Chapter Five
Caterina
I STARE AT the Wolf’s back as he disappears into the villa, my heart racing, and I don’t know whether to be furious that he kissed me on the forehead like a child, or relieved.
No, I know. I’m relieved. I’m definitely very relieved. Because that would be my first kiss and there’s no way I want that kiss to be from him. Ugh, the very thought of it…
You couldn’t breathe at the very thought of it.
I ignore the voice in my head, because it’s not true, absolutely not.
Yet, I can’t deny that when he lifted his long-fingered hands to adjust my tiara, and the tip of his finger brushed my ear as he pushed a lock of hair behind it, a bolt of electricity went through me.
Part of me wanted to believe it was only static, but the rest of me knows that’s not what it was.
I saw the way his eyes flared. He felt that electricity, too.
And yes, as much as I don’t want to admit it, when he cupped my face between his warm palms and I thought he was going to kiss me, I felt as if I might faint. All I could see was his silver gaze and the heat burning in the depths, and something hot in me stirring and waking up, wanting to play…
But I can’t think about that. I don’t want to. He’s the enemy and the ring on my finger feels heavy, and I still can’t believe that I’m here, at the Argenti villa in Sicily, married to the Sicilian Wolf.
On the helicopter ride over here, I tried thinking through plans on how I could escape or maybe get the information he told me about his intentions to my father, but none of them seemed viable.
I don’t have anything with me, not even my phone, and now I’m here at the Argenti villa, my options for escape or at least getting word to Dad, have narrowed considerably.
The late afternoon sun is beating down and the emotional fallout from the last couple of hours is catching up with me. I feel lost, cut adrift, alone in a forest of enemies with no one to turn to and nowhere to go, and married to a complete stranger.
As I’m standing there wondering what the hell to do next, a woman comes over to me and takes my arm, murmuring that she is Maria, the housekeeper, and she will take me to my room. I let her lead me into the villa, all the energy I had to fight with now gone.
Though my temper rouses slightly on the brief tour of the villa, mainly because it’s beautiful, and I don’t want to it to be beautiful, with its whitewashed walls and stone floors.
Lots of light streams through tall windows with deep sills, silken carpets creating splashes of colour and softness.
The furniture is very old, of dark wood, which contrasts with some of the abstract art on the walls.
Maria takes me upstairs and shows me into a beautiful room that faces the sea. The ivory linen curtains are pulled back from the windows while beneath them sits a squashy couch upholstered in faded pink velvet.
Against the opposite wall is a huge four-poster bed hung with white gauze, an antique dresser standing nearby.
Bright cushions that carry the same pink as the couch are scattered on the seats and on the bed.
Another silk carpet covers the stone floor, the same faded pink in amongst subtle hues of dusty blue and purple.
Maria gestures to the door on the other side of the room, which apparently leads to the en suite bathroom, and then at the sliding mirrored doors that hide a closet.
The master has bought me everything I might need, or so she says, and I’m very tempted to ask if that includes a private plane to take me far away from here, because that’s what I need most of all.
But I keep my mouth shut. There’s no point being rude to Maria. None of this is her fault.
Once she leaves me alone, I tear off my tiara and veil, and fling them on the bed.
Then I claw at the fastenings of my stupid wedding gown.
It feels as if it’s suffocating me and I can’t get it off fast enough.
Beneath it I’m wearing a white silk strapless bra and white silk knickers, all lacy and transparent, because I thought Carlo would like them.
But they, too, seem ridiculous now, so I claw them off as well until I’m wearing nothing except Vincenzo Argenti’s ring.
I want to pull that off too, and hurl it into the sea, but I have a feeling that he wouldn’t care, which makes hurling it anywhere far less satisfying. In the end, I keep it on as I fling open the closet doors to see if he really did buy me everything I might need.
Looks like Maria wasn’t wrong since it’s full of newly bought clothes, all of them giving off major cosa nostra wife vibes.
I ignore them and instead go to the dresser, pulling open all the drawers to see what else is in there.
Sadly, at first glance, there are no practical underwear.
It’s all silk and lace, with tiny straps that look incredibly uncomfortable.
