Antonio
“Double the number of men,” I bark the order into the phone. “And make sure they remain out of sight.”
“Will do,” Dante replies, his voice steady on the other end.
“I also want men watching the Moretti Estate. If Draco makes a move, I need to know about it. I won’t let anything—” My sentence dies in my throat as Alessia steps into the kitchen. Pink shorts hug her toned legs, and a tiny black tank top leaves little to the imagination. Her dark hair is a mess of waves, and her hazel eyes blaze with fury.
“My wife’s awake. I have to go.” I disconnect the call and slide my phone into my pocket, trying to gauge how much she overheard.
Alessia crosses her arms over her chest, her gaze cutting through me like a blade. Fury radiates off her in waves.
I force a smile, attempting to soften the tension. “What can I make you for breakfast?”
“I can cook for myself.”
“I’m aware. But this is our honeymoon. Let me?—”
“I don’t give a damn about your honeymoon,” she snaps. “And I don’t need you pretending like this is normal. It’s not.”
I move to the fridge, opening it to scan what’s inside. I asked Cecilia to order some staples, but I have no clue what she got. “We’ll need some groceries, but I can make you an omelet or French toast. What do you prefer?”
“Why are you doing this?” she demands, her voice still harsh but with an edge of suspicion.
“Because you deserve to be treated well, Alessia.”
“I don’t want to play house with you. I need my life back.”
I take a slow breath, trying to steady the conversation before it spirals. “I’m not pretending. I just want you to feel comfortable here.”
Her eyes narrow further. “Comfortable? With guards hovering just out of sight? I’m not blind, . You say I’m not a prisoner, but I know they’re watching me. So yeah, I sure as hell feel like one.”
I let the words hang in the air, not rushing to defend myself. She’s angry—rightfully so. No amount of soothing will make her see this differently right now. “You’re not a prisoner. You’re free to come and go whenever you want.”
“Free?” She lets out a harsh laugh. “You drugged me and forced me to marry you. And you want me to believe I’m free?”
“Yes,” I reply, my voice firm but low, unwavering under her accusation.
Her expression falters, just for a moment. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch,” I say, moving back to the counter. “Just coffee?”
“Fine, I’ll have coffee,” she mutters, her voice clipped.
I grab the French press and begin preparing her half-caff blend, the silence between us growing heavier. She watches my every move as though she’s waiting for me to make a mistake, to reveal the trap she thinks I’m setting.
While the coffee brews, I make her an omelet anyway. She might hate me, but I’m not about to let her starve. When the food’s ready, I set the plate down in front of her, a small smile tugging at my lips.
“You expect me to eat that?” She pushes the plate away from her.
“It’s not poisoned, if that’s what you think.”
“Prove it.”
Without hesitation, I stab a forkful of the omelet and take a bite. She watches me intently as I chew and swallow. After a moment, she cautiously picks up her fork and starts to eat. I don’t make a big deal out of it, but inwardly, I feel a sense of relief. It’s progress, no matter how small.
I sit across from her with my own plate of food, the silence still tense. “You don’t have to waitress anymore.”
Her head snaps up. “Really?”
“Unless you want to,” I add quickly, gauging her reaction.
She raises an eyebrow, her voice sharp again. “Am I allowed to go for a walk? Or do I need to ask your permission for that, too?”
I meet her challenging gaze without flinching. “Of course you can go for a walk. You don’t need to disguise your trips to the gallery either. All I ask is that you’re honest about where you’re going so I can make sure you’re safe.”
Her expression shifts, confusion creeping in. “I don’t have to ask permission?”
“No, Alessia.” I shake my head. “You’re not my prisoner.”
“What about guards? Do I have to have them?”
“They’ll always be there, but they’ll remain out of sight. You won’t even know they’re around unless you need them. I want you to have your privacy.” I pause, a thought coming to me. “Unless you want me to go with you. I’ll always make that a priority.”
Her hostility softens, but only slightly. “Why are you really doing this? Why are you letting me have this freedom?”
I meet her gaze, choosing my words carefully. “Because it’s your right, Alessia. It’s your life.” An idea hits me, something that might chip away at the walls she’s built. “You should open a bank account for the money you make from selling your photographs.”
Her fork stills. “How do you know about that?”
“I have my ways,” I reply with a shrug.
“And you’d let me do that?”
“It’s your money.”
Her defenses waver for the first time. “I’ve never had my own bank account. My father wouldn’t allow it. After we got married, Valentino took my ID. I don’t even know where it is.”
The mention of Valentino sends a surge of anger through me, but I keep it in check. “I’ll search the house.”
Alessia’s silent for a moment, absorbing my words. I stand and begin clearing her plate, giving her space to think. While I load the dishwasher, I add, “As soon as I find it, we’ll open that account. Then, you can decide what you want to do next.”
I want to show Alessia that this marriage doesn’t have to be something she fears—that it can be different, we can be different. But I know earning her trust will take time. Time to remind her of what we used to feel for each other, before all the lies, before the darkness swallowed everything.
She watches me, her expression still guarded, the distance between us as far as ever. But there’s something in her eyes—fragile but real. Curiosity, maybe even the faintest glimmer of hope.
A spark of the connection we once had. It’s barely there, but it’s enough to give me hope that somewhere deep down, she remembers.