Lyra's Pov.

I'd spent almost the entire day locked up in the room alone. One of Salvatore's girls—couldn't even tell how they were related, probably one of his flings—brought me breakfast and lunch but I hadn't touched a single bite.

I mean, why would I?

What if it was poisoned? Salvatore had made it painfully clear he didn't see me as his wife and didn't care about me, let alone love me. Killing me would be nothing to him. Just a snap of the finger and I'd be gone—no trace, no body.

I glanced out through the floor-to-ceiling window. It was already dark. I picked my phone up from the bed and checked the time—almost half past six. I still couldn't believe that monster had locked me in all day.

The door creaked open again—probably the girl bringing me dinner. But it wasn't.

It was Salvatore.

Dressed in a black trouser, white t-shirts with the sleeves rolled up, showing off the black and red ink crawling up his arms. His silky dark long hair was styled into a loose ponytail making his face card more lethal.

He stood there, staring at me for a bit before shutting the door and walking in slowly. His steps were quiet but deliberate. He didn't say a word, just stared, his eyes never leaving mine.

"I see you're not yet ready," he finally muttered.

"Was I supposed to be?" I snapped.

He scoffed, biting his lower lip as he moved closer.

He didn't stop. Every step he took forward had me taking one backward—until my back hit the wall.

Now he stood just inches away, staring into my eyes, his warm breath fanning across my face.

"Wh...what do you think you're doing?" I stuttered, swallowing hard.

"I haven't done anything... yet, princess"

That 'yet' it only meant one thing—he hadn't but he would. Before I could blink, he closed the distance between us, his hands slipping under my hoodie. He pulled it up, stopping at my chest, exposing my stomach and bra.

"Raise your hands up, princess," he ordered, his voice low and rough—almost a growl.

I didn't move. I refused to. Until his fingers brushed down my bellybutton, slow and deliberate, sending a shiver rushing up my spine. He didn't need to repeat himself.

I raised my hands, allowing him to pull the hoodie off completely.

Now I was left in just a bra and baggy pants. One second they were on, the next I felt them sliding down my thighs.

How the hell...?

He'd unbuttoned them without me even noticing. My eyes widened in disbelief but he kept the same calm, cocky smirk tugging at his lips.

This man was sly. Dangerous. Like a goddamn fox.

He leaned in close,his breath ghosting over my ear.

"You might want me to help you freshen up, huh, princess?"

I blinked. Twice. Then shoved him with both hands. He barely moved—man was solid as a wall.

Flustered, I rushed towards the bathroom, covering my butt with both hands as I slammed the door shut. I could hear him chuckle.

I stayed there for nearly thirty minutes, hoping he'd be gone when I came out.

Well, no luck.

When I opened the door, our eyes met. I groaned and almost shut it again.

"Get the hell out. I need to change" I barked as I walked out of the bathroom with a frown settled on my forehead.

"I've seen bigger and better boobies. Moreover, this one?" He gestured toward me with that annoying smug smirk of his. "This one is legally mine"

Oh-ho. His core. I mean, would you expect any less from a man whore? And what the devil did he mean by lawfully?

I hissed, grabbed the dress from the bed and stormed back into the bathroom. It seemed he badly wanted to stay in the room, he could rot there for all I cared!

Putting on the dress... Oh my fucking goodness!

God help me. It was tight. And short.

So. Ridiculously. Short!

The neckline plunged scandalously low, the back dipped all the way to my waist, and the hem? Damn! It stopped high on my thigh with a bold slit daring to expose more .

How the actual hell did he expect me to wear something this revealing? It hugged my curves like it was a second skin!

I paced in the bathroom, chewing my inner cheek while the dress clung to my body like it was painted on. After a few moments of hesitation, I finally decided to step out.

"Look, you don't—" I started but stopped.

He was gone.

Phew! I exhaled in relief.

Now came the real crisis—walking in the damn heels without tripping. I could already picture it; one wrong step and boom! I'm the clown of the night.