I finally settle on a pair of purple silk knickers, with a sports bra I manage to unearth in the bottom drawer.
There are also some loose black lounge pants in a soft, stretchy fabric that look comfy, so I put them on with an oversized sweatshirt in deep forest green.
They’re familiar, these kinds of clothes. They’re the opposite of dressed-up and put-together, which my father always wanted me to be since it showed me off as a trophy better, and once they’re on, I feel less like a stolen bride, and more like myself.
On top of the dresser are pots and bottles of make-up, along with hairbrushes, eyelash curlers and all kinds of beauty products that I don’t want or need. He’s bought them for the wife he wants, not the woman I am, which is a familiar feeling, and so I ignore them all.
Instead, finding a black hair tie, I put my hair into a low ponytail so it’s out of the way, then I go over to one of the French doors and open them so I can step out onto the terrace. The air is warm and scented with salt from the sea and rosemary from the pots that sit near the stone balustrade.
Below me I can see the green lawn roll to the edge of the cliffs and the deep blue of the Aegean beyond that.
It’s a beautiful view, but no amount of inhaling the scented air and gazing out at the ocean will change the fact that this villa is a prison, and I know it is because there are men in dark suits everywhere, patrolling the grounds. Argenti security no doubt.
The helicopter on the lawn takes off in a roar and a press of air, soaring up into the blue sky, and I wish I was on it.
I wish I could fly away too, but I’m stuck down here, married to my family’s hated enemy.
Really, marrying Carlo would have been a walk in the park compared to this, because while we didn’t know each other well, I didn’t think he was all that bad. Certainly, I could have done worse.
You did do worse.
Anger wells up again at the thought, so I turn away from the beautiful view and the lie of freedom it represents, and go back into the bedroom.
I try the bedroom door to see if it’s locked, and I’m almost shocked to find that it isn’t.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s not as if I can go anywhere given the level of security in the villa and grounds.
I open the door and step into the hallway outside. There’s no one there, but a lovely stained glass window at one end casts colours on the stone floor.
Gathering my determination to at least check out the prison I find myself in, I spend time opening the doors on the top floor, finding more bedrooms, a couple of bathrooms and an elegant salon. Most of the bedrooms look as if they’re not used frequently, which means they’re probably for guests.
But there’s one that is clearly in use, its door opposite mine in the hallway, and it’s large, with another four-poster bed against one wall, an antique dresser against another.
It’s very plain, with no couch beneath the windows or silken carpet on the floor, but all the bottles on the dresser are arranged neatly, and everything is very tidy.
The room smells pleasantly of smoke and cedar, the scent sadly familiar. It smells of him, which means this must be his bedroom.
Vincenzo Argenti’s bedroom.
I freeze in the doorway, listening for any noise, because I don’t want to be found lurking creepily around. Yet I also don’t want to leave. Maybe somewhere in here is a key or a phone or something I could use to get word to my father. Or maybe even to get out of the villa entirely.
Hearing nothing, I take a little breath and begin to explore.
On top of the dresser are various aftershave bottles, a hairbrush and comb, but nothing else.
The drawers themselves reveal only clothes, and nothing much else of interest. After I’ve exhausted the dresser, I go over to the closet doors and slide them open, seeing only a line of perfectly tailored suits, all in various shades of grey, black and blue.
Shirts, neatly pressed, hang next to them, all without exception either white or black.
Clearly, he doesn’t like colour or mess, and it’s very irritating that there isn’t anything immediately obvious lying around that I can use to escape with.
Turning from the closet, I go over to one of the bedside tables. There’s nothing on top of it, but when I pull open the drawer I find boxes of condoms and, lying next to them, a gun.
A rush of adrenaline hits me and I reach for it, sliding my fingers around the cold metal. I know how to use one—my father insisted I learn because even though it wasn’t expected that a woman would have one, she should at least know how to defend herself. About the only thing he and I agreed on.
‘Tsk, tsk, gattina,’ a dark male voice says from the doorway. ‘Don’t you know it’s rude to go snooping about in other people’s bedrooms?’