Jealous Blood

Chapter Three: Jealous Blood

Elena hadn’t planned to go out. But when Sofia—her childhood friend and one of the few people Marco tolerated—invited her to a gallery opening downtown, she decided to test the edges of her so-called freedom.

Marco hadn’t said no. He hadn’t said yes, either.

Which, in Elena’s mind, was enough.

She wore a black silk dress with thin straps, the hem brushing her thighs and the neckline dipping low enough to draw eyes without demanding them. Her heels clicked sharply against the marble floors as she descended the penthouse staircase, her pulse already beating faster at the thought of defying Marco’s unspoken rules.

The driver Marco assigned waited downstairs, expression unreadable. He opened the door without a word. When Elena stepped into the car, she felt like she was already doing something illicit—even if it was just a night of art and wine.

The gallery buzzed with people, laughter, and the sharp clinking of champagne glasses. White walls showcased abstract canvases in bold color, but nothing in the room was as bold as the man who approached her.

Tall. Dark hair. A smile that wasn’t just charming—it was dangerous.

“You must be Elena Romano,” he said, eyes flicking to her bare shoulder. “The wife of the infamous Marco.”

She gave a tight smile. “Depends who’s asking.”

“Luca Bianchi.” He extended a hand. “I’m one of the featured artists tonight. Your friend Sofia told me you were coming.”

She shook his hand, careful not to linger.

He leaned closer. “You don’t look like the type to be locked away in a high-rise. But maybe that’s why you’re here, hmm?”

Her heart skipped. “I’m here for the art.”

Luca chuckled. “And I’m here for the view.”

Before she could answer, a voice behind her sliced through the crowd like a blade.

“You’re staring at something that doesn’t belong to you.”

Elena turned, her stomach dropping.

Marco stood in the entrance of the gallery, suit immaculate, rage practically radiating from him. His jaw was clenched, his eyes locked on Luca like a wolf scenting blood.

“Marco,” Elena said, reaching for him, “It’s fine—”

But Marco didn’t hear her. Or rather, he didn’t care.

He was already closing the distance between him and Luca.

“You touch her?” Marco asked, low and venomous.

Luca held up his hands, unbothered. “No, but I’m tempted.”

Wrong answer.

Before anyone could react, Marco’s fist slammed into Luca’s jaw.

Gasps rippled across the gallery. Champagne spilled. Someone screamed.

Elena’s eyes widened as Marco grabbed Luca by the collar and shoved him against a canvas, smearing paint across the wall and his suit.

“She’s mine,” Marco hissed. “Next time you look at her like that, I’ll carve your eyes out and feed them to my dogs.”

Two of Marco’s guards were already stepping forward, ready to drag Luca outside.

“Marco, stop!” Elena shouted, grabbing his arm.

He turned to her, still breathing hard. His eyes were wild—possessive and burning. “You left without telling me. You wore this,” he gestured to her dress, “and let men look at what’s mine.”

“We’re in public,” she whispered, cheeks flaming.

“And I don’t give a fuck.”

He grabbed her waist, pulling her against him so forcefully it knocked the air from her lungs. Then—right there in the middle of the gallery—he kissed her. Hard. Dominating. His tongue pushed past her lips like a claim, not a request.

She melted against him, her fists curling in his shirt, the world spinning.

He broke the kiss and growled in her ear, “Let them watch.”

The gallery was silent. Shocked. Frozen.

Marco looked around with cool disdain and said, “My wife doesn’t talk to other men. Not unless I say so.”

Elena stared at him, breathless and flushed.

And somewhere deep inside, she wasn’t afraid.

She was turned on.

[End of Chapter Three]

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