I considered faking sick. Maybe say I had cramps or a headache? But that'd be a terrible excuse l, especially after I'd almost strutted out of the house earlier looking like a whole fashion statement.

Sighing in defeat, I slipped on the heels and stepped out the door.

.....

"Don't tell me this missy is who we've been waiting for for the past two hours," the ginger-haired girl—the same one who'd brought me breakfast and lunch—snapped.

Salvatore's gaze, along with two other men I'd seen back at my father's house and at my wedding, all shifted towards me where I stood on the stairs, clutching the railing just to stay upright in those death trap heels.

Not like I'd spent the two hours locked in a spa. If she wanted to throw shade, she better aim it at her boyfriend—or whatever the hell Salvatore was to her—not me.

I hissed under my breath and rolled my eyes.

Why the hell were they all staring at me like I'd just risen from the dead in a dress made of pure gold?

Was I that drop-dead gorgeous? Because the way they were looking, you'd think Marilyn Monroe had just stepped down the stairs.

Salvatore's pov.

I stared at her as her eyes shifted from Miley who had just spoken,to me, then to Russo and Bianchi. She looked stunning in that red dress. My gaze shifted down to her heels—they fitted perfectly and that got me wondering how the hell did the bitch I'd actually asked to help me with Lyra's dress and stuff know her size? But then... Why was she standing there on the stairs, gripping the railing like her life depended on it?

Well, that was her problem. I checked my watch—we were nearly an hour and a half late, and thanks to who? Lyra.

I tilted my head, watching her face, which looked uneasy.

"Let's go," I said, and the others started moving, muttering God knows what. I turned to leave, but stopped half.

Lyra still hadn't moved.

"What the hell is wrong now? Why aren't you moving? We're already late," I snapped, grinding my teeth.

"What?" she shot back, brow pulled together. "Are our legs glued together? You go ahead! I'm right behind you. Stop annoying me!"

That was the second time she'd raised her damn voice at me, and only heavens knew how much I hated it. But fine, I'd let it slide—just this once. Just today.

"Don't even think about pulling any stunts, bitch. You'll only regret it," I warned,and she just rolled her eyes.

It had been five minutes already, and she was just now walking through the door with her steps slower than a snail's crawl, dragging the dress down with every step. I got it—she didn't want to be at this event with me, and that's why she was acting out.

If only she knew how much her childish attitude was pissing me off. And I doubted she had any clue what I was capable of. With what she did last night still fresh in my mind, if she pushed me any further, I wouldn't hesitate to hurt her—and no one would question me

I heard Bianchi heave a sigh then slam on the horn violently, startling Lyra so badly she missed her steps and twisted her ankle.

"You got a death wish or something?" I shot him a glare from the back seat.

"She's one hell of a pain in the ass," he said flatly and honestly, I couldn't help but agree. Lyra glared at the car as she adjusted her shoe, probably wishing for some superpower to burn the damn thing down.

She got in, and Bianchi floored it. Apparently, my siblings and I were split into two cars—Miley and Russo in one, Bianchi, me, and ‘my wife’ in the other. The event was a Mafioso party hosted by The Triangles, who controlled all the underground businesses in New York. The most powerful clans were invited and I was so damn sure The Russians wouldn't be left out.

The car stopped in a grand parking lot, and we got out. On the other side, I waited for Lyra. When she appeared, her focus was entirely on the dress, hissing and pulling the hem down. When she finally looked up and saw me, her frown deepened, and she let out a long, audible hiss.

She glared at me with pure hatred and tried to walk past, but I grabbed her, closing any space between us. I lifted her chin with my thumb so our eyes met—and then I realized....

Missy wasn't wearing any makeup. Just some lip gloss and eyeliner.

What kind of girl did I actually marry? She was so... different. Weirdly different.

She snapped my hand away and tried to pull free, but I slid my arm around her waist, pulling her even closer.

