Chapter Five
CHAPTER FIVE
LUCIANO
My bride doesn’t speak for the rest of the drive to my family’s Bedford estate, and it unnerves me.
Perhaps I was too harsh.
From the information I received in the last week, it’s clear that I’ll need to tame Viviana. She spent the better part of her youth terrorizing her mother, disobeying her father, and jeopardizing Elenora’s status and education. I won’t stand for the same behavior.
I can’t simply ship her off to Italy at the first sign of trouble. Not for a few months, at least.
So, I dredged up every depressing little detail from the reports I’d gathered and recited them until I saw horror in her eyes—her cheeks flaming crimson and her delicate fingers trembling. I let her know that I possess intimate knowledge about the extent of her inadequacies. She’ll not fool me into making the same mistakes as her father.
We’d not been married for more than two hours when she began testing me. Toeing the line. Gauging my reaction to her bold words and defiant attitude.
I put her in her place. It needed to be done. And yet…
A twinge of guilt gnaws at my conscious.
Viviana keeps her gaze turned stoically toward the window, even as the town car passes through the iron-wrought gate guarding the entrance to my sprawling land. She hasn’t looked my way, but I’m unable to look anywhere else.
When she isn’t running her damn mouth, she’s quite entrancing.
She doesn’t possess the outright sexiness of the lovers I’ve pursued in the past. The women with smokey eyes and big filler-injected lips. The ones with the voluptuous curves and a fuck-me smile that scream an easy lay. Faceless, nameless distractions.
But Viviana is different. Without a trace of makeup on her skin, she possesses a natural beauty that begs to be studied—admired. Milky skin and timelessly soft, rounded features. Hazel eyes sparking with youthful exuberance.
Not my type, but mine, nonetheless.
And I can’t look away.
Freddy Moretti, one of my best guards and personal driver, brings the town car to a halt on the cobblestone driveway in front of my five-bedroom, eight-bathroom English Manor style home. It’s big, but it doesn’t hold a candle to my parents’ mansion half a mile away.
“No bars on the windows?” Viviana breaks her silence, her words dry as she stares up at my– our –home. She unfastens her seatbelt and thrusts open her door before Freddy reaches it.
A muscle in my cheek twitches with the beginnings of a smirk. I open my own door and rise from the back seat, eyes never leaving Viviana.
“Only on your bedroom windows, wife , ” I reply with equal bite. Of course, not a single barred window mars my estate, but she doesn’t have to know that.
“Ah,” she hums, her gaze sweeping over the immaculately maintained lawn and landscaping, illuminated by lamps and floodlights. “Did you have those installed just for me? Or were you planning on keeping Elenora prisoner, too?”
I frown. “You’re not a prisoner, Viviana. You’re free to do what you want and go where you will—within reason and with a guard.”
She ignores me and the good news I thought I imparted. For the first time since our conversation in the car, she looks at me. Sadness pools in her eyes. Resignation, too.
“I guess there’s really no getting out of this, huh?” No sarcasm laces her words. She’s serious. Vulnerable. A twenty-year old whose life has been flipped on its head in the span of one week.
I shake my head, pity twisting in my chest. “No. Not for some time, at least.”
I signed up for this. So did Elenora.
Viviana is an unfortunate, unintended casualty.
She nods at my confirmation, still surveying the manor’s expansive facade, and releases a deep sigh. “Fine. I suppose things could be worse.”
My eyes narrow on her profile, one half of her face shrouded in a shadow. Her nose is small, button-like, but not upturned. Her lips, perky and full, come together at a pointed cupid’s bow, and I find myself imagining what they might look like when truly smiling. I doubt I’ll see such a cheerful expression on her face often.
“Come inside,” I instruct, rolling the sleeves of my button-up to the middle of my forearm as I lead the way to the front door. “We need to talk.”
Viviana’s footsteps sound on the cobblestone behind me, and she releases an exasperated groan. “What else is there to talk about? I’m tired. My sister’s dead. I just got freakin’ married to her fiancé. I want to go to bed.”
I grind my teeth together but will my voice to remain steady and calm—amicable despite my mounting annoyance. “There are ground rules. Things that Elenora and I had agreed upon. It won’t take long.”
Pushing open the heavy front door, I stand to the side to allow my little wife to trail into the foyer. She doesn’t say thank you, but her jaw drops.
I’ve hired a handful of interior designers in the past to fill the manor with furniture and decorations but never cared enough to pause and appreciate their work. I spend most of my time in the city and only built this home to have my own space in Bedford when visiting my parents. And somewhere to keep my future family.
“This place is huge,” she mutters, wandering over to a five-foot tall, authentic Jackson Pollock canvas on the wall. I paid half a million for it when one of the designers promised it would complete the grand entrance.
I expect someone like Viviana, someone with an appreciation for art, to gasp in delight at the find. Instead, she wrinkles her nose at the canvas before turning away.
Not a Jackson Pollock fan, then.
“How many people live here?” She hugs her arms around her midsection.
“Including you and me? Five.” I slip my hands into my pockets and approach her with slow steps. “A chef, a housekeeper, and a groundskeeper. A rotation of guards live in a guesthouse.”
