Page 88 of Cruel Deception
And I just sat there.
Heart racing.
Smiling like an idiot.
Wondering why a man like Cassian—who threatened me, caged me, owned me—could still manage to make me feel like I was his wife.
Not his prisoner.
But something... real.
I finished the food in a hurry, my mind racing faster than Cassian’s motorcycle. I kept picturing what an underground mafia race would look like—illegal, of course, but thrilling. Explosive. Maybe even deadly. But somehow... fun.
I changed quickly into a pair of form-fitting black joggers and a matching crop top. The wardrobe Cassian stocked for me had more options than I’d ever need—he’d prepared it even beforeour marriage night. A quiet reminder that he never did anything without planning ten steps ahead.
I paused at the mirror. I looked decent. Pretty, even. My breast pads were in place—flatness hidden, shame camouflaged. I wasn’t ready to be fully exposed yet. Not outside our bedroom. Not under the world’s eyes.
I stepped out.
He was already waiting, leaning against Sophia like she was royalty. He was scrolling through something on his phone, but not like a bored man. No, more like a mafia king—reading death threats like grocery lists.
“Hey,” I said softly.
He lifted his head and looked at me. There was a flicker in his eyes—something unreadable, but not cold. Like maybe he noticed I’d tried. That I’d put effort into blending into his world. And then he handed me a helmet without a word.
I took it. Placed it on my head.
He mounted Sophia. I climbed on behind him, sliding my arms around his chest—tentative at first, then tighter. I was holding a storm in my hands. But tonight... I just wanted to enjoy the wind.
“You said Sophia was injured last time,” I murmured, “what happened?”
“Race,” he replied, his tone dry but final.
Ah, right. Cassian Moretti—minimal words, maximum damage.
I buried my face into his back and closed my eyes as we took off.
The ride out of the estate was chaos and freedom all at once.
Wind whipped past my face, the engine roared like a beast under us. Lights blurred into streaks as we tore through the city like shadows. I could barely breathe—but I didn’t want to. Iwanted to live in that split second, that danger, that adrenaline Cassian wore like a second skin.
We finally slowed down as we entered what looked like a forgotten industrial area.
Only it wasn’t forgotten.
It was alive.
The underground racing zone stretched out like a hidden city. Floodlights illuminated the makeshift stadiums, spectators packed in tightly, their cheers echoing into the night. Street carts served liquor, smoke spiraled into the air, and the scent of burnt tires lingered.
Mafia bodyguards from various syndicates stood around like armored statues—machine guns slung over their shoulders, tattoos on display, loyalty unmistakable. The air reeked of danger, sweat, and alcohol... but oddly, it was clean. Not a single piece of litter on the floor. Power had order, apparently.
Cassian led me toward a building labeled “Players Only” in graffiti-red ink.
Inside, the atmosphere shifted again—more exclusive. Tension hummed in the air like static. Men in racing suits leaned against lockers, exchanging taunts and handshakes. All eyes turned when Cassian walked in. He wasn’t just another player here. He was the main event.
One man—tall, broad, and cocky—glanced toward me and smirked. “Your girl?”
Cassian didn’t blink. “My wife.”
