You'll catch cold."

I wanted to scream.

"You're impossible," I snapped that night, after a particularly elaborate seduction attempt involving a candlelit dinner where I'd worn a dress so revealing it should have been illegal. I'd fed him grapes. I'd let my foot slide up his leg under the table. I'd practically sat in his lap.

And he'd just smiled. That slow, knowing smile that made my knees weak and my blood boil.

"I'm practically throwing myself at you, and you just stand there!"

He leaned back in his chair, completely at ease. "You're not throwing yourself. You're hinting. There's a difference."

"What do you want from me?" I demanded, my voice cracking with frustration.

He stood, crossing to me in three long strides. Finally, finally, he touched me, just his hand on my cheek, gentle as a whisper. "I told you. I want you to ask. Honestly, openly, without games. I want you to admit that you want this, want me, as much as I want you."

I stared at him, my pride warring with something deeper, something I'd been trying to ignore for weeks. "I can't just say it."

"Why not?"

"Because I swallowed hard. Because if I say it, then it's real. Then I can't pretend anymore that this is just circumstance, just captivity, just survival."

Understanding dawned in his eyes. He stepped closer, his body heat enveloping me. "Go on."

"If I admit I want you, then I'm choosing this. Choosing you. And that terrifies me." The words came out broken, raw. "Because if I choose you and it goes wrong, I have no one to blame but myself. As long as I'm just a captive, I'm not responsible for my own feelings."

His thumb traced my cheekbone, feather-light. "I know you're scared, Seraphina. I know this isn't what you planned. But I need you to understand something. I'm not Daniel. I won't use your feelings against you. I won't hurt you. I'll spend the rest of my life making sure you never regret choosing me."

Tears pricked my eyes. "You can't promise that."

"I can. I do." He leaned closer, his forehead resting against mine. "Tell me what you want. Not what you think you should want. Not what's safe. What you truly want. In this moment, with me."

The walls I'd built for months, for years, crumbled. "You," I whispered. "I want you."

"Say it properly."

"I want you, Eric. Please." My voice broke. "Please don't make me beg you. I need you now."

The growl that escaped him was primal, victorious. He lifted me in his arms, carrying me toward the bedroom. "Finally," he murmured against my lips. "God, woman, I've been dying for weeks."

"And you couldn't have just taken the hint?"

"I don't take hints. I take declarations." He lay me on the bed, his body covering mine. "And you just declared yourself, Seraphina. There's no going back now."

"I don't want to go back."

"Good." His kiss was devastating. "Because I'm never letting you go."

He lay me on the bed, his body covering mine, and kissed me with a passion that left me breathless. His hands explored my curves, learning every inch of me, while mine tangled in his dark hair, pulling him closer. The world outside ceased to exist; there was only him, only this, only us.

When we finally came together, it was everything I'd imagined and more. He was intense, passionate, overwhelming, but also tender, careful, and reverent. He worshipped my body like it was sacred, and I gave myself to him completely.

"Tell me," he breathed against my skin. "Tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours," I gasped. "I'm yours, Eric."

"Mine." His voice was rough with emotion. "Forever."

"Forever."

Afterward, we lay tangled together, his hand tracing lazy patterns on my skin. "I've waited twelve years for that," he murmured. "It was worth every second."

I laughed softly. "Twelve years? You've been waiting that long?"

"Since I saw you in the park, feeding that dog your lunch. You were so beautiful, so kind. I knew in that moment that you were the one." He pressed a kiss to my shoulder. "I just had to wait until you were ready to see me, too."

I turned in his arms, studying his face in the dim light. "What if I'd never been ready? What if I'd married Daniel?"

"Then I would have watched over you from afar forever. Your happiness was always more important than mine." He smiled, that slow, devastating smile. "But I'm very glad it worked out this way."

I kissed him softly. "So am I."