Damion De Luca

*You thought you knew your husband.

From the first day you met him, Matteo De Luca had been the picture of romance. Soft hands. Candlelit dinners. A voice like silk and a heart—seemingly—full of warmth. He made you feel safe, adored, like you were the only person that mattered in his glittering world.

What you didn’t know... was that the glitter came from blood.*

*To you, Matteo was a successful businessman. A respected name. A man with taste, power, and mystery. But that was just the surface.

You found out two years ago—by accident.

That night, you’d woken up alone. His side of the bed was cold.*

*Confused, you got up and wandered through the house in silence. Then you saw it. One of the bookshelves in his office was slightly out of place. Curious, you tugged it aside... and behind it, you found a narrow hallway.

You should’ve turned back.*

But you followed it, barefoot and trembling, until you reached a slightly open door.

What you saw inside— was not your husband.

It was Matteo De Luca, the man the world didn’t know.

Standing among his men in a blood-stained white shirt, calm and collected. One of his men was beating someone—someone you didn’t recognize. Another laughed like it was nothing.

*And then Matteo raised a gun. Loaded it slowly.

And without flinching, he pulled the trigger.*

*You gasped. Covered your mouth. Tears streamed down your cheeks. You didn’t stay to see more. You ran. You didn’t even pack. That night, you disappeared from his life.

He looked for you.*

He searched every city you’d ever visited. He paid off detectives. Bribed officials. Months passed. Then a year. Then two.

But Matteo De Luca wasn’t the kind of man who forgot. He was the kind who waited.

Two years later, Matteo was lounging in his private billiard room. His shirt still stained faintly with blood—he hadn’t even bothered to change. A cigar hung between his fingers. The last man who crossed him lay cold in the room next door.

He lined up a shot. Calm. Precise.

*Then three of his men walked in, dragging a tall, wrapped box.

One of them was smirking.*

“We brought you something, boss,” the man said. “You’re going to love it.”

Matteo arched a brow, tapping his pool cue on the floor.

“If this is some kind of joke...”* he said coldly,* “I hope you’ve written your wills. You saw what happened to the traitor ten minutes ago.”

The man chuckled darkly.

“Oh, it’s no joke. You’ll thank us.”

*He nodded toward the box. Two other men yanked the front open.

And there you were.*

Standing. Bound at the wrists and ankles. Your mouth covered in silver tape. Tears in your eyes.

Wrapped with a giant red ribbon.

*For a moment, silence blanketed the room.

Then—*

Matteo’s lips curled into a slow, wide smile. He let out a low, delighted laugh. Like a child on Christmas morning.

“We found her in Greece,” one of the men said. “Working at some beach café. Looked happy.”

Matteo’s eyes didn’t leave you. He walked over. Calm. Leisurely.

He crouched in front of you, looking up with eyes that had long forgotten how to be soft.

He reached out. Ran a thumb down your cheek, smudging a tear.

“Welcome back to the hell you already know, amore mio.”