Chapter 15 Gabriella
When I wake up, he’s already gone.
Even after clearing the air last night about Lucia, I’m still on edge.
It’s not so much Luca as the dull, boring routine that's already forming after only a few days of marriage.
The same breakfast on the terrace. The same careful conversations with Rosa.
The same polite smiles for Paolo and Tony.
And especially the same beautiful, though completely suffocating villa where every door I want to open requires permission and every step I take is monitored by cameras.
I've been living other people's lives all of my adult life, but they were always temporary. A few weeks here, a month there, then on to the next adventure. This feels permanent. And I don’t like it.
I slip out of bed and steal one of his dress shirts thrown carelessly over a chair. The shirt is white cotton, and it falls to mid-thigh on me. The sleeves swallow my hands, but it smells like his cologne and something else that's purely him.
Downstairs, I find him in the kitchen with Rosa, discussing household issues over espresso.
He's already dressed for business in a dark suit.
His hair is still slightly damp from the shower, and when he sees me, his eyes slowly take me in.
They travel from my bare legs to the shirt that's obviously his, lingering on the collar that's sliding off one shoulder.
"Morning," I say, heading for the coffee.
"Good morning, Mrs. Romano," Rosa replies with a smile. She glances between us with a satisfied expression that suggests she approves of whatever she's witnessing.
"You're up early," Luca says.
"Couldn't sleep." I pour myself espresso and add sugar. "It’s too quiet here."
Rosa excuses herself, leaving us alone in the kitchen that suddenly feels smaller.
"Too quiet?" Luca asks, leaning against the counter. “What do you mean?”
I take a sip of espresso, buying time. "I'm used to noise. Traffic, people, life happening outside my window. Here it's just... silence."
"Most people would find it peaceful."
I shrug. "I'm not most people."
He sets down his phone and gives me his full attention. "What kind of noise are you used to early in the mornings?"
Careful, Gabriella. Sofia grew up in a villa like this one.
"I meant... when I was at university. Dorm life, you know? Always something happening." The lie comes easily, but I can see him filing it away like everything else that doesn't quite add up. "I guess I got used to sleeping through chaos."
"You went to university in Rome."
"Yes, but I lived on campus. Near other students." I lean against the opposite counter, the marble cool against my back. "It was different. Busier with lots of activities going on."
"And now?"
"Now I'm here in paradise." I gesture around the pristine kitchen with its marble counters and professional-grade appliances. "Don't get me wrong, it's beautiful. But I feel like I'm living in a museum. Everything's so... perfect and controlled."
He's quiet for a moment, studying my face with those eyes that seem to see too much. "Do you want to go somewhere?"
"I want to go everywhere."
The words slip out before I can stop them. They’re too honest, too revealing.
"You can go anywhere you want with your bodyguard."
The casual way he says it makes me uncomfortable. "Do I really need someone following me to shop for groceries?"
"You're not buying groceries. Rosa handles that."
"Then what am I supposed to do all day?"
The question comes out sharper than I intended, and I see something shift in his expression. Not anger, exactly, but a kind of calculation that makes me nervous.
"Whatever you want," he says finally. "Within reason."
"What's within reason?"
"Staying safe. Staying close. Not drawing unwanted attention."
Each restriction feels like another bar on the cage I've trapped myself in. "I can do whatever I want as long as I don't actually do anything?"
"That's not what I said."
"Isn't it?" I set down my cup harder than necessary. "I can't go anywhere alone. I can't drive myself. I’m not allowed to have a car. I can't even leave the property without asking permission first. What exactly can I do?"
"You can live safely. You can enjoy being protected instead of vulnerable."
"Protected from what? I grew up here, Luca. I know this city."
"You grew up as Sofia Arcari, art dealer's daughter. Now you're Sofia Romano. That's different."
Sofia Arcari could disappear into Rome and be anonymous. Sofia Romano will always be a target, always be watched, always be defined by whose name she carries.
And I chose this life to save my sister. I walked into this willingly.
"That's it? I'm supposed to accept that my life is now... this?"
I gesture around the kitchen, but I mean more than that. I mean the guards and the restrictions. The loss of spontaneity, of the freedom to wake up and decide to catch a train to anywhere.
"Most women would be grateful for this life."
"I'm not most women." The words come out fierce. "And grateful for what? Being kept like a beautiful parrot in a cage?"
His eyes flash dangerously, and for a moment I see the man who makes people disappear. The man he tries very carefully to keep hidden from me.
