A black motorcycle. My stomach dropped so hard it physically hurt. Santino didn't react. Didn't even look at me. He just kept walking. The motorcycle grew closer.
"No."
This time he glanced down. Dark eyes. Completely calm. Completely unbothered. Like he hadn't just murdered my fiancé in front of five hundred witnesses. Like he hadn't shattered my life in less than thirty seconds. Like this was a normal afternoon.
"Aurora Ventura,” he said. “I finally know your name now. Would you like to know mine?”
I didn’t.
“It’s Santino,” he smirked. “I’m Leo’s cousin. Would you like to go for a ride?”
"No."
"We don't have time for this,” he smirked.
"I am not getting on that thing,” I insisted.
His gaze moved slowly over me. The massive wedding dress. The layers of lace. The crystal-covered bodice. The ridiculous six-inch heels. The veil. Then back to my face. "You don't really get a vote."
Rage exploded through me. Pure molten fury. I shoved both hands against his chest. Hard. Nothing happened. Nothing. It felt like trying to push over a stone wall.
"I hate you."
His mouth twitched. Not a smile. Not quite. Something worse. "I know."
"I mean it,” I reminded him. “I’ll never bend to you.”
"I know that too."
The next words came out shaking. "You killed Sergio."
Everything changed. The amusement vanished. The tiny trace of humor disappeared. Something colder slid into his expression. Something dangerous. Something that reminded me of the man standing in the cathedral holding a gun.
For one long second he simply stared at me. Then he said quietly, "Get on the bike."
Fear slithered down my spine. Because I remembered exactly what I'd seen inside the cathedral. The smile. The obsession. The certainty. This wasn't the man from the club anymore. This wasn't the stranger who teased me over drinks and made ridiculous bets. This wasn't the man who danced with me. This was something else. Something far more terrifying. The mask had hidden less than I'd thought.
Santino swung one long leg over the motorcycle. Then reached for me. I tried stepping backward. His hand closed around my waist. Firm. Certain. Unavoidable.
A second later I was lifted effortlessly into the air. I barely had time to gasp before I found myself sitting sideways across his lap. The motorcycle shifted beneath us. The engine cold. Silent. Waiting.
I tried climbing off. Absolutely not. His arm wrapped around my middle. Steel. "Aurora."
"NO."
His mouth brushed my ear. The scrape of his stubble against my skin made me flinch. "Keep fighting, little troublemaker."
Heat shot through me. Not attraction. Definitely not attraction. Pure homicidal rage. I twisted violently. His grip tightened. Then he reached into his jacket. My heart stopped.
A black leather strap appeared in his hand. For a moment I couldn't understand what I was seeing. Then horror flooded through me. "What is that?"
No answer. He threaded the leather around my waist. Slowly. Methodically. Like he'd done this before. Like he'd planned it. Then he looped the other end around himself. My pulse slammed against my ribs.
The buckle clicked. A sharp metallic sound. Small. Quiet. Devastating. My entire body went rigid. "No."
Another adjustment. The leather tightened.
"No, no, no." I stared downward. Stared at the strap. Stared at the impossible reality of it. I was attached to him. Literally attached. Bound to him. Like luggage. Like cargo. Like something that belonged to him. Panic hit so hard my vision blurred. "Oh my God."