by Bella J.
He cocked a brow. “Storage. Are you deaf?”
“No. Dumbfounded,” I bit out. “You just assumed my wardrobe wouldn’t be fitting as a Silvestro wife?”
“Well, you are a born Moretti. I could hardly expect more of you.”
“Excuse me?” Anger simmered in my veins, my fear gradually morphing into annoyance.
He smirked, the arch of his lips momentarily distracting me. “The sooner you forget your Moretti ways, the better. It’s bad enough I have to live with Moretti blood under my roof. I’d hate to be reminded of it every day simply by watching you be…you.”
I crossed my arms. “What is your problem?’
“My problem is with you and everything your family stands for.” There was no mistaking the rage in his arctic glare. “The only reason I went through with this sham of a wedding was because one day I will take over the family business, and then I’ll have the power to weed people like your father from our world.”
I held up my arms. “I don’t have anything to do with my father’s business, and I couldn’t care less about any of it. I’m here because I had a duty to fulfill.”
His mocking laugh filled the room, the sound gnawing at my spine. “Duty?” he blurted. “What the fuck do you know about duty?”
“Please leave.”
His laughing ceased, the smile vanished from his face, but I forced my courage to the forefront.
“I said leave.”
But instead of turning around and walking out, he moved closer, his jaw clenched and irises hard. “Turn around.”
“What?” My eyes widened.
He stalked forward, his entire demeanor threatening and dominant, like a predator consumed with bloodlust as it regarded its prey. “I said. Turn. The fuck. Around.”
My heart stammered inside my chest, my mouth instantly dry. I could hardly find my voice as fear tightened its grip around my throat. “No.” I breathed out heavily, my legs hardly able to stand under the weight of terror.
He snarled as he lifted his arm, throwing his glass across the room. I gasped when the loud crack of shattered glass splintered to sharp shards just as he reached out and grabbed my waist. With the flick of his wrist, he forced me to turn, and a rush of air escaped my lungs as he pulled me against him, his arm snaked around my middle, securing me in place. “You listen to me, and listen well because I am only going to say this once.” He leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear, causing chills to travel down my spine. “This is my fucking house, and if you ever disrespect me again, I will have no choice but to teach you a lesson.” He jerked his hold tighter around my waist. “It’s already a goddamn embarrassment having to call a Moretti girl my wife, so believe me when I say the urge to whip some manners into you is fucking strong.”
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t even think as fear froze the blood in my veins, his touch cold and cruel.
“Now, say you understand.”
I closed my eyes, struggling to find my voice when he shoved his fingers through my hair, the bobby pins pressing into my skull as he gripped the strands in his palms. I yelped as he pulled my hair, forcing my neck to the side. “Say you understand,” he demanded with a voice laced with malicious threats.
I managed to take a breath. “I understand.” My whispered words were almost inaudible, but thank God it was good enough for him to let go of my hair, loosening his grip around my waist a little.
I kept my eyes closed, his scent of black pepper and spice filling the air around me while my heart tried to break free from my chest one beat at a time. But it was when I felt him reach for the zipper of my dress at the back of my neck that my insides turned into a vise with barbed wire piercing my flesh. My mind had already raced into the direction of any woman’s worst nightmares. Panic suffocated me, and I whimpered as he brushed his nose against the skin of my neck while easing the zipper down my back. My legs grew weaker, and I wasn’t sure how long I’d be able to keep myself upright, not while he attempted to undress me, his intentions unclear and threatening.
As he slipped the zipper all the way down, I held my breath and heard him inhale, his nose gently touching the skin below my ear. “There is nothing as vile as the stench of cheap perfume.”
Abruptly, he let go of me, and I rushed to the other side of the room, tripping over my dress which was no longer kept in place. My chin slammed against the hardwood floor, the taste of blood exploding in my mouth. Tears stung the back of my eyes as my dignity collapsed along with me, and I was unable to lift myself. I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay there on the ground with the hope the Earth would swallow me whole.
All Gian did was stand there not even attempting to help me up, glaring down at me as if I was nothing but a peasant at a king’s feet. “Clean yourself up, and don’t be late for dinner.”
With that, he left, closing the door behind him and leaving me a mess on the cold floor. For the first time that day—the worst day of my life—I allowed myself to shed more than just a single tear. I sobbed. I crumbled under the weight of my existence, and I indulged in my own weakness by weeping, mourning a happy future that would never be mine.
Chapter Five
“Fuck.” I slammed my bedroom door, the walls reverberating around me. I could still smell her goddamn perfume. It lingered all around me. Maybe the scent clung to my clothes, hence why the fragrance of mandarin, rose, and vanilla refused to abate.
