Chapter 35
35
Victoria
I wake up with a start.
It feels like I’m choking.
My eyes blink against the bright sunlight streaking across my room, and apparently my face.
Wait. Something feels wrong…
Where the hell am I?
My brain scrambles to place the room: the towering ceilings, the carved moldings, the unfamiliar silk sheets tangled around my legs.
Then it hits me like a fist to the sternum.
The wedding.
I close my lids, my hands lifting to my eyes, and I rub frantically. This has to be a dream. Scratch that, I mean nightmare.
But with my lids shut, an image plays out in my mind of Lorenzo’s mouth on mine.
My lungs seize. I sit up so fast the room tilts.
I’m married to a man who hates me.
Great. Just fucking great.
The man looks at me like he wants to kill me. Seeing as he works for the Mafia, something tells me it would be an easy task for him.
I slide out of the bed, my legs shaky. Thinking of my death is not how I want to spend my day. I need to come up with a plan and start.
The cold floor shocks me as I make my way across the room to grab clothes.
Last night it was fully stocked with things for me to wear, so this is a good place to start.
I yank open the wardrobe and grab the first thing I see—a soft gray sweater, fitted black pants, and flats.
Easy, neutral, forgettable.
Maybe if I stay far away from him, he’ll forget that I exist, and maybe hell would have to freeze over for that to happen.
Then something else captures my gaze.
A pebble.
It looks just like the ones he used to leave for me, but he wouldn’t do that now, right?
My hand reaches out and my fingers touches it.
No. It’s just a coincidence.
With a shake of my head, I step back and get to work of getting dressed. I have no time for the past.
Once I’m fully dressed, I brush my hair until it looks like it belongs to someone whose life hasn’t imploded. But the moment I step into the hallway, the panic returns. It creeps up my spine.
Even though I saw the place last night, I’m not prepared for what I’m seeing in the fresh light of the day.
This mansion is enormous.
Gorgeous too.
I walk past room after room, each one somehow colder than the last.
A formal sitting room full of furniture no one will ever sit on. A music room with an untouched grand piano. A sunroom drowning in light, and a library with shelves that stretch so high that I’m happy a ladder hangs from one of the shelves.
Every door that I’ve opened is another reminder that this is now my life.
I try to breathe. I really do.
But then I push open the next door, and my blood freezes.
What is this place?
I squint my eyes, taking in what I’m seeing and trying to understand it all at the same time.
Floor-to-ceiling TV monitors line the walls, all buzzing with live feeds. The estate gates. The perimeter. The hallways I just walked down. The bedroom I slept in.
This is a security room.
What the hell?
Who needs a security room?
The nephew of a Mafia boss, apparently.
Two armed guards sit at a long desk, eyes flicking between screens, hands near their comms.
Watching everything.
Including me?
I step back, heart hammering so loudly I hear it in my teeth.
And then a breath grazes my neck, and before I can see who’s there, a hand wraps slowly around my waist.
And I know.
I jolt so hard I hit his chest.
“What are you looking for, Little Bird p>
I don’t need to turn around to know Lorenzo stands behind me, towering over me. I still do, though.
He’s still in a crisp black shirt rolled up at the forearms. His eyes drag down me, slow and assessing, like he’s deciding what to do with me.
A smirk twists his mouth, lazy and lethal.
Shit.
I don’t like that look.
It’s sex. Pure and simple.
Or I should say sinful.
I don’t answer his question because I can’t. My tongue feels like it’s made of sandpaper.
He brushes my hair off my shoulder. His touch is gentle, but for some reason, his soft touch feels crueler than if he grabbed me. Lorenzo guides me out of the room with one hand pressed to the small of my back. Possessive. Cold.
When he closes the door behind us, the guards don’t even look our way. They don’t need to.
Everyone here already knows who owns me.
We head down a wide hallway toward the dining room, and the whole time, he never moves his hand. It’s pressed hard enough that it feels like a brand.
“Relax.” His tone drips with a mock concern that makes my skin crawl. “You look like you’re walking to your execution p>
“That’s certainly how it feels,” I answer quickly, trying to sound sharper than I feel.
He huffs a dark laugh. “If I wanted to kill you, Little Bird, I’d do it somewhere prettier p>
“Comforting,” I mutter.
He pushes open the dining room door. A long table sits in the center, set with white china and silver cutlery. An obscene amount of elegance for two people who could barely stand to breathe the same air last night.
He gestures to a chair. “Sit p>
I don’t want to, but I do.
He sits across from me, lounging back like this is a casual brunch and not the breakfast from hell.
A server enters, places a plate of food in front of each of us, and vanishes like a ghost.
Lorenzo picks up his fork and spins it in his hand with a bored flick. “Let’s talk rules p>
My stomach tightens. “Rules p>
He gives me a slow, almost amused look. “You didn’t think marriage came without terms, did you p>
I glare at him, refusing to let him see how much my hand shakes when I lift my water glass.
“What do you expect me to do?” I ask, voice tight. “You blew up my life. My job. My future. What now? Am I supposed to sit around like some… decorative hostage p>
He leans in slightly, shadows slicing across his cheekbones. “You hated working for your father p>
My throat closes. “That doesn’t mean I wanted you to take that from me p>
His mouth curves in a slow, vicious smile. “I didn’t take anything you weren’t already desperate to escape p>
“That’s not true p>
“It is.” He taps the table once with two fingers. “But don’t worry. You won’t be working anymore p>
My spine snaps straight. “Excuse me p>
“You heard me.” He cuts into his food with surgical precision. “You don’t need a job p>
“I need a life,” I fire back.
“You have one,” he says with a shrug that’s pure sin. “This one p>
“So my only job is to be a prisoner p>
“You’re my wife p>
“That’s not better p>
“It wasn’t meant to be p>
The air goes razor-sharp between us.
His eyes drop to my untouched plate, then back to me. “Eat p>
“I’m not hungry p>
“You haven’t eaten since yesterday p>
“I’ll eat when I’m not nauseous with dread p>
He chuckles, low and dark. “Your stomach will adjust p>
I want to throw the plate at his head.
Instead, I fold my hands in my lap and glare at him, my jaw aching from how hard I’m clenching it.
“What am I supposed to do all day,” I ask, “if I’m not allowed to work, leave, or function as a human being p>
He lifts his glass of coffee and takes a slow sip. “Take up a hobby p>
I laugh once, sharp and humorless. “A hobby p>
“Knitting, perhaps,” he deadpans. “Or gardening. Or pottery. Something domestic? Maybe something… soothing p>
“You’re insane p>
He shrugs. “Occupational hazard p>
“Be serious p>
“I am.” His gaze pins me. “If you need inspiration… maybe read p>
“Read what p>
He cocks his head, pretending to think. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe finish Wuthering Heights p>
My mouth goes dry.
His smirk widens. “See how it turned out for Cathy p>
I shove my chair back so hard that when it skids across the floor, the legs screech against polished wood.
Lorenzo watches me stand, completely unfazed or bothered.
It’s infuriating.
“You’re a monster,” I whisper.
His smile turns soft, and now I’m scared. I riled the beast. He’s like a wolf lowering its head before the kill. “Maybe. But you aren’t much better p>
I shake my head, confused.
“You still haven’t taken responsibility for what I’ve become p>
The room feels too hot. I reach the door before I realize my hands are trembling. As I grab the handle, his voice slides across the room.
“Breakfast is at eight every morning. Try not to be late tomorrow p>
I don’t look back.
Not because I’m strong.
But because I’m terrified of what I’ll see if I do.