I remain standing just inside the doorway, refusing to take the visitor's chair positioned before him. Two can play this power game.
"What do you need?" His voice is flat, all pretense of the loving husband stripped away now that we're alone.
I straighten my spine, meeting his gaze directly.
"So," I begin, forcing a casual tone into my voice, "I assume I'm free to do whatever I want in my own time, right? Shopping with friends, maybe hit up a club or two?"
Damiano leans back, his fingers steepled in front of him. His eyes never leave mine, a mixture of amusement and irritation dancing in their depths. "Is thatso,lupacchiotta?"
A low, humorless chuckle escapes Damiano's lips. He leans forward, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr. "Let me make something very clear, Zoe. Whatever you want to do, you ask me first. And then, if I'm feeling generous, I might consider it."
My blood boils at his words and I clench my fists to keep from lashing out. How dare he treat me like a prisoner? I force myself to take a deep breath, reminding myself of the bigger picture. I can't blow my cover now, not when I've barely begun.
"I'm supposed to be your wife, not your prisoner," I snap, unable to completely mask my anger. "I didn't agree to be locked up in this mansion."
Damiano's eyes narrow, a flicker of something dangerous passing through them. He rises from his chair, circling the desk until he's standing right in front of me. I resist the urge to shrink back, holding my ground as he looms over me.
"You agreed to be my wife," he says, his voice low and intense. "And that means you play by my rules."
I stand up, refusing to let him intimidate me. We're close now, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his body. "So what am I supposed to do? Sit around and embroider all day?"
A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. "I'm sure we could find more... interesting ways to pass the time,lupacchiotta."
The suggestive tone in his voice sends an involuntary shiver down my spine. I hate myself for it, for the way my body reacts to him despite everything he's done.
"You're unbelievable," I hiss, taking a step back to put some distance between us.
I feel my anger rising, threatening to boil over. Damiano's arrogant smirk only fuels my rage. I take anotherstep forward, my fists clenched so tight my nails dig into my palms.
"You can't just keep me locked up here like some trophy wife," I spit. "I'm a person, not a possession."
Damiano's eyes flash dangerously. He closes the distance between us in one swift motion, his face inches from mine. I can feel his breath on my cheek as he speaks, his voice low and menacing.
"You're right, you're not a possession. You're my wife. And in this world, that means something." His hand shoots out, gripping my chin firmly. "You think this is a game? That you can just waltz around the city without consequences?"
I try to jerk away, but his grip is like iron. "Let go of me," I hiss.
"Listen carefully, Zoe," he continues, ignoring my protest. "There are people out there who would love nothing more than to get their hands on you. To hurt you, to use you against me."
I glare at him, refusing to back down. "I can take care of myself."
Damiano laughs, a harsh, humorless sound. "You have no idea what you're up against. You don't know the rules, the dangers."
"I said let go of me," I snap.
Damiano lets me go with a smirk and says, "There will be a day that you'll beg me to touch you, Zoe!"
My hands clench into fists at my sides. I take a step closer to him, my voice low and venomous. "Go to hell, Damiano."
Without waiting for a response I spin on my heel and storm out of the office, slamming the door behind me.
I slam my bedroom door so hard the walls shake. My heart pounds against my ribs as I pace across the plush carpet, each step fueling my rage. The nerve of that man. The absolute audacity.
I grab my phone from the nightstand and punch in Scarlett's number, praying she's not on shift at the hospital. She answers on the third ring.
"Hey love, are you okay?"
"Can you believe this guy?" I fume, gripping the phone so tight my knuckles turn white. "He actually told me I need his permission to go out!"
