Page 5

"This... this isn't like your penthouse in Manhattan," she states, the anger momentarily forgotten in the face of the unknown.

"No," I agree, my voice soft, almost caressing. "Manhattan was never truly home. This is where my blood runs deepest, where our roots will entwine."

I watch as her delicate fingers, still bearing the fresh mark of my ring, reach out tentatively, brushing against the smooth, cool surface of a marble pillar. A faint gasp escapes her lips.

"The air... it smells different here. Like... like wild rosemary and salt," she murmurs, her brow furrowing in concentration.

"It does," I confirm, moving closer, my shadow falling over her. "This is Sicily, Iris. The land of my ancestors. And now, the land of yours."

She flinches, as if struck. "My ancestors are from Ireland, Romeo. My father..."

"Your father is a man who sold you to the highest bidder without a second thought," I cut in, my voice losing its softness, hardening with a cold, protective fury. "He traded you for his debts, Iris. He didn't care about your future, only his own survival. I, however, care about both."

Her hands drop, clenching at her sides. "Don't you dare speak ill of my father," she whispers, though the conviction behind her words is wavering. "He may be many things, but he loved me."

I scoff, a harsh, dismissive sound. "Love? Is that what you call it? Leaving you to fend for yourself, letting you believe you were alone and vulnerable, all while I watched from the shadows, making sure no harm came to you because he wouldn't?" I step closer still, until I can feel the warmth of her body, the tremor in her frame. "He delivered you into my hands, amore. He signed the papers. I simply claimed what was always mine."

A choked sob escapes her, and she presses her hands to her mouth, shaking her head. The red ribbon shifts, and for a fleeting second, I catch a glimpse of the dull, milky green of her eyes. My gut twists.

"You're a monster," she chokes out, her voice muffled.

"Perhaps," I agree, my eyes never leaving her face. "But I am your monster. And unlike your father, I will never let anything touch a single hair on your head." I reach out, my finger tracing the line of her jaw, the faint pulse fluttering beneath her delicate skin. "You may despise me, Iris. You may plot my demise with every breath you take. But you will never again be alone. And you will never again be afraid."

She pulls away sharply, her blindness making her movements jerky, uncertain. "I am not afraid of you, Romeo. I'm furious. And that, you will learn, is far more dangerous."

A genuine smile, slow and predatory, spreads across my face. "Oh, I know, piccola. And that, my sweet wife, is precisely why I married you." I turn, moving towards the side car bar in the corner of the room, already planning the day. "Now, I have business to attend to. I expect you to be ready for breakfast in one hour."

"And if I refuse?" she challenges, her voice still trembling but laced with that fire of hers I love oh so much.

I stop at the bar, picking up a heavy crystal decanter of water. "Then I will come back and dress you myself, tesoro. And I assure you, we won't be leaving the room if I do." I pour myself a glass, the ice clinking softly against the rim.

Silence stretches between us, thick with unspoken threats and promises. Then, I hear her take a deep, shuddering breath, followed by a low, frustrated growl.

"You truly are a pig," she mutters, and despite the venom in her tone, resignation hums beneath her words.

I let out a low chuckle, taking a slow sip of water. "And you, my darling, are a magnificent wild boar. Welcome home."

Her chin lifts, defiant. "You're a bastard. Did you forge my signature on a marriage certification too? Actually, I take that back. There probably isn't one." She smiles smugly, as if she's won something, but how wrong she is. I always win.

The inches between us feel like miles, and I hate that. My gaze drops to her pink, plump lips. She's about to open her mouth, no doubt to lecture me again, and I decide to shut her up before she digs herself deeper into underestimating me. Soft lips part, a deep inhale... and then I lean in, stopping just shy of hers. The air crackles between us, thick with unspoken words and the electric hum of our shared stubbornness. Her breath hitches, a soft, fragile sound against the storm brewing inside me.

"Oh, there's one, mia cara," I murmur, my voice a low rumble designed to send shivers down her spine. "A very official one. And since I anticipated your... unique perspective, I had it rendered in a format you could truly appreciate."

I pull back just enough to retrieve a folded document from my inner jacket pocket. Her brow furrows, a hint of confusion battling with her anger. I press the stiff cardstock into her outstretched hand. Her fingers, delicate and searching, trace the raised dots. A gasp escapes her. "Braille, Iris," I finally deliver, my gaze never leaving her face. "Every single detail, every legal clause, every signature... translated so you could 'read' it for yourself. Your own name, my name, and the date. All there. Even in different languages, I was very thoughtful."

A beat of stunned silence. Her eyes, opaque and unseeing, flicker with a nascent understanding, then a fresh wave of fury. But before she can unleash it, I capture her lips in a brutal, possessive kiss. It's a claiming, a silencing, a promise of everything she hates but secretly craves. She fights for a moment, then softens, melting into the embrace, her fingers clenching the Braille certificate as if it's an anchor.

When I finally break away, her lips are swollen, her breath ragged. Without a word, I scoop her into my arms. She's light, a fragile package of fire and fury. I grab a cashmere shawl from the nearby chaise, draping it around her shoulders to ward off the sea chill. The game, I realize, has only just begun. And I, Romeo Messina, am ready to play. As I carry her back towards the open doors leading to the terrace, sunshine kisses her porcelain skin, and even her scowl softens a little.

Maybe she's not as furious as I thought. Even wild kittens can be tamed with a stroke down the spine.

TWO

IRIS

Shreds of our marriage certificate flutter onto the terrace table and blow away into the sea.

Paper is a stupid thing to put your whole life on, and it is even stupider how much it hurts to watch it go. Tearing it did not unmake the ring on my finger or the way my body still remembers his mouth. It only made the morning look like a confession I was not ready to say out loud, all those white scraps lifting off the iron table and vanishing into blue like they had never been a trap in the first place.