Chapter Three
Caterina
THE AIR IN the car feels as if all the oxygen has been replaced by something else, something sparking and electric and tense.
I’m already breathless from being thrown over this despicable man’s shoulder and carried ignominiously from the cathedral—admittedly, I have only myself to blame for that—but what he’s said just now has taken away what little breath I have left.
His wife? His wife?
He’s leaning back in his seat as if he’s at home, lounging in a favourite chair, one foot propped on the opposite knee, his large, long-fingered hands loose on his thighs. He’s overwhelming close up, his kinetic, violent presence filling the car, while his intense silver gaze burns into me.
The man of my nightmares is right here and not only has he taken me hostage, now he’s telling me he’s going to make me his wife.
I almost can’t take it in.
‘It’s a shock, I know,’ he says, his voice deep and lazy, a thread of dark amusement winding through it. ‘Luckily though, you’re already dressed for the occasion.’
‘I’m not marrying you,’ I say, my temper running away with my tongue before I can stop myself. ‘You can take your damn proposal and shove it up your arse.’
The smile that plays around his mouth makes it curve into something like a sneer, while his eyes glitter like diamonds, hard and sharp.
‘Such language,’ he murmurs, chiding. ‘Also, you’re incorrect.
I did not propose. I merely told you what is going to happen irrespective of where you wish to shove it. ’
His measured response is disconcerting. I’m expecting him to be angry, because every man in the families gets angry when a woman talks back.
We’re expected to be pretty and decorative, to have no opinions except about child-rearing, household management, cocktails and shopping.
And we’re definitely not allowed to swear.
My father would have had fifty fits listening to me shout the moment Vincenzo Argenti flung me over his shoulder.
I really wasn’t expecting him to do that, no matter how stoutly I dared him to, so I got the shock of my life when he picked me up as if I weighed nothing.
Then shock was replaced by fury. The ignominy of being carried out of my own wedding like a naughty child was too much, and yes, I lost my temper.
It’s never too far from the surface, no matter how hard I try to push it down, and it overcame my fear, spilling out inside me like lava.
Not that hitting or shouting made any difference to the Wolf of Sicily.
His shoulder beneath my stomach felt like stone, his arm wrapped around my thighs an iron band.
My fists on his strong back made no impact and I felt every bit of my powerlessness and fragility in that moment.
He could have done whatever he wanted with me and I wouldn’t have been able to do a single thing to stop him.
Now, he wants to marry me and I can’t stop him from doing that either.
I can’t stop him from doing anything at all.
His manner is lazy, but I don’t make the mistake of thinking he’s anything but lethal, no matter how casually he lounges in the seat next to me.
‘I won’t do it,’ I say, even though it doesn’t matter and it’s going to happen whether I want it to or not. ‘I won’t say “I do”.’
‘Yes, you will.’ His head tilts, the afternoon sun glossing his black hair. ‘Because if you don’t, your father won’t live to see another sunrise.’
I go cold. My issues with my father are many and varied, but even so, I don’t want him to die. And I certainly don’t want his death on my conscience, not when the deaths of Mama and Alessio weigh so heavily on me already.
I wish I could tell myself that this man wouldn’t kill my father, but he would.
Of course he would. Without a second thought.
There’s no mercy in those silver eyes, no kindness.
No gentleness. I’ll never know why he spared me all those years ago, but I don’t want to know.
These are the eyes of the killer who pushed me into a closet and locked the door, before walking away to murder the rest of my family.
‘You can’t force someone into marriage,’ I shoot back, purely for form’s sake, since I’m pretty sure he could force anyone into anything.
‘I won’t be forcing you, gattina,’ he says as if my objections are of no moment. ‘You’ll be choosing to marry me to help your father stay alive.’
I stare daggers at him.
He merely smiles that cruel smile again and adds, ‘It’s a matter of perspective, you see?’
‘You’re a bastard,’ I repeat, pointlessly.
‘You should vary your insults. You’ve already called me a bastard more than once. Try something new, hmm?’
‘Son of a bitch,’ I growl through gritted teeth.
He lifts one straight black brow. ‘Better. Though not very imaginative. Then again, I don’t suppose imagination is encouraged in the Salvatore family.’
Insulting him is futile. Why bother?
Good question. I want to keep arguing with him, which is stupid, because it’s not going to get me anywhere.
Besides, my anger is just a mask for the fear that lies cold and sharp in my stomach.
That fear makes me feel like that helpless little girl again, shoved into the darkness with the door shut in her face.
Not being able to get out no matter how hard she kicked at the door, then hearing the gunshots…
I’ve had claustrophobia ever since and it’s sliding its icy fingers around my throat and squeezing tight even now.
I fight it though, because I’m not going to have a panic attack in front of this man.
Nor am I going to lose my temper again. I need to put on the imperfect mask I managed to develop after my mother and brother died, when I was forced into the part of being a good Salvatore daughter.
Where I had to keep my temper locked down and my tongue under control, or else risk punishment from my father.
The Wolf frowns, his focus on me intensifying in a way that makes me even more breathless than I already am. ‘You look like you’re about to have a panic attack,’ he observes almost clinically. ‘I have some sedatives if you need to take one.’
My temper rises at his tone, but I have myself under better control now. ‘No, thank you,’ I say stiffly. ‘I prefer to experience my nightmares fully conscious.’
Again, the corner of his mouth lifts and I get the impression that once again I’ve amused him somehow. ‘Don’t worry, gattina. All I need from you is your physical presence at the ceremony and your name on the marriage certificate. I will not be needing you in my bed.’
For a second I can’t process what he’s saying, and then abruptly, I do.
