Chapter 14
Cecilia
There is such quiet inside the walls of his house. Only the whistle of wind and faraway unfamiliar voices echo toward me. Round and round, the blonde woman—Victoria—took me until my memory became a mush of different doors and hallways.
Now, standing in front of a thick door, I’m gripping the sides of the blanket she offered me, trying to ignore the tightness in my chest.
“Here we are,” Victoria says, her manicured hand pushing the door open. Her voice is sweet yet cautious, like she doesn’t know exactly how to handle me. That makes two of us.
I don’t even know who she is, though by the looks of it, she’s probably an important figure in the family. Everything about her is polished, the kind of elegance you don’t see every day.
Her long dress is fitted perfectly around her small waist and wide shoulders.
Its crimson color meshes with the atmosphere of the house—dark, muted, and a little eerie.
It’s an effort not to peer down at myself, at the pale yellow of my sundress and the sandals that have my feet almost frozen.
It makes me painfully aware of how out of place I am.
“I’m guessing it’s not to your liking, is it?” She smiles, entering farther into the room.
I follow her, if only because of the heat blasting from the fireplace opposite the bed. My skin tingles everywhere as warmth coils around my body.
“It’s warm,” I say, my voice a little more curt than I intended.
It’s not her fault. She didn’t make you come here.
If she has taken offense at my refusal to keep the conversation going, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she continues to show me around, giving the impression she deeply cares about this job she took upon herself.
“That’s the walk-in closet, and the bathroom is through that door.
I’ve stocked it with some of my favorite skincare products—didn’t know what you were using, but we can order whatever you need in the morning.
Oh, and I left you clean clothes on the bed.
They’re mine, but I think they’ll fit you.
Only the pants might be a little long.” She breathes in, touching one poster of the bed as she looks around the room.
“Listen…” I say.
“Oh, and food! Are you hungry? You must be. I can bring something up here or—”
“I really appreciate your help, but…if you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone.”
Even if my stomach grumbles in protest. Even though being by myself is the last thing I want in this place. But I don’t have another option. She’s a stranger, and I don’t know if I can trust anyone, including her.
“Anything you need,” she says, her lips pressing into a sympathetic smile. “Seriously. Wolf and I live in the other wing, but you can almost always find a housekeeper or a guard roaming the hallways. Just send word you want to see me, and I’ll be here.”
Wolf. That odd name again.
It’s not pronounced as an English word, but I’m not sure if it’s Russian either. From the bits and pieces I overheard, I take it he’s both the head of the household and Victoria’s husband—the enormous diamond on her ring finger attests to it.
I offer a nod and turn back to the fire. Her footsteps leave the bedpost and drift toward the hallway until the door closes softly behind her. I wait a few seconds, making sure she’s truly gone. Then, my knees give out, and I slump to the floor.
Heat washes over me, unable to reach whatever part of me has already gone cold. I look into the void, feeling the burn of tears threatening to spill out.
Damn him. Mikhail, for ruthlessly toying with me for so long. My father, for disposing of me so easily. Even Cesare, for not fighting harder to keep me home.
It was to be expected, I suppose. When things get difficult, people leave. They fend for themselves. I’m lucky I haven’t been thrown off that cliff back on the West Coast, lucky to be a thorn in someone else’s side now.
I press my palms against my eyes, breathing through the tight ache crawling up my throat.
I’ve never been anywhere my father was not, never wandered too far from the walls of the cage he built for me in San Maleno.
Now, I’m in a stranger’s house, belonging to a man I don’t understand—a criminal who stalked me, only to make me his prisoner.
Pulling the blanket off me forcefully, then Mikhail’s suit jacket, I throw them both into the fire. I don’t want to owe these people anything. The flames catch, and it only takes a few seconds before it shrinks, disappearing in the form of smoke.
But the gesture seems to do the opposite of calming me down.
It digs into a long-forgotten well of anger, which starts dripping into my bloodstream.
Thick. Coarse. Vicious in a way wounded animals become when you get too close.
I don’t know what to do with the feeling, so I let it linger, until I tear my gaze from the fire, turning toward the room.
Objects swim into focus around me. The space is decorated like the rest of the house: dark wood and sumptuous furniture.
The walls are ornate, with thick golden frames that mesh with the metallic structure of the fireplace.
A bed upholstered in black velvet dominates the room, and a vertical, rectangular window separates the exterior wall, offering a glimpse of the moon and the branches swaying with the wind.
It looks like a museum—a fancy one at that—and somehow, it screams Mikhail. I hate that I think it’s beautiful. I hate even more that this is where he sleeps, where the sheets smell like him. Where they’ll smell like me too, come tomorrow morning.
“Do us both a favor tonight and keep that bedroom door locked.”
The timbre of his voice echoes through my mind, attacking my already fickle breathing. I blink, the threat—or promise—registering. If I don’t lock myself in here, he might enter. And he might do things we shouldn’t do.
I rush to the door, twisting the key in its hole once. Twice. Three times. As many times as it takes to keep him away. It’s all pointless, I realize. If he wants to enter, he’ll enter, just like he entered my father’s house and shoved himself into my dreams and my entire life.
I don’t bother changing into new clothes or even washing off the smudged makeup on my face, holding on to what’s left of my old life. My mind screams at me for the lack of structure, of schedule, but I scream back, shoving myself under the warm covers and closing my eyes.
Mikhail
“I have never actually considered killing you, but this time, you really fucking pushed me.”
From where he’s seated at the long table in his office downstairs, Wolfgang’s hazel eyes gutter, blazing with repressed rage about to spill over.