“And the don ?”
“My parents have their own home on the estate, about half a mile away.”
She nods, relief crossing her doe-like eyes. “I don’t think your mother likes me. I can’t imagine she would’ve liked becoming housemates.”
I crack a smile. “She doesn’t like many people.”
“I bet she liked Elenora,” Viviana counters with wry amusement.
“She preferred Elenora’s company over most, even my own.”
My mother stopped doting on me and my brother when we turned twelve and began learning about the family business from our father. She saw Elenora as the daughter she never had and wanted to spend as much time as possible instructing her on how to become the perfect wife.
Viviana snorts. “No surprise there, husband. ”
There’s not a trace of affection in the word, the little hellion.
My lips fall flat, and I gesture toward the grand staircase at the center of the foyer. “Come upstairs. I’ll have the housekeeper, Mrs. Ajello, give you a tour tomorrow.”
She frowns at my direction but eventually obeys, turning on her heel to trod up the stairs. I follow a few steps behind and find myself consumed by the sweet scent of her—a mouthwatering cocktail of lavender and something floral. Orange blossoms?
It’s warm and soft, not overbearing in the slightest. I subconsciously inhale her deep, pulling the scent into my lungs, committing it to memory. Is it a perfume? Shampoo? Or simply her ?
“Eager to get me in the bedroom?” She tosses over her shoulder with sneered defiance. “Need to consummate the marriage and show off the bloody sheets?”
My stride falters while she continues to stomp up the stairs, her angry footsteps shaking the floor.
I scowl, and, although I know she’s only trying to provoke me, it works .
“I had no intention of fucking you tonight, ” I half-growl, taking the steps two at a time to catch up with her. We collide at the top of the stairs, my hand ensnaring her wrist in a vice-like grip.
She tries to wrench her arm away, but I hold fast, yanking her closer until our chests nearly brush. Only our arms, held at the level of her breasts, keep our fronts separated. My blood flares to life, warming and sparking at the fight in her hazel eyes.
“But keep disrespecting me and I’ll bend you over right here and fuck you raw,” I warn, bending low to whisper the threat in her ear, my lips grazing her earlobe. “I won’t need the bloody sheets. The whole world will know you’re mine when you can’t walk tomorrow.”
The whites of her eyes flare, shocked and scandalized by my words. But, where I expected to find fear pooling in her green-flecked depths, intrigue swells instead. A lovely pink blush adorns her cheeks, and she stares up at me with sinful innocence. Her chest expands and contracts with hurried, fervent breaths, but she no longer makes any move to squirm out of my grasp.
Fucking hell. The blood rushes to my groin, and my cock twitches in response to the electrifying tension between us. I had no intention of following through, but I’m unable to keep my mind from conjuring images of the scene I threatened Viviana with…
Her hands on the top step and her feet spread wide four steps below. Her stretchy cotton leggings yanked to her knees and her oversized t-shirt pushed up to her shoulders, baring her backside to me, red and inflamed from the spankings she deserves. Her virgin pussy clenching around emptiness, desperate and aching for release—
No.
Dangerous. Those are dangerous thoughts.
In an instant, I release her wrist. My palm burns where our skin touched, but I manage to take a step back and clear my throat. “Do you understand?”
To my surprise, she keeps her mouth shut and dips her chin, her cheeks still flushed.
I force myself to brush past her, our shoulders sharing the ghost of a caress as I start toward the master suit. An uncomfortable fullness pushes against the seam of my pants, and I take deep measured breaths in an attempt to rein it in.
My body doesn’t typically react so readily. Like a damned teenager uncovering his father’s Playboy’s for the first time. A fucking inconvenience, considering I need to have a serious conversation with Viviana. When I reach the master suit’s first entrance, I pause in front of the door to discreetly readjust myself in my pants.
“Your sister and I agreed that we’d keep separate bedrooms within the same suite. A single bathroom connects the two rooms,” I explain, placing my hand on the doorknob. I glance over my shoulder at my wife, who holds her stomach again like she might be sick. “I suppose you have no arguments about this?”
She cocks her eyebrow, but, after our encounter on the staircase, her reply lacks its usual poison. “You really have to ask?”
“No.” I push open the door and expose the bedroom that Elenora designed herself. With dark green walls and golden accents, it feels like stepping back in time to a Victorian parlor. “Your sister picked out the furniture and colors. You can change whatever you want.”
Slowly, Viviana steps into the room and studies it in silence. The dim lamps cast a soft glow across the space, and the light catches on the glimmering gold frames and brass hardware.
Her throat bobs once. “It looks like something she would’ve loved. I don’t want to change it.”
Again, pity twists in my gut.
In all of my years betrothed to Elenora, the woman never mentioned her younger sister. If she did, I don’t remember. Even before Viviana was shipped to Italy, the sisters didn’t seem close, and I’m curious to know why.
Several beats pass before Viviana clears her throat and faces me. “There are ground rules you wanted to discuss?”
Any trace of grief has disappeared from her face. She’s guarded again—icy.
