15
Mia
What else could go wrong today?
As he pulls me into his room, I can feel the panic building within me like a relentless tide. With each step, I struggle to contain the rising panic, a lump forming in my throat that I try to swallow down with every ounce of willpower I possess.
It's as if he can sense the turmoil brewing within me because he turns towards me, his voice surprisingly gentle amidst the chaos. "Calm down," he says, his hand running through his disheveled hair. "As I said before, forcing a woman isn't my thing." His words offer a sliver of reassurance, but they do little to calm the unease gnawing on my insides. "This is for both of us," he continues, his tone firm yet oddly comforting. "So, we can play the part. When I'm home, I'll stick to my side of the bed, and you can stick to yours—it's big enough."
Reluctantly, I have to admit that he might have a point. The mere thought of my father discovering that I'm sleeping in a separate room sends a shiver down my spine, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. It's a chilling reminder of the precarious situation I find myself in, trapped in a web of lies and obligations that threaten to consume me whole.
Taking a deep breath, I exhale slowly, attempting to calm the frantic pounding of my heart. Surveying the room, I am struck by the stark contrast between this luxurious space and the modest room I briefly occupied. If I thought my previous room was nice, it now seems downright drab in comparison to this.
His room is spacious, with the bed as its focal point. Adorned with crisp white linens and large, plush pillows, it invites relaxation and indulgence. While the decor is minimal, the room emanates a quiet elegance, blending simplicity with luxury in a way that feels effortlessly chic.
Floor-to-ceiling windows grace one wall, offering a captivating view outside, much like the room I hastily left. However, this room boasts an additional feature—a cozy sitting area nestled in one corner, complete with two inviting armchairs that beckon for moments of quiet reflection.
I enter the ensuite bathroom, and I'm greeted by marble countertops and opulent fixtures. A generously sized soaking tub catches my eye, promising moments of blissful relaxation. At the same time, a separate shower stands nearby, offering a refreshing embrace, ready to wash away the stresses of the day.
"Is it up to your standard, Tesoro?" he asks, his voice drawing me from my thoughts, reminding me of his proximity.
"Y-Yes," I stammer, turning towards him with a slight tremble in my voice. "Thank you," I mutter as he takes another step closer, his imposing figure towering over me. I can't tell if he's trying to intimidate me, but strangely, it sends a thrill through me. Maybe I'm twisted, or perhaps it's the rush of freedom from my father's control that's making me feel this way. Whatever it is, Sebastiano doesn't scare me.
Sure, he infuriated me with his behavior today. Still, the prospect of escaping my father's watchful gaze outweighs any annoyance I feel towards him for dragging me out of the wedding like a rag doll.
Honestly, I couldn't wait to leave, either. I didn't need to be manhandled, but lingering at a wedding that felt more like a charade held no appeal for me.
"Don't thank me. You're doing me a favor in return, so we're even. But we should clear a few things up front," he replies, his tone cold and matter-of-fact.
"You're right. Maybe a few ground rules will make it easier for both of us," I reply, meeting his gaze.
"Rules aren't really something I abide by, but sure, I'll entertain this - what are your rules?" he responds, crossing his thick arms and giving me a cocky smirk.
"W… well. Umm," I stumble over my words, feeling a bit flustered. "Umm, well, get us out of the baby thing - I'm not having your baby, and I want the freedom to go out and see my friend, to do what I want," I manage to say, emphasizing the word 'friend' because I only have one, and I'm not willing to give him up.
Sebastiano takes a step back towards the bedroom, sitting on one of the chairs by the window. I follow suit, taking the seat next to him, ready to hear him out.
"I will definitely get us out of the baby thing; having a baby with you is not something I want at all. But not until my dad passes the title, so for now, we will play along. You can see your friends, go out shopping, do your nails, whatever women do. But…" his voice trails off, and I can feel the weight of his 'but' hanging in the air.
"You will have guards with you at all times, never leaving this house alone. Being my wife puts a target on you as well. You can see your friends, but no kissing random men in my club, any club for that matter."
