Page 10 of His Savage Ruin
I return to the room where she waits, my expression carefully controlled, my voice carrying the cold edge that has made grown men confess their sins.
"Now then,principessa," I say, settling into the chair across from her. "Let's discuss the situation we find ourselves in
Alessia
The way he says "principessa" makes ice crawl up my spine. Gone is any trace of the dark amusement I glimpsed earlier, replaced by something far more dangerous. This isIl Diavoloin his truest form—cold, calculating, absolutely lethal.
His eyes pin me in place and every second of silence makes it harder to breathe.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I whisper, steady on the outside, even though my insides twist.
“You’re proving to be anything but stupid.” He leans in, close enough for me to catch the sharp bite of his cologne. “I think you understand perfectly.”
The air presses heavy in my chest. My pulse hammers, but I hold his gaze.
“Your value to the Morettis—your reason for still breathing—depends on their belief you’re carrying Lorenzo’s heir. Without that child, you’re nothing.” His words are precise, deliberate. “So. Who else knows you’re lying?”
I force my face to remain still, but his gaze drops to my hands. Only then do I realize I’ve been twisting Lorenzo’s ring, the band circling too quickly around my finger.
The gold band feels suddenly heavy, a reminder of the marriage that never truly existed, the intimacy that never happened, the child that could never be.
"No one," I finally say, making the words sound firm, even though the admission feels like stepping off a cliff, like watching the last of my defenses crumble into dust. Forty-five days of careful construction, of measured words and desperate performance, and it all comes down to this moment of brutal honesty.
Damn him!
He studies my face for a long moment, searching for any sign of deception. I force myself to meet his gaze, to let him see the truth I've been hiding since that terrible night when everything changed.
The truth that Lorenzo and I never... that our marriage was nothing but a business arrangement that never progressed beyond shared living space and separate bedrooms. That the pregnancy was impossible not just because it was faked, but because it could never have happened in the first place.
"You're certain?" he asks, his voice softer now but no less dangerous.
"Yes." And for the first time since this nightmare began, I'm telling the complete truth. The pregnancy lie was mine alone, born from desperation and maintained through sheer force of will. "No one else knows because there was no one else to know."
Something shifts in his expression. Not quite satisfaction, but a kind of grim calculation. "Good. Then we can control this situation."
"Control it how?"
"By making sure it stays our secret." He moves back slightly, giving me space to breathe but not enough to feel safe. "As long as the Morettis believe you're pregnant, you have value. You have protection. The moment they discover the truth..."
He doesn't need to finish the sentence. We both know what happens to liabilities in this world. I've seen it firsthand, lived with the constant fear of it for months.
I steady my voice. “Why would you help me?”
One corner of his mouth twitches. “Don’t mistake this for help,principessa. As long as the Morettis believe you're pregnant, you're valuable," he replies with brutal honesty. "You're potential leverage, a bargaining chip carrying their future heir. The moment they discover you're not pregnant, you become worthless to them. And to me."
His words cut sharper than if he’d raised a hand to me, but I keep my expression even. Only inside does the truth burn.
"What happens now then?"
"Now we go to my estate, where you'll stay while I decide how best to use this information." He checks his watch with the casual indifference of a man discussing the weather. "Time to go," he says as he cuts my ties.
He moves toward the door, clearly expecting me to follow, but my legs feel like lead. The enormity of what's happening—being transported to Romano territory, becoming a prisoner in enemy hands—crashes over me like a wave.
"I said it's time to go," he repeats, his voice carrying a harder edge.
"I won't go with you." I straighten in the chair, summoning every ounce of defiance I have left. "I won't be your prisoner."
For a moment, he just stares at me as if I've spoken in a foreign language. Then his expression shifts, becoming something that's almost amused. Almost.