I nod once. “Yes. They’re fairly simple. Designed by Elenora and myself to govern our union and avoid any misunderstandings or complications.”
“How romantic,” she croons, crossing the room to take a seat on the edge of the emerald bed.
“No leaving the estate without a guard,” I begin. “You’re a Venturi now, which means you’ve inherited our enemies. There’s an unspoken rule that women and children are not to be harmed, but we won’t take any risks.”
Especially after your sister’s accident, I almost add, then decide against it. We have no proof that Elenora’s car wreck was a setup, only a gut feeling.
She dips her chin and agrees easily enough. “No leaving without a shadow. Got it.”
“You’ll attend every formal gathering by my side and behave respectfully . I’ll not have you bring shame to me or my family.” Viviana looks like she wants to protest, but I continue before she has the chance. “When we don’t have prior arrangements, you’re free to do what you want. Again, so long as you are upholding the Venturi’s good name.”
Her eyebrows furrow. “ Jeez, I’m not some savage animal. I know how to go out in public without embarrassing myself.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
She shoots me a sickeningly sweet smile. “Charming. Rule number three?”
Here it is. I steel myself for her fury.
“If you’re on birth control, stop taking it.”
Her face blanches, just as I anticipated. Elenora had time to come to terms with the requirements of our marriage, but Viviana…
“The sooner we conceive, the sooner our obligations will end.” I hold her gaze, watching as her carefully construed mask crumbles and fear overtakes her expression. “You’ll go to the gynecologist in two days for tests that’ll tell us when you’re most fertile. Hopefully, it won’t take more than a few months.”
Viviana’s eyes are wide again as she rapidly shakes her head. Panic laces her voice. “I- I can’t do that.”
“No?”
“No,” she confirms, firmer this time.
“It is in the contract, Viviana.” I grind my teeth together and prepare for another battle.
She turns her nose up at me and glares. “I’m aware.”
My temple begins to pound.
“If you refuse to give me an heir, you’re completely useless to me,” I growl, prowling closer to where she sits on the bed. “You’re not like your sister—the woman pursuing her doctorate in foreign affairs who also spoke five fucking languages. You’re an art student.”
Viviana flinches, and I swear her eyes take on a glassy sheen.
God, I’m an asshole, but I’m a desperate asshole. And that makes me mean.
“You are valuable to me for one reason and one reason only. If you won’t perform your duty and attempt to conceive my heir, the contract is void and your father is a dead man.”By the time I’m finished, my breaths come quickly and my pulse ticks in my temple.
“Are you done?” she whispers, her voice thick with hurt. Still, her glare never wavers. She doesn’t cower.
“Are you still refusing to comply with the contract?” I counter.
Her top lip curls in disgust. “I never said I refused. I said I cannot. I had a birth control shot last month for cramps. It’s effective for at least two more months, and I can’t reverse it.”
Oh.
I pause. My jaw clamps tight, while that familiar knot of guilt feasts on my stomach, eating me alive.
“Fine,” I mutter at last, suddenly anxious to get the hell out of her room before I add any more fuel to this dumpster fire of a marriage. “We’ll wait the two months, then no more shots.”
Viviana pushes up from the edge of the mattress and stalks closer to me, a dangerous combination of hurt and anger etched on her features. She stops one step away.
“Fine. Two months.” She practically seethes the words. “But know this—I will never willingly be with you. Every time you come into this room and pull your dick out in the name of duty, I won’t fight. But you will be raping me.”
It’s my turn to flinch. Her words hit like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from my lungs. The injury lingers long after the initial blow. My mouth turns sour with the threat of sickness.
I’m a bad man, but I’d never lift a hand against a woman. Never touch her unwillingly. Especially my wife. My father taught me better than that.
“No.” My voice rasps. “I wouldn’t—”
She silences me with another small step closer, until we share the same breath.“Your precious heir will be born from hatred and violence, Luciano.” Cocking her head to the side, her harsh chuckle fans against my jaw. “Enjoy thinking about that for the next two months.”
I’m stunned. Unable to breathe properly, much less muster some sort of apology or explanation. Words fail me, and I detest the sense of helplessness that locks over me. God, how did this go so wrong? More importantly, why do I care ?
Viviana knocks against my shoulder as she storms toward the door, forcing me to concede a step to regain my balance. When she wrenches the door open, I expect her to leave. Instead, she stands by and holds it open.
“Get out.” The order leaves no room for argument.
For the first time in my life, I feel irreparably off-kilter. In the span of one evening, this wisp of a woman managed to knock me from my axis, setting off a chain reaction that I can’t immediately recover from. I grapple to regain control of my thoughts but refuse to stand in the center of her bedroom, gaping like a damned idiot, while I do it.
The truth of her words weighs heavy on my shoulders as I exit the bedroom and retreat into my own adjoining room. With the door shut behind me, I take my head into my hands and mourn this utter loss of control.
A sense of dirtiness consumes me, like an invisible sheen of oil covers my skin. Her words replay in my mind. You will be raping me.
In that moment, I know, deep in my core, that I might never receive a child from Viviana. Because, as much as I need an heir, I need to protect my wife first. Even from myself.