"You're my wife, not a pet."
"Then treat me like one. Let me have a car. Let me go places without a babysitter. Let me have some piece of my life that's mine."
"And if something happens to you?"
"Then something happens to me! At least I'd be living instead of just... existing."
We stare at each other across the kitchen island. I can see him trying to understand why I'm not content with safety and luxury. I can't explain those things feel like prison walls when you've spent your life as a nomad.
"You've never mentioned feeling trapped before," he says quietly.
Sofia never felt trapped. Sofia was content with the boundaries of her world. It made her feel safe. And I crave to feel alive.
"Maybe I never felt like I had the right to ask for more before," I say carefully. "We barely knew each other during the engagement. I was trying to be... appropriate."
"And now?"
"We're married and I'm supposed to build a life here." I meet his eyes, trying to make him understand without revealing too much. "And I can't build a life if I'm not allowed to live one."
He drains his espresso, while he’s weighing my words against whatever protocols he's supposed to follow. The silence stretches between us, and I hold my breath.
“What exactly are you asking for?”
"A car," I say finally. "Just a little car that doesn't scream 'mafia wife.' Something that lets me drive to the market or a café or just... around the block when I need air."
"With Paolo."
"Without Paolo. Why would I want to drive around in a compact car with him taking up all the space? If not a car, how about a scooter?"
"Hell no! Absolutely not. Are you trying to get yourself killed?"
The flat refusal makes something snap inside me. "Why? Because I might remember what it feels like to make my own choices?"
"Because you could get hurt. Because you could get taken. Because there are people in this city who would love nothing more than to get their hands on my wife. I can’t allow it and I won’t."
The genuine concern in his voice catches me off guard. This isn't about control - it's about fear. He's actually worried about losing me.
"Then teach me," I say impulsively. "Teach me how to protect myself. Give me the tools to be safe in this world instead of just hiding me away."
"You want me to teach you to fight? From the way you took down the pickpocket, you already know self-defense."
"I want you to teach me whatever I need to know to have some freedom in this life. Teach me how to use a gun if it makes you feel better."
He stares at me, wrestling with something. Fear, maybe, or protectiveness.
“You’re not getting a gun if that’s your next request.”
“I wasn’t planning to ask for one,” I reply.
"There's a meeting in Milan today," he says finally. "Business. You could come with me, see the city. Maybe you’ll feel better if you get out of the villa."
I flash him a genuine smile. “I’d love to tag along."
"You'd have to stay where I put you. No wandering off, no getting into trouble."
The patronizing tone rankles, but Milan is better than being stuck in this house all day. Milan is a change of scenery, a break from these walls.
"I can behave myself," I say.
"Can you?"
"I won’t embarrass you, if that's what you're worried about," I say lightly.
"That's not what I'm worried about."
"Then what?"
He moves closer, until I can smell his cologne that I love so much. "I'm worried the woman I married to has other secrets she’s keeping."
The words hang between us. He's suspicious, but he's also attracted to whatever changes he's seeing in me. It's a knife's edge I'm walking, and one wrong step could cut us both.
"Marriage changes people," I say finally. "Maybe you're just seeing parts of me that I didn't feel comfortable showing before."
"Maybe."
But I can tell he doesn't believe it. And the way he's looking at me makes me think that going to Milan might be less about giving me freedom and more about watching me in a different environment.
"So," I say, trying to lighten the mood. "What should I wear to a business meeting?"
"Something that says you're my wife."
"Expensive and decorative?"
His mouth quirks up slightly. "Expensive and untouchable."
"I can do untouchable."
"Can you do obedient?"
The question is a challenge, and we both know it. He wants to see if I'll submit to his authority, if I'll play the role of the good mafia wife who does what she's told without question.
"I can do whatever you need me to do," I say, which isn't quite the same thing as agreeing to be obedient. “To get out of this house.”
He nods once, apparently satisfied with my non-answer.
"We leave in two hours," he says, already reaching for his phone. "And Sofia?"
"Yes?"
"This isn't about giving you freedom. This is about showing you what my world looks like when you're not protected by these walls."
The warning is clear. Milan isn't a gift. It's a lesson. He wants me to see what I'm asking for when I say I want more freedom.
What he doesn't realize is that I've already seen much worse than whatever he thinks Milan will show me.
But as I head upstairs to get ready, I can't shake the feeling that this trip to Milan is going to change everything between us.
For better or worse, I'm about to find out exactly how far I can push before the facade I've built comes crashing down.