I shrugged out of my suit jacket and ripped the shirt from my body, buttons clattering across the wooden floor. Annoyance pumped through my veins, and I could feel it gnaw at every bone. I knew I’d never have the luxury of choosing a wife of my own. It was a sacrifice men in my position had to make time and time again for their families. It wasn’t something I looked forward to, but I knew it had to be done. But when I learned the name of the wife my father had chosen for me, I questioned every goddamn decision I ever made for our family. For our pride and wellbeing. Daniela Moretti never once crossed my mind as an option. A Silvestro-Moretti alliance was right up there with the world finding out who really killed JFK. Never-fucking-happening. Yet it fucking happened, and now I was stuck with this woman under my roof. It had only been hours, and already she was getting under my skin. That damn kiss we shared in front of all those guests, in front of the priest, and God—it was nothing but a closing act to one motherfucker of a charade. And I made sure I gave them all what they came for—one good fucking show. But imagine my surprise when I placed my lips against hers and actually fucking liked it.
What the fuck was that about?
Warm. Soft. The taste of watermelon lipstick exploding in my mouth when I forced her to open for me. Part of me hoped she’d retreat and slap me in front of the entire church when I lapped my tongue in her mouth. Make a real spectacle of herself and embarrass her family. Her father. But of course, she didn’t. Daniela Moretti had been primed for this day, for the day she had to fulfill her duty, and it seemed like she had the backbone needed to do just that.
I pulled my hand through my hair and let out a breath. She provoked me by disrespecting me in my own house, something you shouldn’t do to a man who has a taste for inflicting pain. All I wanted to do was tear that fucking dress from her body and whip some manners into her. The best part, the part that really fucked with my head? When I snaked my arm around her waist and felt her body tremble against mine out of fear of what I would do. Of what I could do. The part where I liked watching the vein in her neck pulse and race with adrenaline while she dreaded my next move.
My phone rang, and I glanced at it vibrating on the bedside table. Barrucio Silvestro. I wasn’t ready to talk to my father. Not yet.
I pulled on a clean pair of trousers and shirt, clothing that didn’t carry her stench, slipped my phone in my pants pocket, and headed down to the dining room. There were a million things I’d rather do than have dinner with my wife, but if we were going to sell this fake marriage to the world, we both had our roles to play, and to do that we had to at least attempt to
communicate.
The pungent smell of garlic and rich butter filled the air as I made my way down the stairs. Gabriela was a good housekeeper, but an even better cook. She used to work as one of the kitchen staff for my father, and the day I moved out, I didn’t leave before offering her a job. A job she graciously accepted.
Gabriela came walking by from the dining room toward the kitchen, her gray hair neatly tied in a bun, and not a single ounce of make-up to hide her age. But it was easy to see Gabriela was an attractive young Italian woman back in the day. “The veal will be ready in ten minutes, Mr. Silvestro.”
“Hmm, veal parmesan. You know just how to welcome me home.”
Her smile was warm as she walked by. She never spoke much. But neither did I. That was probably why I liked having her around so much.
As I stepped into the dining room, I paused when I saw Daniela standing by the bar at the other end of the room, nursing a martini. She hadn’t noticed me, and I remained still and silent while I studied her.
The emerald green pencil dress hugged her every curve perfectly, the color complimenting the striking color of her red curls. The nude heels accentuated her calves, her legs seemingly going on for miles. Daniela had always been a pretty girl. I remembered when we were younger and the Morettis attended social gatherings, the teenage boys would stand around and admire her beauty. But no one would be able to come near her, her father guarding her like she was the holy fucking grail. Now I knew why. She was his bargaining chip. His get out of jail free card when he would need it the most.
Pity her blood stained her beauty. I might have felt differently toward my chosen wife if she wasn’t related to that low-life piece of shit who dared to call himself a respectful businessman.
I cleared my throat, and she glanced over her shoulder and looked away as if her martini deserved more attention than my presence.
“I have to say, I didn’t think you’d show up for dinner.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” She continued to look out in front of her.
“You took quite the fall earlier. I was sure you’d be huddled in a corner,” I stepped in next to her, “licking your wounds.”
She glared my way. “I guess I’m not quite as fragile as you think I am.” Challenge flashed in her eyes, a spark of defiance spreading to her pink cheeks and pursed lips.
I reached out and grabbed her chin, turning her face toward mine. Her eyes widened, but it wasn’t with fear, but rather disgust and revulsion. Without saying a word, I examined the tiny cut on her chin caused by her fall. I let go of her face with a jerk. “Luckily, that should heal before we’re required to show our faces in public.”
“That’s good, then. We all know killing men and extorting money from the poor is acceptable, but beating your wife could lose you the respect of many.”
Her cheeky remark thrust me into a rage that had me grabbing her elbow, her drink spilling from the glass in her hand. I twisted my grip around her arm. “Do not fuck with me, Daniela. The last thing you want to do when you’re cursed with an eternity in hell is make an enemy of the devil.”
“The devil was already my enemy before I got condemned to this wretched place.” Rebellion burned in her irises, no trace of the fear she had shown earlier.
I licked my lips, about to let her bathe in my scorn when Gabriela announced, “Dinner is ready.”
Daniela and I didn’t even bat an eyelash, refusing to break our glares of equal loathing. Hatred. Contempt. Disdain. It was fucking palpable, beating like a corrupted heart that thrived on destruction and chaos.
I let go of her arm with a snarl and stepped back, choosing to sever the toxic atmosphere before it erupted into something neither of us could control.
“After you,” I snapped, and she moved around me, her heels barely making a sound as she stepped with caution.
