Chapter 3: You Belong to Me
Elio's POV
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I wasn't sure what I expected when I opened my apartment door the next morning.
But it wasn't him.
Luca stood in the hallway like he'd always belonged there—tall, silent, carved from power and shadow. Dressed in black again, but this time his coat was open, and beneath it a tight charcoal sweater hugged his chest. He held a paper cup of coffee in one hand.
"You didn't answer your phone," he said.
"You don't have my number," I replied, blinking.
"I do now."
He held the cup toward me. I hesitated before taking it.
"I'm not yours to check on," I muttered, stepping back into the apartment.
He followed without asking.
That should've pissed me off. But part of me didn't hate it.
"I thought you were the king of Milan," I said, shutting the door behind him. "Don't you have businesses to terrorize? People to bribe?"
"I do," he said. "You're one of them."
I snorted. "You bribing me?"
He turned toward me, slowly, and for a moment the playful air vanished. "No. I'm claiming you."
My fingers tightened around the coffee cup.
"I'm not something you can just—own," I said, forcing my voice to hold.
"You painted me," he replied. "You kept me alive in your head for ten years. You think that wasn't ownership?"
My throat dried.
He looked around, surveying the small apartment like it offended him. "You live here?"
"Yes."
"No." He looked back at me. "Not anymore."
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I'm not letting you live like this."
"You don't get to decide—"
"Elio." His voice was quiet. Lethal. "I let you run once. I don't plan on repeating that mistake."
I took a step back.
He followed.
"You're angry," he said. "You're scared. But don't pretend you didn't come to that dinner because you wanted to see me."
I didn't respond.
He kept closing the space between us. I backed into the wall.
"You stayed away because you were afraid of what this is," he murmured, lowering his voice. "You still are."
His hand reached out, brushing my cheek with the back of his fingers. My whole body froze.
"But I'm not that boy anymore," he whispered. "And neither are you."
I tried to speak, to break the tension, but he stepped even closer, his lips near my ear.
"Do you want me to kiss you?" he asked softly.
The question was a blade.
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
His breath ghosted against my cheek.
Then he pulled back—just a little.
"You still taste like silence," he said.
I shoved him.
Harder than I meant to.
He didn't move, but something flickered in his eyes. Surprise. Pride?
"You don't get to waltz back into my life and act like I belong to you," I snapped. "You don't get to pull me into your world and—"
"You were born in my world," he cut in. "You just didn't know it yet."
I stared at him, chest rising and falling too fast.
"I'm offering you a choice," he said. "Come with me. Let me protect you. Let me give you what you deserve."
"Or what?" I asked. "You'll take it anyway?"
His gaze hardened. "I don't take what's not mine."
"And you think I am?"
"I know you are."
A breath passed between us.
"Say yes," he whispered. "Just once."
I shook my head. "And if I say no?"
His mouth curved.
"You won't."
---
I should've slammed the door in his face.
Instead, I packed a bag.
I told myself it was temporary. One night. Just to shut him up. Just to see. Just to... feel safe. Or reckless. Or needed.
His car was already waiting downstairs—sleek black, of course, with a driver in dark glasses and a discreet pistol holstered under his coat.
Luca opened the door for me himself.
I slid in without a word.
The ride was silent. The city passed in a blur of lights and shadows. I tried not to glance at him, but his presence filled the car. It was like gravity—pulling everything in his orbit, including me.
His house—no, his mansion—sat on a hill just outside the city, half-hidden behind wrought iron gates and trees that bent in the wind. It looked like something out of a movie: stone walls, endless windows, guards who blended into the darkness.
"This is home?" I asked as we stepped inside.
"It is now," he said.
For a second, the way he said it made my chest hurt.
The inside was warm and gold-lit. Modern and brutal in its elegance. Clean marble floors. Paintings worth more than my life.
But it was the silence that struck me.
No voices. No chaos. Just... empty beauty.
He led me upstairs, past long hallways and locked doors, to a bedroom that could fit my entire apartment inside.
"This is yours," he said.
The bed was enormous. Black silk sheets. Soft lighting. A view of the city through the wide windows.
"Why are you doing this?" I asked.
He looked at me. "Because I lost you once. And I don't lose things twice."
"I'm not a thing," I said coldly.
"You're mine," he replied.
There it was again. That terrifying, possessive honesty.
"I should hate you," I muttered.
"You can," he said. "But you'll still sleep in my bed."
I swallowed. "This bed?"
He smiled, slow and
dark. "Unless you want mine."
I turned away before he could see the flush rise on my cheeks.
"Elio," he said quietly behind me. "You came back to a city that could kill you. And you didn't ask why. You didn't ask who is waiting to finish what your father started."
I froze.
"You think this is about power. About lust." He stepped closer. "But it's protection, too."
"I don't need protecting," I whispered.
"You always did."
I didn't respond. I just walked to the bed, sat on the edge, and stared at the floor.
His shadow covered me.
"I'm not here to hurt you," he said, low and deep. "But I will keep you."
The words were a promise. A threat. A vow.
And somehow, in the quiet that followed...
…I didn't want to leave.
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