Despite the aching organs pounding against my flesh in agony, I still show him the side of me he expects.
A grinning, eye-rolling bastard who came back to disturb his life.
Cracking my neck, I sprawl in the chair opposite him. “Why so cranky? Has your wife managed to stab you a second time?”
My brother’s nostrils flare. “Cut the shit, Mikhail. I’m not in the mood for your tasteless humor.”
“Always so serious.” I groan. “Fine. We’ll talk. What do you want to know?”
Wolfgang stands from the desk, slamming his palms onto the table as he braces himself, watching me from beneath thick eyebrows.
Dark fire still simmers in those amber-colored eyes—the ones that made him Pakhan.
“You lied to me. Said you were going to the West Coast for a Cecilia Ferrara. But you had bigger plans, didn’t you?
Plans I knew nothing about until the day I had to give up half of an entire city to save your life. I want to know why.”
For the first time tonight, I clench my jaw hard enough to hurt, meeting his gaze before I say quietly, “You know why.”
“No.” He shakes his head, understanding what I said without having to say it. “Don’t bullshit me! You did not put your life on the line for my sake.”
My gaze sweeps over his face, noticing the conflict splayed there.
Had I not refused my father’s decision to make me Pakhan two months ago, I would not be seeing a crack in my brother’s beliefs right now.
Part of him wants to accept my response, but the other part is still hung up on our shared past. On the many times I’ve broken his trust because I didn’t know how to hold my guilt, so I threw it at him.
“Not for your sake, no. For mine,” I lie. “I gave up the throne so you could have it. Least you could do is give the Ferraras their share of the deal.”
Something like disgust grows on his face. Disappointment, anger. “I earned my title fair and fucking square. All you did was realize it was never yours in the first place.”
And there it is—our familiar dynamic, the regular push and pull of two heartless men bound only by surname.
Something far away in my chest begins to wither, but the relief I feel over the direction of this conversation overshadows it.
His continuous hate fuels me in ways I can’t explain.
It’s almost soothing, fucked up as it may be.
“Regardless of why you did it…” He sighs, raking a hand through his dark hair.
“I can’t deny the positive ramifications.
Antonio let you go with his daughter and brought his men to the East Coast like it was nothing.
They haven’t attacked either—every day, I’m waiting for things to blow, but they don’t.
How the fuck did you convince him to say yes to this alliance? ”
“I wouldn’t take it as a win just yet, not until I’m officially married to Cecilia.”
He snorts. “That too. You, married? What’s next, children and a golden fucking retriever?”
“People change,” I mock.
“Not you. You’ve never fucking changed.”
He’s right. And I know I won’t be the kind of man he’s suggesting.
He might have gotten attached to Victoria’s pussy, but that’s not going to be me.
My marriage will only be on paper, and I intend to keep everything about my lifestyle the same.
Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t give Cecilia the kind of love I know she’ll accept—tender, soft, perfect.
“I watched the girl for weeks,” I say, circling back to his initial question. “That’s when I found out the Don was hiding something about her. He couldn’t marry her off—but he had to. People were starting to ask questions. And the more I dug into their history, the more cracks I saw.”
“Like?”
“You know Antonio doesn’t have any heirs. That’s made one or two of his Capi think they can replace him. He probably suspects it, but I found someone willing to betray him. With my help.”
“Who?” my brother asks.
“Massimo Bellini. I thought for sure it would be his consigliere, but he’s oddly attached to Cecilia.” I make a mental note to snap his neck the next time I see him.
I go on explaining my entire strategy, including the way Massimo helped me find the Ferrara estate, among other things. I tell him about Chicago, how I plan on getting it back once the marriage is sealed.
“What if I hadn’t said yes when Antonio called me to negotiate the alliance?” Wolf asks. “What if I’d let you die in that house?”
I shrug. “Then I would’ve died. Things were getting a little stale around here anyway.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
“So.” I get up, pain twisting my every cell. “Hope that answers your questions. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need some things I know I’m not going to find in this office.”
“What things?”
“Silence. A thick, bloody steak. Ibuprofen. You gave me a headache.”
“Too fucking bad. We’re not done here.” He rounds the table, leaning against its edge with his arms crossed. “What you’re telling me is, we’ve got a contact in Antonio’s party. That gives us options.”
“Why, of course, we’ll dethrone him. You figure out who you want to put in the Don’s place. In the meantime, I’ll take care of the wedding bullshit, and I suspect Antonio will carry on with his act in Chicago until he feels confident to take over the city fully.”
The Bratva and the Cosa Nostra have never been on good terms. And no matter what agreement Antonio and I came to, the alliance is an obvious sham on both ends.
We have simply reset the race. He lost something, and we lost something, all so we can begin again in more subtle, tactful ways—my brother’s specialty.
“Good,” Wolf says. “I’d say I’m impressed with the stunt you pulled, but that would mean looking past the fact that you lied to me. Fortunately for you, you already know better than anyone how we punish betrayal.”
As if on cue, the double doors behind me open, and I don’t have to look to know what’s about to happen.
“So dramatic.” I grin just as the weight of a metal chain wraps around my neck from behind. I don’t fight it. The rules of the game are clear, and I grew up learning them—you make the Pakhan look bad, he returns the favor. It’s how I got the many scars on my body, including the one around my eye.
Slowly, my brother stalks closer to me, his stare like pelted bullets. “Never blindside me again.” He jerks his head to the men behind me. “Take him downstairs and teach him a fucking lesson.”