Usually, sometime after midnight, the nightmares came. I already knew the signs now. The crying. The begging for her father to stop. Calling for her siblings. But it never came.
No frightened whimpers. No tears soaking into the pillow. No panic clawing through her sleep.
Chiara slept peacefully in my arms for the first time since I took her from Ventura’s house. And God help me, the realization pleased me far more than it should have.
Morninglightspilledpalegold across the bridal suite by the time I opened my eyes. Chiara was still asleep against my chest. I stayed still for a moment, watching her.
Her face looked softer like this. Younger. Not the furious little wife constantly trying to claw at me, but the exhausted girl buried underneath all that rage. Blonde hair tangled across the pillow and over my arm. Lips parted slightly in sleep. One hand curled unconsciously into my shirt like she’d grabbed hold of me sometime during the night and never let go.
Interesting. More interesting? No nightmares. Not one.
My gaze drifted slowly over the faint tension still lingering between her brows even in sleep. Something ugly twisted beneath my ribs again at the memory of the bruises on her back and how much her behavior had changed since our vows.
It was her Papa’s fault. I already knew. I just needed confirmation.
Carefully, I slid out from beneath her without waking her. Chiara stirred slightly, making a soft sound beneath her breath before curling deeper into the blankets instead. Cute.
I adjusted the silk sheets over her bare legs before crossing the suite quietly.
By the time I stepped into the hallway, Sergio was already waiting near the elevator. Of course he was. My right-hand man took one look at my face and snorted.
“Well,” he drawled. “You look terrifyingly pleased with yourself.”
I adjusted my cufflinks calmly. “Good morning to you too.”
“That good, huh?” he teased. I glanced at him flatly.
Sergio grinned. “So the wedding night didn’t end in murder. I’ll take that as progress.”
“She cried because I wouldn’t fuck her,” I admitted.
His eyebrows shot upward. Then he burst out laughing. A real laugh. Loud enough it echoed off the marble walls. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“The innocent little Ventura?” Sergio whistled. “Seems like she’s as whipped as you are.”
“She’s not Ventura anymore. That’sSignoraMoretti to you now,” I corrected coldly.
Sergio smirked harder. “Right. Your wife cried because you denied her your dick. Jesus Christ.”
“She’s hiding something.” That wiped the amusement from his face.
His expression sharpened. “You sure?”
“Yes.”
“You think Ventura told her?” he asked. Rage flashed hot beneath my skin so quickly I nearly welcomed it.
“I think Lorenzo Ventura filled her head with something before the wedding,” I said calmly. “And I think he’s going to tell me exactly what.”
Sergio went quiet for half a second. Then he smiled slowly. Meanly.
“Ah,” he murmured. “So that’s the mood today.”
I stepped into the elevator first. “Get the car.”
Thedrivetookoveran hour. Rain streaked slowly across the tinted windows while the city disappeared behind us mile by mile. Sergio drove in silence most of the way, though I caught him glancing toward me occasionally.