"what do you think you're doing?" She snorted, struggling to break free from my grip. "Get your filthy hands off me, you cowfucker!"

"Cowfucker?" I repeated, my voice unable to hide my disbelief. I swallowed hard and I sucked in my breath. Not the time to lose it—not here, not now. I leaned in close, my voice low and threatening right by her ear.

"Listen up, bitch. This isn't some low-class party you're used to. This one's business. You hear me? Business."

Her eyes blazed with anger for a moment before she lowered her gaze and clenched her teeth.

"Your anger doesn't scare me, piccola. And don't even think about messing things up—I promise, I'll make you hate me more than you already do," I warned, pushing her away—not rough and not too slow.

Tears welled in her eyes as she gripped the hem of her dress tight.

Crocodile tears. Did she think that shit would move me? Maybe back on our wedding day when they'd made me feel guilty—had me blaming myself for hours. But what did she do after that? She cheated. She fucking cheated.

I could have killed her that moment If I wanted, but no—I might still need her.

"One more thing," I said just as she turned to leave. She turned and looked back.

"Loosen that long face of yours. It only makes you look uglier..." I trailed off, catching a movement in the shadows.

I'd spotted her the moment we arrived but ignored it until now.

A smirk spread across my lips as the figure stepped into the light.

Lovely. That sly, sexy bitch.

She was the spy and seductress of the Sicilian organization.

She was dressed in her usual favorite color—black. A short, revealing gown and smoky dark makeup.

Lyra's eyes flickered to her, then back to me, frowning.

Lovelyn walked past her without a glance, making Lyra grit her teeth, her fists clenched.

"You look damn handsome tonight, boy," Lovelyn whispered loud enough for Lyra to hear, then kissed me on the cheek.

I didn't react. Didn't push her away.

That only made Lyra snap. She stormed off.

Lovelyn chuckled as I pushed her off my body.

"Looks like your little kitten couldn't take it," she said, lighting a cigar. "She looks damn sexy in that dress. Bet it'll be tough not to stare tonight."

She smirked and I glared before snatching the cigar from her lips.

"How did you know her exact size?" I asked, puffing on the cigar.

She grinned, lighting another one. "I should be asking you that. I used the exact description you gave me. Don't tell me you two have fucked—because that's the only way you'd get everything so right."

She blurted, amusement and curiosity dancing on her face.

She was curious about what exactly? What would my answer be?

I stared at her face a little longer, then scoffed.

Someone else fucked her—her man did.

"She's not my type," I muttered.

She scoffed and then burst into a menacing laugh. "We've literally been friends since we were kids, and I know you more than you even know yourself. So just quit it. You and I know you're a man whore—for you, there's nothing like type. You don't have a taste when it comes to things under skirts. I could vividly remember back when you fucked an oldie till she fainted—"

"Okay, that's enough." I cut her off. "Why are you here?"

She stepped in closer, snaking her arm around my neck. " You wouldn't let anyone come to your place, so I figured this was the only way to you," she murmured, her nose brushing against mine. "I missed you, sal."

Her voice dripped with sweetness and temptation, her breath warm against my skin. She leaned in, aiming for my lips—but I stopped her, pressing her forehead back with the tip of my index finger as I unwrapped her arm from around my neck.

"Cut it, Love."

She sighed, stepping away.

"Right," she breathed, nodding her head faintly. "I forgot you're a married man now."

I glanced at my wristwatch, then back at her.

"I need to go now, Love. Lyra's alone in there. We'll see you in Sicily." I said, planting a kiss on her cheek.

She gave a small nod and I turned walking away.

Yes, Love and I were whatever you think we were—and I don't think I owe anyone an explanation.

"Keep your eyes sharp at that fine little missy of yours," her voice rang out behind me. "There's an unpleasant, plastic-faced, ugly ass Barbie in there. You know exactly what I mean."

I didn't look back. Just nodded once and kept walking.

But who the hell could she be referring to?

Octavia?