Chapter Eight: His New Obsession

(Luca POV)

I was right about her from the first moment I saw her. She wasn't just another girl searching for a job. There was an energy, a tension that shifted the atmosphere around us. I could feel it in my bones. It was subtle but definitely a signal that there was something deeper buried beneath her surface. 

And now? Now, I hold the truth in my hands. She was running and dared to think she could escape my notice. I sink back into the worn leather of my chair, the cool glass of whiskey clutched in my hand, the amber liquid swirling as I contemplate everything Adrian divulged. 

A missing person's report, a desperate plea in her silence. I put all the facts of her story into focus. Her real name is Isabella Delaney, and it suits her better. Then the chilling details, about her Stepfather, a man sworn to protect, was the one who officially reported her missing. That revelation sends a surge of rage coursing through my veins. I know men like him. Men with badges who believe they wield absolute power are shielded from consequences as they trample over the lives of the vulnerable. 

Cops who think their badge grants them a license to commit sins beyond blurry lines. I should have seen the signs sooner, how she flinches at the touches of men who see her as nothing more than an object. Her eyes go dark with nervousness. She watches every corner of the room as if she expects a hand to drag her back to her past life. No, she's not just running. She's hiding from a monster. 

Now, she's mine to protect even if she still resists me, even if she is clawing at me with every ounce of her strength, because there is no way I will allow her to slip away, away from this club, away from my eyes, away from my life. To end up back where she feels unsafe. She will not walk away from me while I still draw breath. 

My phone buzzes insistently once more, the sudden noise ripping through the heavy silence that blankets the room. Adrian's name flashes on the screen. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves, but the tension in my body only tightens as I prepare to answer. 

"Tell me you have something I can use," I grit out, my voice barely masking the impatience that churns within me like a storm ready to break. There's a tense pause on the other end, a moment unspoken with fear. Then Adrian's voice emerges, low and laden with unsettling truths. 

"Elena told me part of it." His tone is steeped in darkness; disgust laces his words, and I sense the rage beneath that. He knows what I need to hear and hesitates, aware that the truth will shatter the control I barely hold onto. "The rest I pulled from police records. She was smart. She left her phone behind and wiped it clean. But a cop reported her missing, which means there's a trail we can follow."

I already know that. I just need to understand why he hasn't come looking yet and hasn't put in more effort to find her! When a cop is determined, they have an arsenal of resources, extensive databases filled with information, and high-tech surveillance tools, and they don't even mention the network of connections that can be tapped into for intelligence. Unless, of course…

"He's hiding something," Adrian interjects as if he can sense the frustration radiating from me. "There's no warrant or urgent search underway, just a missing person's bulletin, buried beneath the red tape." I take a deep, steadying breath, tightening my grip on my glass. It's infuriating! How can we allow this to continue? 

Fuck this!

"If he were truly searching for her, she'd have been found by now. Which means—" 

"He doesn't want her back," I answer, my tone deadly. Adrian exhales sharply, the sound slicing through the tension. "Not publicly, no." 

That bitter admission hangs in the air, heavy with implication. It means he wants her back for himself and something else…'

Something inside me snaps. Breaking under pressure. Rage is fast, spiking even faster in my chest, but then it ignites, spreading, consuming me. My control is slipping.

This piece of shit, this pathetic excuse for a man, does he genuinely believe he can hurt her, possess her? He casually let her slip through his fingers, then bide his time until he felt ready to stake his claim again. The audacity of his arrogance. Then do God know what to her, then sell her? Like she's his fucking property?

No fucking way. Not in this lifetime. Not while I'm breathing.

The glass in my hand suddenly crashes against the wall as I throw it. I hear the crash and let the sound ground me, sharpening my focus again instead of blinding me.

Adrian remains silent on the other end of the line, the heavy pause palpable between us. I can almost picture him leaning back in his chair, our conversation hanging in the air. I take a deep, shaky breath, my chest tightening as I force the words through gritted teeth.

"Send me everything."

His voice is calm, but I can hear the concern in his voice. " Are you sure?" But I can listen to the unspoken understanding in his tone. He already knows I've made up my mind. There's no turning back now. The moment's urgency makes my Heart beat faster. My hands tremble slightly against the cold surface of the desk.

"Yes, I'll take it from here," I said, my voice firm as I ended the call. Knowing what I was planning next settled my nerves completely. I turned away from the cold glow of the screen and called for Mila, knowing all too well that she wouldn't be pleased with what I learned.

I could already imagine her reaction, eyes narrowing, words sharp like a blade. But that was inconsequential. The decision was made, and there was no turning back now. She belongs to me now, and I was determined to see this through, no matter the cost. The responsibility was mine alone, and I will take control of the situation about to unfold. But one thing is for sure: I'll burn the world down before I let that bastard take her away from me.

As she walks into my office, I see her slow, hesitating movements, as if each step is more challenging than the last. The unspoken tension is thick between us. I can feel her nervousness. She should be nervous. Fuck, she should be terrified. As she stands before me, she knows something is wrong; she can feel rage while trying to control it.

I don't signal for her to sit. The silence stretches between us, heavy and suffocating. 

I remained silent, my gaze locked onto her. She fidgets beneath my stare, shifting from one foot to the other, a nervous dance that betrays her own. 