My cheeks flush with heat, the warmth spreading down my neck. I had hoped he wouldn't bring up our kiss from that night. Even though it happened weeks ago, the memory of his lips on mine still lingers.
“Guards at all times and no kissing. Got it."
“I mean it. I hate to say this, but for the time being, we have to keep up appearances––an appearance that won't look good if you're seen kissing random men all around town, especially in my club. And your guards will be mine, not who your father wanted to send over. I don't care if you’re familiar with them or prefer them; I can’t afford additional eyes watching us. At least not until everything is transferred from my father,” Sebastiano tells me, not really asking.
“I understand. Y... your guards will be nice to me and not touch me, right?” I probably shouldn't ask, but I know the difference between good and evil, having experienced both, and I need to know.
“I will break the fucking hand of anyone who touches you!” His dark, piercing eyes bore into mine, telling me there's a lot of truth behind his words.
“As my wife, disrespecting you is disrespecting me. A death sentence to anyone stupid enough to try.” The intensity in his words leaves me speechless. It's a dark promise that should terrify me but, oddly, makes my body tingle. Sebastiano’s stern gaze gives me a strange sense of protection, a protection that I never truly had. It's apparent that in his world, the rules he follows are different. Being his wife means he will extend his shield. And for that, I am beyond grateful and no longer care about everything that happened today.
We linger in our chairs a bit longer, discussing the details of the role I'm expected to play—essentially, that of a don’s wife. Sebastiano explains that we'll sleep in the same room and bed. It’s a California King, so there's plenty of space for both of us to sleep comfortably.
To the outside world, we'll act as the happy newlywed couple everyone expects us to be. But behind closed doors, we'll simply coexist, living together until he claims the title. Then, as the new don, he'll use his newfound authority to grant a divorce, giving me the freedom to decide whether I want to stay in this marriage or leave Chicago behind.
A small smile spreads across my face as I sink into my side of the bed. “Oh my goodness, I'm never getting out of this bed. It feels like I'm lying on a cloud,” I exclaim. This is the most comfortable bed I’ve ever experienced.
“I’m glad it meets your standards, Tesoro,” he responds, disappearing into the bathroom.
As I snuggle under the soft duvet, biting my lip, I realize this is the first time I've ever shared a bed with a man. I push the thought away and let sleep envelop me.
My body jolts up, and all traces of sleep are gone when a bucket of cold water is dumped on me, a harsh wake-up call.
“Get up, useless bitch!” Dad's screams pierce the air as I struggle to pull my soaked body out of bed. The shivering chill wakes me up completely, but it's been days since he’s allowed me to eat. To him, this is just laziness, but truthfully, I'm just weak.
“Why are you sleeping? It's 4:42 AM, lazy Bitch, get up!” he shouts again.
Summoning every bit of determination in me, I manage to stand and grab dry clothes to change into. But as I attempt to move, my legs fail me, sending me crashing to my knees. Clutching onto the chair beside me, I try to regain my footing before he sees me.
I can do this. I can do th— “AHHH!” I scream as the first strike hits me. My body feels like it's splitting in half. My skin is burning as if on fire.
“I thought I said to get your lazy ass out of bed, Mia. You know how I hate repeating myself.” His calm, sinister voice sends shivers down my spine.
“I-I am s-sorry,” I mumble out, unable to focus on anything else but the pain.
Another sharp shock to the back of my head sends me flying forward, the impact blurring my vision, making me momentarily discombobulated.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I plead over and over, hoping he will stop.
“I'm sorry, I––”
Warmth surrounds me suddenly- large arms wrap around me, creating a cocoon around me, snuggling my back against a rock-hard chest. The hold is firm yet gentle, providing a safe comfort and keeping me protected from him.
I feel so safe.
"Shh, I got you," the comforting voice whispers against my ear.
Snuggling into a wall of muscle, all the bad fades away, replaced by a sense of comfort and warmth.
