Chapter 6 Elena #2
Once he’s tucked beneath the covers, I smooth the blanket up to his chest and watch him for a long while.
My fingers slip into his hair, stroking it back again and again until my arm aches.
The repetitive motion is grounding and is really the only thing keeping the panic broiling in my chest from swallowing me whole.
For the first time since we arrived at the villa, he sleeps peacefully. As sad as that is, it does comfort me somewhat.
When I slide off the bed, movement catches my eye.
The bedroom door opens just a fraction, the hinges barely whispering as it does, then I spot the maid from earlier standing in the doorway. Her posture is rigid while her expression remains unreadable. She doesn’t speak, only lifts her hand and motions for me to follow.
My stomach tightens. After one last glance at Luca still sleeping peacefully beneath the covers, I cross the room and step into the hallway. The door closes softly behind me, sealing him away from whatever comes next.
Only once we’re alone does she speak. “Master Cosenza is requesting that you come to his bedroom.”
Fear pools instantly in my stomach.
I know what men like Dante expect from their new wives.
I know what the first night is supposed to mean, especially in his world.
Especially after a wedding like this forged from anger instead of affection.
I won’t be looking forward to a night like the ones we shared four years ago.
It will be far from those sweet, tender moments.
The hallway feels longer than it did earlier as I force myself to follow her.
Each one of my steps shuffles too loudly against the stone floors.
My heartbeat keeps pace with it, fast and uneven, and when she stops in front of the double doors at the end of the corridor, my palms grow slick with sweat.
She opens them and gestures for me to step inside.
The room is cavernous.
It’s elegantly decorated and impossibly beautiful.
Soft amber lighting glows from shaded lamps in each corner of the room.
Fresh white linens stretch pristinely across an enormous four-poster bed.
The walls are covered with wallpaper that has a soft, pearlescent sheen to it.
Elegant molding stretches around the ceiling, circling the entire perimeter.
It’s so much different from what he had back at his father’s old estate, a far cry from those cozy nights we spent together curled by the fireplace.
A tray of toiletries sits arranged neatly at the foot of the bed, and draped neatly across the center of the mattress is a single silk robe.
My hands begin to shake as the door closes behind me. The click of the latch is deafening in the quiet, final as the jamb snaps into place. I turn slowly toward the vanity across the room and barely recognize the woman staring back.
She’s pale and hollow-eyed. The ring on my finger catches the light, tearing my eyes away from my own reflection. It feels less like jewelry and more like iron chains. Anyone else would find it beautiful but to me, all it represents is a cold and uncaring future.
What am I supposed to do?
I can’t sleep with him. Not after everything that’s happened. The way his eyes watched me today, burning with every unsaid accusation and whatever grief he still feels for my leaving, feels far more dangerous than everything else I’ve encountered so far.
I doubt he’ll be gentle. I know he won’t touch me with the same reverence he once did in those stolen moments years ago when his voice had been soft and his hands careful as they held me close.
That man feels like a stranger now. This version of him hates me. What better way to punish me for running than to remind me exactly what kind of man I fled from?
I swallow hard at the thought.
I am trapped in this marriage until he decides I am no longer useful. Until my father is found and my purpose is served. Maybe he will find it in his heart to be gentle with me when he finally decides to kill me.
The thought slips in uninvited in my mind, quiet and horrifying in its calm acceptance. If not gentle, then at least quick. I can only pray for that much mercy even as I know how foolish it is to expect it from a man like Dante Cosenza.
Hopefully, he will allow Luca to live. Maybe he’ll send him away to some distant relatives, somewhere safe and far from this world.
Or maybe, God help me, he’ll find it in himself to raise him.
Though the idea of my son growing up without me makes my throat burn, the idea of him growing up under the tutelage of a man like his father terrifies me even more.
But what other option is there? I don’t want our son to die because of me. But can I stand the thought of him being molded into a monster too?
I draw in a slow, shaking breath and force my feet to move. There’s no sense dwelling on any of that now. If tonight is inevitable, then I will meet it head-on in the only way I know how to.
I carry the tray of toiletries into the master bathroom first. The space is just as enormous as the bedroom.
Marble countertops, gold fixtures, twin mirrors wide enough to reflect me from every angle.
I focus on the routine instead, turning on the water, testing its warmth, lining the bottles along the counter and seeing what product they decided to lend me.
The act of washing myself becomes a strange, calming ritual, one I can disappear into.
I scrub away the scent of the chapel and the dinner and the fear of saying I do, grounding myself in things I can control instead.
Steam fills the room when I finally slip out of my white dress and step into the shower to rinse myself clean.
My thoughts blur at the edges as the water scalds my body.
For a few precious minutes, I can pretend I’m somewhere else.
Someone else entirely. When I’m finished, I dry off and dab on lotion and spray a little perfume on my neck.
It’s too sweet, too floral to be anything I like.
It’s nothing close to what I once wore for Dante. Then again, that’s probably the point.
Back in the bedroom, the silk robe waits for me on the bed.
I stop short upon seeing it. My body reacts before my mind can catch up, a violent shudder rolling down my spine. I force myself forward anyway, ignoring the dread pooling deep in my stomach.
