Page 6

Romeo stands over me, towering and unmovable, his chest rising and falling in deep, slow breaths. He looks like a bronze statue sculpted by a madman, his black hair curling slightly in the Mediterranean breeze, his dark eyes bright with hungry satisfaction.

My mouth still stings from his kiss only minutes before. Coffee, smoke, and cinnamon. My knees shake under the sundress, and the ache between my thighs pulses hot enough to make me want to scream.

I hate how easily my body betrays me. I hate that when his rough hands caught my jaw and pulled me against his chest, a pathetic, needy whimper slipped out of my throat before my anger could catch up.

Sofia lets out a sharp, questioning whine by my ankle, nudging her nose against the hem of my dress. I drop one hand down, letting my fingers tangle in her sleek black fur to ground myself.

"You think tearing paper changes anything, Kitten?" Romeo's voice is a low purr that vibrates through my bones. He leans forward, his hands resting on the edge of the wrought iron table, trapping me in my seat. "I have ten copies of that document in my safe in New York, and the original is locked in the family vault in Palermo. As far as the state of New York, the Italian government, and the Sicilian Commission are concerned, you are Iris Messina. My Donna. My property."

"I am not your property!" I snap, pushing back my chair so hard it screeches violently against the stone pavers.

I surge to my feet, squaring my shoulders even though my vision is nothing but pale sunlight and blurry smoke shadows. I tilt my chin up, glaring straight into the dark silhouette of his face.

"You can wave around all the forged paperwork you want, Romeo. You can tell your capos and your hitmen that I belong to you. But you will never own what is inside my head. You will never have my respect, and you sure as hell will never have my heart."

A wicked grin spreads across his features. I can hear the amusement dripping from his tongue.

"Your heart?" He steps around the table, his heavy footsteps measured, unhurried, closing the distance between us without hurry. "Keep your heart, Iris. I don't need your sentimental bullshit. I want your fire. I want your curses. I want that delicious little cunt soaking my sheets every time I whisper in your ear."

Before I can strike him, his hand shoots out, his long fingers wrapping around my left wrist. He yanks my arm up between our chests, forcing my hand flat against the hard wall of his pectoral muscles. The heavy platinum band he forced onto my finger glints in the bright morning sun, the cold emerald biting into my flesh.

"You're wearing my ring," he growls, his thumb rubbing roughly over the jagged scar on my palm. "You're in my house. You eat the food I buy, you breathe air I provide, and when the sun goes down, you sleep in my arms. Fight me all you want, pet. Every time you scream at me, it only proves you feel something for me."

"All I feel is hatred," I lie, my voice trembling as his heat seeps straight through my palm, warming my blood until my head spins.

"Then hate me," he whispers, leaning down until his lips brush the edge of the scarlet silk ribbon covering my eyes. His breath is scalding, sending a frantic shiver racing down my neck to my collarbones. "Hate me so hard you can't think of anything else. Because while you're hating me, you won't be looking at any other man, and that suits me just fine."

He drops my wrist, letting my hand fall back to my side, and turns on his heel.

"The ring sits heavy on my finger. I want to rip it off and throw it after the scraps of paper. I also cannot make my hands do it. The band fits as if someone measured me in my sleep, which, knowing him, he did.

Sofia presses against my calf. I scratch the notch behind her ear that always makes her lean harder. Traitor or not, she is the only honest thing on this cliff. She does not pretend the marriage is romance. She only knows who feeds her and who shakes.

I count my breaths the way Inga taught me after the hospital. Four in. Hold. Six out. The panic loosens enough that I can walk.

Inside the villa, the rooms are too large and too quiet. I map them with my fingertips: a marble pillar, a table edge, and the cool metal of a door handle. Every surface feels chosen. No sharp corners. No surprise steps. He built a pretty prison and called it devotion.

I hate that it works. The sun reaches me here. The air does not smell like bleach and old fear. If I let myself, I could mistake this place for safety.

Breakfast is on the dining room table," he says over his shoulder, his tone switching effortlessly back to that infuriating, domestic calm. "Scrambled eggs, fresh toast, and blood orange juice. Eat every bite, Iris. You're too skinny, and you're going to need your strength for what I have planned for you tonight."

"I'd rather starve," I mutter, loud enough for him to hear.

"If you don't eat it willingly, I'll hold you down on my lap and feed you myself," he replies without missing a beat, disappearing through the glass terrace doors.

I stand there alone on the sunlit terrace, my hands trembling as I wrap my arms tightly around my waist. The sea breeze howls off the cliffside, whipping my long red hair around my face.

Wife. Donna. Captive.

Every word feels like a fresh layer of chains wrapping around my chest.

Sofia nudges my knee again, and I give her head an affectionate scratch. "Come on, girl," I mutter under my breath, my voice thick with unshed tears. "Let's go see what kind of poison my loving husband left for us."

We walk through the open terrace doors and into the grand dining room. The scent of sweet oranges and warm bread fills the high-ceilinged space, making my stomach betray me with a loud, hollow growl. I follow the sound of Sofia's paws on the marble until I reach the edge of the long dining table.

Pulling out a chair, I sit down, reaching out cautiously with my fingers until they brush against the cold ceramic plate and a warm crystal glass. I take a sip of the juice; it's tart, sweet, and ice cold.

As I chew a piece of crisp toast, the quiet hum of a cell phone vibrating on wood cuts through the silence.