The sunlight peeks through the curtains, waking me up. I look over at the alarm to see that it's 7:12 a.m.
Holy crap!
It is rare for me to sleep late. I must have been tired.
Sitting up in the soft covers and looking around at the unfamiliar room are reminders that I’m not in my bed and that yesterday was not a dream. Still, the warm arms hugging me must have been a dream because I’m in bed alone. The other side feels cold, proof nobody has been in bed with me, at least for a while.
Slowly, the events of yesterday start to flood my mind––my new reality. I pull the covers off me, slipping out of Sebastiano Morelli’s bed. The room is quiet and somewhat peaceful, allowing me a moment to collect myself before getting dressed and starting my day as the new don’s new wife.
I quickly brush my teeth and change before heading downstairs- the mansion is so big. I make a mental note to take a tour so I don't get lost.
As I get to the bottom steps, the smell of fresh bacon wafts through the air. Entering the kitchen, I see Marie and Roman busying themselves, plating an impressive spread. Roman definitely has culinary skills, and I'm certain Marie does as well.
Sebastiano sits at the head of the table quietly with a coffee mug in hand, fixated on his phone.
“Good morning,” I say to him, taking a seat to his left and greeting Marie and Roman as they begin placing an array of dishes down in front of us. Sebastiano looks up at me, his face stoic as ever. He doesn't say anything but gives a slight nod. He looks tired. Even so, his presence still grasps my attention.
‘Don't mind him, Mia Cara. He’s not used to being up this early,” Marie offers, earning a warning look from Sebastiano.
"Will you not join us?" I ask the cute couple as they try to scamper off after placing the food out.
"We have much to do. Please enjoy without us," Marie says before leaving the room with Roman in tow.
The whole thing is a far cry from the minimal regimen I'm used to, and the spread before me is beginning to make my mouth water.
The table is brimming with dishes—fluffy pancakes, French toast, scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and sausage, along with a massive bowl of fruit salad and a variety of pastries. Juice and coffee stand nearby, blending their scents in the air, creating a perfect morning feast. However, I decide against greedily piling my plate and opt for just a spoonful of eggs, earning a disapproving look from Sebastiano.
"Does this not meet your standards, wife?" Sebastiano's tone lacks emotion, slicing through the awkward silence.
"Oh, it's not like that," I murmur, avoiding his gaze. "I-I just..." My words falter.
“You need to eat. A hunger strike won't bode well for either of us.” His words hang in the air before he abruptly orders, "Open."
I look up at him, and my jaw drops at his assumption that I'm going on a hunger strike. Sebastiano takes the opportunity to shove a sausage link into my mouth, then places another on my plate, along with a piece of French toast.
"I’m not going on a hunger strike,” I protest, “and you can't just shove your sausage in my mouth like that."
A sly smirk plays on his lips as his eyes lock with mine. He seems to have something on his mind but opts not to say it. Realizing how my words came out, I stammer, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks and neck.
"So, I can shove my sausage in your mouth, then?" He teases, clearly enjoying my discomfort.
“Wh-what?" I stutter, my cheeks turning pink as I chew the meat he put in my mouth.
Licking his fingers, he has an amused look in his eyes, but it's short-lived as one of the brutes from yesterday walks in, diverting Sebastiano's attention.
The two men start talking, but Sebastiano's comment continues to linger in my mind, the blush still showing on my cheeks as I sit here feeling a little frazzled. However, to appease him, I reluctantly take a bite of the French toast. As the syrupy sweetness coats my tongue, a wave of sugary bliss washes over me, momentarily distracting me from the awkwardness of the situation. It's delicious, perhaps the most fantastic thing I’ve ever eaten.
With a warm smile, the newcomer extends his hand, introducing himself as Enzo. I reach out, mid-bite, to shake his hand when suddenly, the syrupy French toast slides off my fork, landing messily on my shirt and lap. Mortified, I quickly shake his hand before excusing myself to go upstairs and change. Hopefully, my belongings have been moved into Sebastiano’s room by now.