“Get in,” I say to her.
She’s quick to obey, and it brings back the memory of our conversation earlier about her being submissive. Emilia wasn’t lying about that. As I settle beside her, I wonder how often she tells the truth.
I swing my gaze to her and slowly peruse the woman who is now my wife. If someone would’ve told me I’d be married to my enemy’s daughter, I would’ve laughed and followed that by shooting them. This is un-fucking-believable, but once I heard about Rossi’s official engagement to Emilia, I knew I couldn’t wait any longer to put the first part of my family’s revenge into motion. I didn’t, and still don’t, like the idea of marrying her, but knowing Caruso has now lost his coveted spot within the Wolf Pack makes it worthwhile.
Nothing in my life is going to change. I’ll fuck who I want when I want, and all the while I’ll continue on with the plans to destroy Caruso. The first step was to take away his daughter, who’s the key to securing more power in a higher circle.
The second will be his assets.
The third will be his life.
I hoped by taking Emilia that he’d be tortured over the idea of her being abused, as well as be ridiculed by having to explain to Rossi what happened, but from Caruso’s behavior tonight, I’ve gathered he may not care for her as much as I originally thought.
It doesn’t matter though; her suffering will please me.
Emilia
My only defense is to shut down and retreat to the deep recess of my mind, a place I always return to when I know pain is going to come. And if the gleam in Maximus’s gaze is any indication, it’ll be sooner rather than later.
The SUV rides smoothly, and the lights from the city fall on me briefly, turning my skin a golden color. I haven’t left my room since I was eighteen years old, almost two years ago, in order to attend the gala. Or bridal auction, because that’s what it truly was. So leaving behind my father’s house—and more importantly my father—brings me a small amount of relief that shouldn’t be present. For all I know, evil incarnate sits beside me.
Maximus Silvestri. My husband.
To say I’m still in shock over the events that just transpired is an understatement. And to say I’m scared is another one. Terrified is more accurate. Traditionally, Catholics marry for life, and this raises an important question: How long will I be allowed to live in this marriage?
“Til death do us part” never sounded so ominous.
Despite the danger I find myself in, I still can’t deny the thought of never seeing my father again brings me peace. With both my parents out of my life—one by choice and the other not—I’m now an orphan. But I am free of their memories, save the ones I choose of my mother. And my father? I wish he were the one underground, not her.
Maximus may be worse than Caruso, but only time will tell. It’s hard to envision someone eviler. However, based on the way my husband touched me earlier, he will want to do things to me no one has ever dared, and that is something I know nothing of.
What is considered worse is relative.
Trying not to think about such horrible things is almost impossible, and I attempt to shift my focus to the buildings passing by. How I wish I could see them in the daytime, especially the ones in the historical districts I’ve studied online. From the looks of it, I don’t think we are anywhere near one, which is a shame. I’ve also browsed so many pictures of the Garden of the Phoenix I feel as if I’ve already been there, but I know my imagination will never replace the actual experience of walking along the trails.
Will Maximus lock me up like my father? Or is it possible that once he gets tired of me, I’ll be able to visit the city and finally see some of the places I’ve only dreamed about?
“Donnaccia.”
With great reluctance and trepidation, I pull my gaze from the window only to find Maximus already staring at me. The shadows of night drift over the sculpted angles of his face, making them sharper, more pronounced. I wonder if Lucifer was this beautiful.
If so, I have a lot more sympathy for Eve’s plight.
“Answer me when I call you,” Maximus says. His voice is calm and soft, which worries me just as much as if he were shouting. Not that I can envision him in such an undisciplined state. If I am the epitome of submissiveness, then Maximus is that of control.
I nod, and it’s minimal, as I don’t want to communicate more than necessary. “How?” I whisper. His gaze narrows infinitesimally, indicating I’ve either shocked or irritated him with my inquiry. I drop my head in order to break free of his stare. “How am I to address you?”
From my peripheral, I take note of the way he leans further back into the leather seat, almost as if he’s intrigued. He watches me with hooded eyes, and I inwardly cringe. I asked him the question in order to make sure I meet whatever expectations he has for me. It’s not because I want to do his bidding, but Maximus owns me in the eyes of the underworld, and I want to make peace with him.
If I can.
He may not allow it, in which case I’ll have to come up with another measure of defense against him.
“You will call me ‘sir.’ Nothing else,” he says. “Look at me.”
I lift my head. “Yes, sir.”
The gleam is back in his gaze. The underlying threat Maximus constantly presents, along with my proximity to him, has my heart pounding in my ears. The space in the back seat shrinks, but I don’t follow suit even though I want to curl up and disappear. The air between us is heavy with anticipation.