Sex. He’s talking about sex. As soon as the thought occurs to me, I become suddenly and intensely aware of him.
Of his powerful, physical presence in the car.
Of how near he is to me, one hard muscled thigh brushing the white silk of my wedding gown.
Of the way he’s looking at me, both lazy and intense at the same time, those sharp silver eyes cutting right through me.
I’ve been protected all my life, guarded and warded like Rapunzel in her tower.
I went to a private girls’ school, and when I went to university, it was online.
I’ve never been alone with a man who wasn’t either related to me, employed by my father, or been an ally of his. I’ve certainly never had a boyfriend.
That doesn’t mean I don’t know how sex works, though.
I’ve seen things online and I know how to give myself pleasure.
But I’ve never met a man I’ve been attracted to and this man, this nightmare of mine, sitting right next to me should be the last man on earth I’d ever feel the slightest pull of attraction towards.
But now he’s mentioned his bed and me being in it, and now my brain is off and running, wondering what it would be like and I don’t understand why I’m thinking about that. I don’t understand why I’m blushing, either.
‘Good,’ I snap, pushing those thoughts away. ‘Because even if you were the last man on earth I wouldn’t sleep with you. I’d rather sleep with a goat.’
‘Careful, gattina,’ he says, amused again. ‘I think you’re in danger of liking me just a little.’
He’s goading me and I know it. But I’m also aware that there’s a piece of me, way down deep inside, that is almost…
enjoying this. Because for a long time I’ve struggled with who my father wanted me to be and who I actually am.
At first all I wanted was to be his good, obedient girl.
I wanted him to notice me, be proud of me, be glad that I hadn’t died along with Mama and Alessio.
But no matter how hard I tried to be good, he wasn’t proud and he wasn’t glad, and when he drank too much at night sometimes, he’d tell me that he wished I’d died instead of Alessio, because then he’d still have an heir.
It hurt. It hurt to know that nothing I did or would ever do, would be enough for him. And the worst part of all was the fact that he was my father and I still loved him.
But I don’t love Vincenzo Argenti or care about his feelings, and so there’s a bit of me that doesn’t want to keep the mask on.
A bit of me that wants to argue and shout, and unleash myself on him.
Cut the man of my nightmares down to size, because he is, after all, just a man, even if he is the head of the most powerful clan in Europe.
‘Oh sure,’ I say, my tone dripping with sarcasm.
‘Yes, of course I’m in danger of liking the man who killed my family.
’ I grit my teeth as I hold his gaze, grasping on to my rage for courage.
It’s a mistake to keep snapping at him, because who knows what he might do?
Still, I can’t be more afraid than I am already and he said he wouldn’t kill me.
The Wolf’s brows twitch. ‘Your father isn’t dead.’
‘No, but my mother and brother are.’ My fingers curl in the silk of my gown, holding on tight as if I’m trying to stop myself from falling from a great height. ‘I heard the gunshots after you shut me in the closet. You shot them both—’
‘I did not shoot them,’ he interrupts with some patience. ‘They were both dead by the time I got downstairs.’
I blink. My father always told me that Vincenzo Argenti gunned them down in cold blood, and I had no reason to disbelieve him. But now he is saying he wasn’t the one who killed them? ‘Why should I believe a single thing you say?’ I demand.
‘You shouldn’t. I don’t care whether you believe me or not, but the truth is that I didn’t kill your mother and brother, though I was ordered to.’ His lazy silver gaze becomes somehow even sharper. ‘I was ordered to kill you too.’
A small, cold shock goes through me, though I’m not sure why.
I know he was there to kill me. I saw his eyes as he burst into my bedroom while I was playing with my doll.
They were like ice, cold and dead. Even at five I knew I was in terrible danger, and I didn’t need to see the gun in his hand to know that.
Except he didn’t shoot me. He shoved me into a closet and locked the door instead.
I’ve never wanted to know why he saved me. I was happy making him the monster, because it was easier to blame him than blame myself. But now, I’m almost compelled to ask, ‘Why didn’t you?’
He doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze roving over me as if committing me to memory. It makes me uncomfortable, makes me want to shift in my seat, makes my skin feel tight. Makes me want to open the door and leap out onto the traffic, which is a bit overdramatic, even for me.
Then he says, ‘I suppose, since you’re going to be my wife, you deserve some kind of explanation.’
I open my mouth to tell him that as the man who allegedly killed my family, I don’t care what he thinks I deserve or otherwise, but he holds up a peremptory hand. And much to my irritation, I fall silent.
‘My father wanted revenge for the death of my mother. We had word the bomb that killed her was set by a Salvatore, and so he ordered the deaths of your family, and I was to carry it out.’ The words are cool and there’s a slight impatience to them, as if he’s annoyed at having to explain.
‘I shot your father, but that didn’t take, alas.
He escaped, so I went upstairs to find the rest of your family, but I only found you in your little pink bedroom.
’ His gaze is a steady burn of silver. ‘You were holding a doll in one hand and all I could see were your big green eyes staring up at me. You must understand, gattina, up until that point, I was my father’s man through and through.
I burned for the revenge he wanted me to take and I was determined to get justice for my mother.
But I saw you and… Well, let’s just say I discovered a line I didn’t know I had. ’
I remember that night distinctly and the sight of his cold, dead eyes. ‘A…line?’ I ask.
‘Yes. I found I didn’t want to kill a child in revenge for my mother’s death.
’ He’s sitting very still, eyeing me like a bird of prey sighting a mouse in the grass.
‘So, I shut you in the closet and locked the door so my men wouldn’t find you.
Then I went downstairs to stop them from killing your mother and brother, only to find that they were already dead. ’