When I finally get to my room, the door clicks shut softly behind me. I cross the space on autopilot and move to the bed, carefully lowering Luca onto the mattress.
He hasn’t stirred once since the reception dinner ended. The unfamiliar faces, the strange clothes, the long hours and raised voices over pasta and wine all overwhelmed him until exhaustion claimed its victory when we finally got back to the car. His lashes rest against his cheeks, his mouth parted slightly as he breathes deeply.
Guilt coils tightly around my heart.
I sit beside him on the bed and begin to undress him, working slowly so I don’t wake him. The stiff little suit is peeled away piece by piece—jacket first, then the tiny dress shoes, then thebutton-down that had irritated his neck all evening. I fold each item carefully and set them aside, though I don’t know why. It’s not like any of this needs to be preserved.
He never should have been involved in any of this to begin with.
Out of everyone caught in Dante’s wrath—my father, his enemies, me—Luca is the most innocent of all. He didn’t choose this world. He didn’t choose to bear the weight of his father’s name or its legacy. He deserved safety, and I failed to give him that.
It’s hard not to let the tears burning at the corners of my eyes fall.
Once he’s tucked beneath the covers, I smooth the blanket up to his chest and watch him for a long while. My fingers slip into his hair, stroking it back again and again until my arm aches. The repetitive motion is grounding and is really the only thing keeping the panic broiling in my chest from swallowing me whole.
For the first time since we arrived at the villa, he sleeps peacefully. As sad as that is, it does comfort me somewhat.
When I slide off the bed, movement catches my eye.
The bedroom door opens just a fraction, the hinges barely whispering as it does, then I spot the maid from earlier standing in the doorway. Her posture is rigid while her expression remains unreadable. She doesn’t speak, only lifts her hand and motions for me to follow.
My stomach tightens. After one last glance at Luca still sleeping peacefully beneath the covers, I cross the room and step intothe hallway. The door closes softly behind me, sealing him away from whatever comes next.
Only once we’re alone does she speak. “Master Cosenza is requesting that you come to his bedroom.”
Fear pools instantly in my stomach.
I know what men like Dante expect from their new wives. I know what the first night is supposed to mean, especially in his world. Especially after a wedding like this forged from anger instead of affection. I won’t be looking forward to a night like the ones we shared four years ago. It will be far from those sweet, tender moments.
The hallway feels longer than it did earlier as I force myself to follow her. Each one of my steps shuffles too loudly against the stone floors. My heartbeat keeps pace with it, fast and uneven, and when she stops in front of the double doors at the end of the corridor, my palms grow slick with sweat.
She opens them and gestures for me to step inside.
The room is cavernous.
It’s elegantly decorated and impossibly beautiful. Soft amber lighting glows from shaded lamps in each corner of the room. Fresh white linens stretch pristinely across an enormous four-poster bed. The walls are covered with wallpaper that has a soft, pearlescent sheen to it. Elegant molding stretches around the ceiling, circling the entire perimeter.
It’s so much different from what he had back at his father’s old estate, a far cry from those cozy nights we spent together curled by the fireplace.
A tray of toiletries sits arranged neatly at the foot of the bed, and draped neatly across the center of the mattress is a single silk robe.
My hands begin to shake as the door closes behind me. The click of the latch is deafening in the quiet, final as the jamb snaps into place. I turn slowly toward the vanity across the room and barely recognize the woman staring back.
She’s pale and hollow-eyed. The ring on my finger catches the light, tearing my eyes away from my own reflection. It feels less like jewelry and more like iron chains. Anyone else would find it beautiful but to me, all it represents is a cold and uncaring future.
What am I supposed to do?
I can’t sleep with him. Not after everything that’s happened. The way his eyes watched me today, burning with every unsaid accusation and whatever grief he still feels for my leaving, feels far more dangerous than everything else I’ve encountered so far.
I doubt he’ll be gentle. I know he won’t touch me with the same reverence he once did in those stolen moments years ago when his voice had been soft and his hands careful as they held me close.
That man feels like a stranger now. This version of him hates me. What better way to punish me for running than to remind me exactly what kind of man I fled from?
I swallow hard at the thought.
I am trapped in this marriage until he decides I am no longer useful. Until my father is found and my purpose is served.Maybe he will find it in his heart to be gentle with me when he finally decides to kill me.
The thought slips in uninvited in my mind, quiet and horrifying in its calm acceptance. If not gentle, then at least quick. I can only pray for that much mercy even as I know how foolish it is to expect it from a man like Dante Cosenza.