Good. It would be wise of her to tread lightly.
I politely assisted by holding out the chair for her as she took her seat. My fingers brushed against her shoulder, and she stiffened instantly at the touch. A half-smile curved at the edges of my lips. She might have braved dinner with a defiant demeanor, but fear still lingered in her veins.
I took my seat at the head of the table and picked up the glass of white wine Gabriela had poured. My gaze settled on Daniela, who was seated to my right. “Here’s to a happy and prosperous life together…wife.”
She lifted her glass. “To us.”
“To us.” I lifted a brow, and took a sip of my wine, not breaking eye contact. It was only day one, and already it felt like a duel between us, the flicker of the candle’s flame enhancing the tangible tension.
Daniela glanced down at the plate Gabriela placed in front of her. “Oh, I don’t eat meat.” Gabriela stilled. “But it’s okay,” Daniela quickly added when she noticed Gabriela’s expression. “I’ll just take a double serving of the salad.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Gabriela attempted to remove the plate, but I intercepted by lifting an arm.
“Gabriela went through great trouble preparing this meal.”
Daniela glanced up at Gabriela. “I mean no disrespect. I just don’t eat—”
“It’s considered ill manners when you’re a guest at someone’s house and refuse to eat the food which has been served for you.”
Daniela looked my way. “Good thing I’m not a guest, then.”
“Eat the goddamn food.”
“You know what’s considered ill manners?” she gritted out. “A husband who doesn’t even know his wife is a vegetarian.”
“A forced error due to circumstance.”
Daniela’s lips parted, and I knew another challenge burned the tip of her tongue, but she seemed to have decided against it as she looked up at Daniela. “It’s okay. You can leave the plate.”
Gabriela nodded and left us. Silence settled, but the tension only intensified as I watched Daniela pick at the side salad on her plate. Even though I could think of ten insults to weave within a stern reprimand, I chose to embrace the quiet rather than fuel the animosity which already threatened to erupt.
When I bought this estate two years ago, I never imagined the day would come when I would be forced to welcome a Moretti in my home. I glanced at Daniela, and took a bite of the tender veal. I wondered if she knew just what kind of man her father really was. Her earlier mention of killing men and racketeering the poor told me she wasn’t all that clueless about the family business. But I doubted she even knew the half of it.
I tasted my drink and placed it back down before folding my fists together. “Heterochromia iridis.”
“Excuse me?” She frowned, and I pointed toward her face.
“Your eyes. The color of your irises is different. It’s called heterochromia iridis, is it not?”
She shifted in her seat. “Partial heterochromia iridis,” she corrected.
“And that would explain why only half of your left eye is hazel while the other half matches the green of your other eye.”
Daniela took another sip from her white wine, and the action drew my attention to her lips and the subtle movement of her throat as she swallowed.
“You’re probably the first person I’ve ever come across who could call my flaw by its name.” She narrowed her eyes, a sheer look of distrust as she stared at me. “Something tells me your knowledge of my eye condition is not a coincidence.” She crossed her arms. “Snooping around in my medical history, perhaps?”
I scoffed. “Hardly. It’s called Google, but I’m impressed you think I’d have that kind of influence to get my hands on confidential medical records.”
“We both know you’re capable of that and more.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that. At least it’s one lesson you don’t have to be taught.”
“And which lesson is that?”
I leaned back in my seat. “To never underestimate me.”
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that was a threat.”
“Not at all. But if you’d like
to take it as one, go right ahead, Miss Moretti.”
“Mrs. Silvestro.” She scoffed and instantly pissed me the fuck off.
I bit my lip and tapped my finger against the wooden tabletop. If I had my way, I’d be sending her packing, dropping her off at the nearest fucking corner so she could make her own way home, back to the fucking thugs she grew up with. Unfortunately, the woman was untouchable while my father used her as some fucking gesture of goodwill between our family and hers.
“Here’s a good piece of advice for you.” I lifted my chin. “Do not mistake my tolerance of you as acceptance of our marital arrangement. If it were up to me, our entire family wouldn’t even know yours existed.”
“That makes two of us, then.” She licked her lips, green eyes blemished with a mark of brown burning with fiery animosity, yet her demeanor remained calm. Cool. Collected. “Do not mistake my marital vows as a sign of respect for the Silvestro name. A family who accepts a living, breathing person in exchange for some bullshit alliance should be fed to the dogs.”
“Says the one whose own father traded her like she was mere currency.”
“You’ve done nothing but insult me since we said our vows. You pretend that because I’m a Moretti I am beneath you, not worthy of being your wife—”
“You’re not.”
She got up to her feet. “Yet you didn’t have the balls to tell your father to go to hell when he told you to marry me.”
I shot to my feet, the chair falling to the ground with a loud thud. There was no chance of her getting out of my reach in time when I grabbed her arm and dragged her across the dining room.
“Gian, you’re hurting me.” She tried to jerk free from my hold, but I tightened my grip and picked up the pace, moving faster than she was able to keep up. “Stop. You’re hurting me.”
“I don’t know what it’s like in your family, but in ours, women show respect by knowing their place.”
“And in ours, men don’t treat women like dirt.”