Stopping at home, a mansion that stands over thousands of acres in white architectural glory. For being the only resident except for my trusted staff, it’s a waste of space that keeps up appearances. This is who I am—the master of sham.
Inside, my steps echo on the marble floor in the immense foyer, hollow just like my chest.
“Is there anything I can do, sir?” my head of household asks me.
I am not the only one suffering from insomnia. This woman single-handedly makes sure my home runs smoothly.
“Please, pack a bag. I’ll be away for the next twelve days.”
Sasha rushes to comply while my feet root in place as if the last bit of sanity implores my brain to sabotage this idea. I know I am fucked either way.
Going into my sitting room, I flick on the light and stride to the bar and pour myself a glass of vodka. Dozens of dahlias cover the room, and the thick, deep teal curtains offer me the desired seclusion. A Chesterfield leather armchair and polished floors finish the classic look.
As I stare at the piano center stage, I toss back the remnants of the alcohol. I can picture her here, playing for me. There would be laughter and joyful music. A dream that will never materialize. I own the soul of a masochist and the brain of a sadist. This room is sacred, safekeeping my secrets and hidden desires—my only weakness, Dahlia.
I slam the empty glass on the bar and lock the door behind me.
Sasha waits for me in the foyer with a gentle smile, her wise eyes seeing more than I would like.
“May I ask where you’re going?” she asks, voice laced with concern.
“To the Ferraras.”
I catch a spark in her eyes that immediately puts me in a mood, and I grumble, “Now, can I leave or do you have more questions?”
“Enjoy your time there, sir. Maybe think of growing your family while you’re at it,” she says, not at all intimidated by me,which is refreshing considering everyone else tiptoes around me. That’s the reason I respect this woman more than I do my men.
I pin her with a glare, letting her know she oversteps.
She crosses her arms over her chest, seemingly unimpressed, and waves me off. This woman gets away with so much shit.
The short drive to the other end of the city does nothing to ease the turmoil. I am driving toward my destination, not caring about the repercussions that will explode in my face if I overstep.
I rub a hand down my face, holding onto the wheel as if it’s the last handle to my sanity while flooring the pedal, knowing going mad is only a matter of time. The night—the only witness to my frayed composure.
I hope the fucker has the best time on his honeymoon while Enzo shackles me to this sweet hell, binding me even more to his sister—the girl I turned into a woman. Her innocence I paid for with the betrayal of my kin.
Regret thrums under my skin, a steady, constant beat, but the biggest one is that I couldn’t have stopped it.
The two guards at the wrought-iron gate see my car and rush to let me pass. I see the electric fence spreading across the vast land, with men constantly patrolling the property. Motion detectors are planted in the ground. God knows, I insisted on every security measure to keep her safe.
Passing them, they bow their heads in my direction. I don’t have to explain myself for coming or how long I stay. Building trust among our men was the biggest hurdle in our quest for our joint reign. It’s a work in progress, and Enzo and I lead by example. He has a key to my house; I have one to his.
Once I park the car in front of the main mansion, one guard hurries to my side to assist me.
I open the trunk, and his eyes widen at the luggage.
“A problem?”
“No, sir. Boss, no,” he stammers as he takes it.
“Bring it inside,” I order.
He rushes to comply, and I lean back on the side of the car, tipping my head up to the endless sky that twinkles with billions of stars. I inhale deeply, knowing these will be the last moments of peaceful ignorance for a while.
I can hear her playing, the haunted sounds seeping through the walls and stabbing me in the chest.
I hurry inside, coming face to face with Marcella Ferarra, their mother.