Slowly, I peel myself out of the towel I’ve wrapped around myself and pull it around my shoulders. The silk robe is cool and impossibly soft when it slips over my skin. My hands shake so badly, I fumble with the ties and have to try twice before I manage to knot it securely.
How am I supposed to do this? Do I lie still and wait for it to be over?
Do I look away? Do I close my eyes and pretend I’m somewhere far from here, back in New York, curled up beside my son in our tiny apartment?
Will he force me to look at him? Force me to accept the pleasure only he knows how to give me even though I shouldn’t want it in the first place?
When the door bursts open, I flinch violently.
My body reacts before my mind can catch up, spinning me around with a gasp as I clutch my hands over my chest protectively.
Dante stands framed in the doorway.
He’s still dressed in his formal attire from earlier, his dark suit still immaculately pressed despite the long day. The crisp lines of it make him look like he just stepped out of a magazine. The light from the hallway cuts across his features, catching in his eyes as they lock onto me.
What reflects back isn’t desire. It’s suspicion.
His gaze sweeps over me in one sharp assessment—the silk robe clinging to my frame, the way my shoulders are drawn tight, the way I’m trembling despite every effort to hold myself together. I can practically feel him cataloging it all.
Whatever he reads on my face only feeds the anger simmering beneath the surface of his control.
“What?” he growls, stepping into the room and slamming the door hard enough behind him that I flinch again. “You think I’d have to force myself on you?”
He crosses the room in a few long strides before I can even think to move away. He crowds me back until the backs of my knees strike the bed. The mattress dips beneath me when I stumble and fall back onto it.
“Don’t play innocent, Elena,” he continues harshly, looming over me. “You laid on your back for me plenty of times without hesitation while you wore my brother’s ring on your finger. Now just because it’s mine, things are suddenly different?”
The words don’t just sting, they slice straight through what little armor I have left.
Shame floods my face, crawling up my neck until it feels like hands are tightening around my throat.
My chest constricts, turning my breath into shallow and panicked pulls as the humiliation mixes with something far more volatile.
Anger.
Fury so blinding, it blurs my vision for a second.
How dare he?
How dare he stand there and speak to me like that? Like I was the only one at fault, like I had tempted him and worn him down until he finally gave in to my desires. As if he hadn’t come willingly every single time and begged for me too.
I wasn’t the only one betraying my family directly.
I wasn’t the only one lying to everyone around us.
I wasn’t the sole architect of our destruction and yet here he is, reducing it all to some ugly, twisted version of what we shared.
Painting me as desperate, as though I had offered myself up to him over and over until he finally decided to give in because he had to.
He had wanted me just as badly. He touched me each time with want and hunger, whispering my name like it meant something more than whatever sin we were committing.
Twisting the past into something that absolves him while simultaneously condemning me.
The unfairness of it burns.
The hypocrisy.
My hands curl into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms. Before I can stop myself and let reason catch up to me and freeze the rage burning in my veins before I do something monumentally stupid, my hand comes up.
The crack of my palm against his cheek is sharp and violent. The sound echoes loudly through the room as his head snaps to the side, the force of it reverberating up my arm and leaving my palm stinging. The impact shocks me almost as much as it does him.
For a heartbeat, he simply turns back to stare at me in disbelief. His hand hovers near his cheek, though not quite touching it. The skin is already flushing red. Shock flickers across his expression, the look genuine and unguarded.
“Get out,” I hiss, shoving against his chest with every ounce of strength I have left. My hands tremble as they press over his heart. “Get out!”
He pulls in a harsh breath as if he’s restraining something violent inside himself from bursting forward, but then he exhales in one hard, controlled breath. The emotion drains from his face, replaced by something much colder. It isn’t rage, exactly, though something close to it.
For a split second, everything is still.
Then he speaks. His voice is cold now, flat. Don Cosenza is in full control as he locks his eyes with mine. “You will be staying in this room every night until further notice.”
My entire body stiffens.
“If you even think about leaving it, your son will pay the consequences.”
My throat tightens painfully as I swallow. Panic flares in my chest. “What about Luca? I’m not letting him sleep on his own. He’s just a baby. He’s been sleeping with me since he was born.”
For just a moment, I search his face for something—hesitation, humanity, anything that remains of the man I used to know. But… I find nothing. “He will be taken care of.”
The words land like a death sentence.
“No,” I whisper, stepping forward without thinking. “Dante, please…”
He doesn’t let me finish. He turns away, already done with me, sealing the decision into stone. He crosses the room before I can force another word past the hysteria clawing up my throat and slams the door shut behind him.
Only then do my legs finally give out.
I crumple to the floor, the silk robe pooling around me as sobs rip free from my chest. They’re violent and uncontrollable, tearing their way out of my throat despite my desperate attempts to stop them. My hands shake as I press them over my mouth, trying and failing to muffle the sound.
This man will use my love for my son to break me. He knows I would endure anything for Luca. Anything at all.
Even this.
But what happens when there’s nothing more of me left for him to ruin?
What will happen to Luca then?