Chapter 12 Noemi
Noemi
The west wing made me feel like I was a blood diamond locked in a vault.
I stand in the center of the massive walk-in closet, staring blankly at the staggering display of wealth that has materialized out of thin air over the past twenty-four hours. My modest, conservative dresses are gone. In their place hangs a fortune in silk, cashmere, and imported Italian leather.
Everything is tailored, sleek, and devastatingly expensive. Deep emerald greens, rich burgundies, stark blacks, and pristine whites. There isn’t a single faded gray sweat pant in sight.
Cassio didn’t just move my belongings, he eradicated the woman I used to be and replaced her wardrobe with clothes fit for a mafia queen. It’s an aggressive, territorial marking. He wants me wrapped in fabrics his money bought. He wants every inch of me screaming his name.
I reach out and grab a simple, heavy black silk blouse and a pair of tailored dark trousers, dressing with jerky, agitated movements. Every shift of fabric against my skin sends a dull ache through my thighs and core, a reminder of exactly how I earned this 'upgrade'.
You begged me for it. His words from yesterday morning rang in my skull, making a hot flush of humiliation and rage creep up my neck. I hate that he was right. I hate that beneath the anger and the betrayal, my traitorous body still feels the phantom weight of his hands.
But a gilded cage is still a cage.
I walk out of the bedroom and into the sprawling, sunlit dining area of the penthouse. The moment my foot crosses the threshold, Carla, the head housekeeper, practically materializes from the shadows.
She doesn’t glare at me. She doesn’t mutter under her breath in rapid Sicilian. Instead, her posture is rigid with sheer terror. She holds a silver tray with trembling hands, her eyes fixed firmly on the polished floorboards near my feet.
"Good morning, Signora Vellutini," she says, her voice is a reedy, nervous pitch. "I have prepared espresso, fresh fruit, and a frittata. If it is not to your liking, I will have the chef make something else immediately."
I stare at the steam rising from the delicate porcelain cup. A few days ago, this woman handed me a plate of cold, stale toast and looked at me like I was a cockroach that had scuttled in from the rain.
Cassio must have put the fear of God into the entire staff.
"This is fine, Carla. Thank you," I say quietly.
She scurries away the second I sit down, leaving me in the silence of the penthouse.
I pick up the espresso, the bitter bite of the coffee burns my tongue, but it does nothing to clear the restless anxiety clawing at my chest. I cannot stay in this glass box.
The walls are closing in. Everywhere I look, I see Cassio’s control.
I smell his bergamot and whiskey cologne lingering on the leather furniture.
I see his guards standing at attention outside the floor-to-ceiling windows on the terrace.
I need a tether to reality. I need to know the world outside this fortress still exists.
I stand up, leaving the food untouched. I grab my new, ridiculously expensive leather purse from the entryway console and head for the penthouse doors.
The two guards stationed in the corridor snap to attention as I approach. They don't look at my legs. They don't look at my face. They stare straight ahead at the opposite wall, as if looking directly at me will cause them to burst into flames.
I walk past them, my heart beating a rapid rhythm, and head down the floating glass staircase to the main foyer.
"Ma'am."
Matteo is standing at the bottom of the stairs. The underboss looks exhausted, dark circles bruised beneath his eyes, a lit cigarette pinched between his fingers despite the pristine environment. He steps directly into my path, blocking the massive front doors of the estate.
"Move, Matteo," I say, channeling every ounce of Genovese arrogance I possess.
"I can't do that, Noemi," he replies, taking a long drag of his cigarette. He doesn't call me Signora, but there is a new, grudging respect in his tone that wasn't there yesterday. "Where do you think you're going?"
"I am going to visit my sister," I state, lifting my chin. "I haven't spoken to Lucia since the wedding. The only phone I could get a hold of was smashed into a dozen pieces, in case you forgot. So I am going to the Genovese estate to see her."
"No, you aren't."
The voice doesn't belong to Matteo.
I whip my head around. Cassio is striding down the hallway that leads to his downstairs armory. He is dressed in a dark, three-piece suit, the jacket unbuttoned, looking every inch the ruthless, calculating Don he was born to be.
Matteo smartly steps aside, effectively passing the grenade to his boss.
Cassio stops a few feet in front of me. His gaze does a slow, deliberate sweep of my body, taking in the black silk blouse and the tailored trousers. A flicker of dark approval sparks in his eyes before his expression hardens back into an impenetrable mask of authority.