"You wanted to see me?" she asks, her voice trembling slightly, betraying the bravado she tries to show. I exhale slowly, a deliberate action intended to calm myself. My fingers wind together on the polished surface of my desk. "Tell me the truth," I say, my voice calm, even tho it's not. She stiffens at my words, the color draining from her face as she hears my demand. 

"About what?" Her voice is barely above a whisper. Suspicion etched across her features." Everything." My voice was lethal, each word measured and deadly. "And don't fucking lie to me because I already know." The statement, also a warning which she hears.

She swallows hard, her throat constricting as she hesitates. "Luca—" I slam my glass down onto the polished wood of the desk, the sound echoing in the silence. 

She jumps, her eyes wide with surprise. "Your name is Isabella Delaney," I say with deadly calm. "Your stepfather filed a missing person's report for you weeks ago. You changed your name, dyed your hair, and fled to this city, desperate to hide. And now, here you are, working for me, praying that he doesn't know or find out where you are."

Her breath catches sharply; she looks like a trapped, scared bird. She doesn't respond. She doesn't budge an inch. I slowly stand up from my seat and walk around my desk, closing the distance between us. "Tell me why you ran," I demand, my voice steady. I wanted to shake her if needed. She shakes her head, her lips pressed tightly together, telling me with no words, she ain't gonna talk.

Stepping closer, I grip the desk's edges, caging her between my arms. The shadows across her face hide her defeated expression. "Say it, Mila. I want to hear you say the fucking words," I urge, my heart pounding fast with the tension.

Her hands tremble more now, betraying her composure. "You already know," she whispers, her voice barely audible.

"I want to hear it from you," I reply, my tone insistent and demanding. A long silence stretches between us, heavy with meaning. Then, after what feels like an eternity, she starts to speak: "I left because he tried to. "Her voice cracks, the raw pain evident, and then she starts to cry softly. She swallows hard, shame burning in her gaze. 

"Because I had to."

I don't move. 

I don't speak. 

I breathe through the rage starting to simmer again, curling, coiling tighter with every heartbeat, especially seeing her tears. 

Fuccck!! Her Stepfather is a dead man walking. He doesn't know it yet. But he will be soon.

"I'll leave," she whispers, her voice barely more than a whisper. I lean back just enough to see the truth in her eyes but try to avoid mine. The tremor in her fingers, the slight shake that betrays her fear. "I shouldn't have come here," she continues, her voice faltering, almost cracking under the unspoken words. 

"I'll leave tonight."

"No, you won't," I interject, my voice steady and unwavering. She blinks, caught off guard. "What?" In a swift motion, I grasp her wrist, my grip firm yet gentle enough to avoid causing her any pain, and pull her up from the chair. The air was thick between us, charged with tension. Her breath hitches as my word registers with her.

She lets out a soft gasp, her breath warm against my skin as I pull her tightly against my chest, feeling her heartbeat. 

"You're not fucking going anywhere," I grit out, my voice low and firm, mixed with desperation and determination. 

She tries to pull away slightly, her delicate hands pressing against my arms, trying to create distance between us. "Luca—" she breathes out, her voice trembling.

I shake her gently, not to harm but to get her attention, to make her look into my eyes and see that I mean what I said. The moment she looks at me, she knows. 

"Don't test me, Mila." My voice is low, deadly. "You run, and I will find you. You disappear, and I will burn every fucking city to the ground until I find you; then, I will drag you back." Her breathing is shallow. I tighten my grip around her wrist, feeling her tiny waist, her warmth. "You don't get to decide this anymore," I say, my voice dropping to a low, velvet growl filled with possession. "I do."

Her eyes flash with something unreadable: defiance, fear, perhaps a bit of longing? It's hard to tell at this moment. "Why?" she demands, the sharpness of her question cutting through the air. I exhale harshly, my breath mingling with hers. My fingers flex around her wrist, anchoring her more to me. 

"Because sweetheart, I can't let you go, Because I don't want to let you go. Because if I do, everything I know, everything I've fought for, the risks I've taken will all be for nothing, because I will become the Devil to everyone, but you." 

He will find her first, a dark whisper repeats in my mind, and that is a reminder of the stakes. And I'll never forgive myself if I allow that to ever fucking happen.

"You're mine to protect now," I declare firmly, making sure her eyes are on mine. "You belong to me." She shakes her head, defiant in her eyes, refusing to admit it. "I don't—" "Yes, you do," I interrupt her, my voice steady, revealing none of my previous anger. I pull back slightly, tilting my head to watch her expression more closely. "You're going back to your real name as well."

Her body stiffens, and she freezes. "No." 

The smirk that crosses my lips is sharp, determined, and tinged with something darker. "Yes." 

"You can't make me—"

"I can. And I will." My words hang heavy between us, a silent promise. 

Her lips parted in shock, attempting to protest, but I cut her off, refusing to allow any of it to take root. "And the hair," I continue, letting my fingers thread through a dark strand that falls freely over her shoulder. "You're changing it back. Everything" I can feel her tense. She's trapped. She knows it, and the reality registers on her face.

"You're done hiding," I murmur, my voice low and dangerous, "Done lying. Done running. Because from now on, you don't have to." Her pulse was rapidly under my fingers. She doesn't speak. Don't argue. Because deep down, she knows fighting would be pointless. She's mine now, bound by chains, a connection forged when our paths crossed.

And nothing in this world can break these chains.