Running away comes to mind, but even in this state, I recognize how naïve the thought is. Where would I even go? Who would I become? I don’t know how to exist outside these walls. I have no money, no contacts, no place I could hide without my father finding me and dragging me right back.
A knock on my door pulls me out of my head. I wipe a hand under my eyes, clearing my throat. “Yes?”
“Don Ferrara needs you in his office,” Enzo says, his voice muffled beyond the thick wall.
I nod, even though I know he can’t see me. “Fine. Just give me a moment.”
I scurry into the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. I’d hate to show my father I’ve been crying. He doesn’t deserve my tears. For a second, I close my eyes, and the basement clamps around me again. The dark, the quiet, the feel of someone else’s hands guiding my breath.
I shove the memory down.
Even Mikhail can’t save me this time. Despite all that raw, primordial dominance, he’s just a pawn in my father’s game, likeall of us. Will they kill him once I’m married and out of this house? Does he regret stalking me in exchange for his life? He has to. He must.
In the end, what was I to him? Merely a curiosity.
Out into the hallway, Enzo greets me with a nod, walking behind me as I descend the stairs and make a beeline for the office. The door is already open, and as soon as I approach it, I make eye contact with my father. He looks tense—uncomfortable, even. The strain in his gaze and the slight downturn of his mouth are clear signs. I only ever see him like this when things don’t go according to plan.
Another man sits across from him with his back to me, sprawling in his chair, his ankle resting on his knee. Something in my stomach twists before I even see his face. I swallow into my dry throat, preparing myself for the worst. This has to be about marriage. And this person…is likely someone from last night’s party, the son of someCapoI’m supposed to fawn over.
“What is it?” I ask, pressing my teeth together until my gums begin to hurt.
Except nothing, absolutelynothing, could have prepared me for the moment the man turns, revealing the face of the monster I’ve been secretly visiting in his lair.
Elegant.
Intoxicating.
Scarred and bruised, yet fresh, as if the devil came out into the sun for once.
“Hello, sweetheart,” Mikhail purrs. “Don’t you look beautiful in the morning light.”
11
Cecilia
I’m escorted outside through the halls of thepalazzowith Mikhail close behind me and a guard leading the way, as if I’m already one with the man I’m supposed to marry—an intruder, not someone who lived here her entire life.
Tears burn my eyes, falling down my cheeks in warm streams. My legs feel laden, each step more difficult than the one before it, yet I keep walking, because I refuse to let this monster drag me out of my home like a sack of coins.
Cesare’s voice booms behind me, reverberating off the walls. I whip my face toward the sound, toward my father’s office from which I’ve just come out.
“Wait! Just fucking wait,” he calls out, rushing after us. “At least let her pack. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Mikhail snorts. “My wife won’t be needing anything from you anymore. Step away,consigliere. We’re leaving.”
Cesare doesn’t relent. Instead, he steps in front of me, blocking my way. “No,” he says.
I look up at him, all scared and teary-eyed, and he drowns me in his gaze. It’s wild and furious, like someone just set fire to his house. It makes me want to reach for him, because he’s the only comfort I still know.
“Cesare—” I step forward as a warm, foreign hand grips the back of my neck. All the air is knocked out of my lungs when I’m dragged into Mikhail’s hard chest. My skin tingles and burns, as if whatever darkness he’s made of is seeping into my pores. “Take your goddamn hands off me!” I cry out.
But his grip only tightens, a sign of the power that lies beneath his rough exterior. If he wanted to, he could crush me right here, right now.
“What’s the meaning of this?” my father’s gruff voice calls as he makes his way toward us. “Cesare, step away. You’re forgetting your place, son.”
I don’t fail to notice the way Cesare’s shoulders beg to cower at his command, but he resists it. He straightens, pinning his Don with a defiant gaze.
“No,” he says, the word clear and resonant. I bring my trembling hands in front of my face, holding my breath. He could die for this—for me. What the hell is he thinking?