"You are not leaving this house," Cassio states, his voice leaves no room for negotiation.
"I am going to see my sister," I repeat, my voice rising, the defiance flares up instantly. "I am not asking for a vacation, Cassio. I want to see Lucia. I want to make sure she’s okay."
"She’s fine. She is sitting in Orlando’s house, completely insulated, playing the perfect, obedient daughter," Cassio sneers, stepping closer. "Which is exactly where she is going to stay. You are not stepping foot on Genovese territory."
"It's my home!"
"This is your home," he corrects, his voice dropping an octave.
He reaches out, his large hand wrapping around my upper arm.
His grip isn't painful, but it is immovable.
He pulls me a half-step closer, forcing me to tilt my head back to meet his furious glare.
"You are a Vellutini now. You don't run back to your father’s house just because you’re bored. "
"I am not bored, I am suffocating!" I shout, trying to wrench my arm out of his grasp, but it’s like trying to move a steel beam.
"You took the phone! You locked me in a penthouse! I have no one to talk to, nothing to do, and your staff treats me like I’m a ticking bomb! I am losing my goddamn mind, Cassio!"
"Then read a book. Swim in the pool. Buy out an entire fucking jewelry store online," he snaps back, leaning down until his face is inches from mine. "But you do not walk out that front door."
"Because you're afraid I’ll run away?" I taunt, hitting the absolute sorest spot I can find. "Afraid I’ll find Dario and beg him to hide me?"
The reaction is instantaneous and terrifying.
Cassio’s free hand snaps up, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of my neck, gripping hard enough to make me gasp. He yanks me flush against his chest.
"Say his name again," Cassio whispers, his breath feels hot against my lips, his eyes are black holes of pure, psychopathic jealousy. "I dare you, Noemi. Say his name one more fucking time, and I will have Matteo deliver his head to you in a box before dinner."
I swallow hard, my pulse is frantic against my throat. I know he isn't bluffing.
"You’re insane," I breathe, my voice is trembling despite my best efforts to keep it steady.
"I am protective," he corrects, his thumb strokes a harsh, possessive line along my jawbone. "You think I’m keeping you here just to punish you? You think this is a game? The Bratva and the Irish are mobilizing, Noemi. The port war isn’t a cold war anymore.
Shots were fired on the east docks last night.
They know Orlando forced this marriage to build an alliance.
You are the physical bridge between the two biggest Italian families. "
He leans in closer, his lips brushing my earlobe. "You are a target. If you walk out those gates without me, they won't just kill you. They will take you, they will torture you to send a message, and they will leave you in pieces for me to find."
A cold chill washes over me, completely dousing the fire of my anger.
I look up into his eyes. The volatility is there, yes, but beneath it is a desperate paranoia. He isn't just trying to control me. He is terrified of losing what he just realized he owns.
"If I need to see her..." I start, my voice losing its sharp edge, dropping to a tight whisper.
"If you need to see your sister," Cassio interrupts, his grip on my hair loosening, his hand slides down to cup the side of my neck, "you tell me. And I will arrange it. You don't go anywhere, you don't step foot outside these walls, unless my hand is holding yours. Do you understand me?"
"I hate you," I whisper, though the words lack the venom they held a week ago. They sound more like a plea for mercy.
"I know," he murmurs.
He leans down and captures my mouth in a branding kiss.
His tongue sweeps past my lips, tasting me, staking his claim right in the middle of the foyer with Matteo standing ten feet away.
He kisses me until my head spins, until my hands involuntarily grip the lapels of his suit jacket to keep my balance.
He breaks the kiss, his chest heaving slightly.
"I have a sit-down with the Capos," he roughly tells. "I will be back late. Stay inside."
He releases me, turns on his heel, and walks out the heavy front doors. Matteo follows him, casting one last, unreadable look back at me before the heavy oak shuts with a definitive, echoing thud.
I am left standing in the massive foyer, my lips swollen, my heart racing, completely and utterly trapped.
The hours crawl by like dying insects.
I spend the afternoon pacing the length of the penthouse, staring out the reinforced glass windows at the churning, violent sea. The storm from yesterday has returned, with dark gray clouds rolling in over the horizon and bringing a torrential downpour that violently lashes against the estate.
It feels entirely fitting. The weather is matching the chaotic, suffocating dread building in my stomach.