Chapter Six
Vincenzo
CATERINA IS STANDING next to my bed with a gun in her hand, and I can see immediately from the way she’s holding it, with the safety off, that she knows how to use it.
Good. A wife who can’t defend herself is a sitting duck.
What is less good is that the instant I spoke, she lifted her hand and now the muzzle of the gun is pointing directly at me.
l fold my arms and lean against the door-frame, unbothered. She’s not going to shoot me, I’m sure of it. She has a fiery temper but I know a killer when I see one and a killer she is not.
No, she’s your wife, remember?
Oh, I’ve not forgotten. I might have spent the last hour or so organising for Annika to attend me tonight, as well as fielding more calls from my head of security to keep me updated on the Salvatores’ response, but I’m well aware that I now have a wife.
Giovanni Salvatore has not given any answer to my ultimatum yet, but considering his daughter’s life will be forfeit, I’m sure he will. I didn’t give him much time, but that was intentional. I don’t want him to think, I only want him to act on his paternal instincts.
Naturally, I’m not going kill Caterina—murdering one’s wife only hours after marrying her is generally frowned upon, even among the families, not to mention rendering my little crusade utterly pointless—but Salvatore doesn’t know that.
All he knows is that one of the cosa nostra’s most powerful bosses has his daughter and will kill her if he doesn’t pledge his allegiance to me.
‘Put the gun down, gattina,’ I say. ‘You’re not going to shoot me.’
Her chin lifts, the gun still resolutely pointed at me. ‘You don’t know that.’
‘Sadly, I do. I’m a killer, but you are not.’
She’s out of her wedding finery now, wearing some loose black trousers and a green sweatshirt. Her glossy black hair has been put into a ponytail, long tendrils like black smoke clustering around her ears.
In the loose, shapeless clothes, she looks small and fragile, yet also beautiful, which I find odd.
There’s no hint of her figure and yet the green of the sweatshirt enhances the colour of her eyes, and the neck is wide enough to have fallen off one shoulder, revealing the line of a black bra strap and some smooth light-olive skin beneath it.
‘No, I’m not,’ she agrees. ‘But it’s never too late to start being one, right?’
‘You could pull that trigger, it’s true,’ I say. ‘But you wouldn’t live long enough to enjoy your widowhood, alas. My security is…how shall I put it? Enthusiastic.’
Her hand is shaking a little, the muzzle wobbling, but she doesn’t lower the gun. ‘So what then? I’m just your prisoner forever? Is that what you’re going to do with me?’
‘Correction. You’re my wife forever.’
She snorts. ‘Is there a difference?’
I decide to ignore this, since I’ve yet to make specific plans about what to do with her. ‘What are you doing in here, gattina?’ I ask instead.
‘What does it look like?’ she snaps. ‘I’m trying to get away from you.’
‘By exploring my bedroom?’
She flushes even as green sparks of anger glitter in her eyes. Interesting. Is she blushing because I said the words ‘my bedroom’? How delightful, if so. It’s been a while since I’ve encountered such innocence in a woman.
‘I thought I might find something useful,’ she says. ‘And as it turns out, I did.’
The gun, supposedly, which won’t help her, as I’ve already pointed out. Even if she manages to get a shot at me, she’ll then have to contend with all the guards in the villa, and there are a lot of them.
‘Well,’ I say calmly, ‘as refreshing as it is to be held at gunpoint by my own wife, you’re going to have to let me go at some stage.’ I pause and then decide to mention it, since she’ll find out anyway. ‘At least before Annika arrives.’
Her eyes narrow. ‘Annika? Who is Annika?’
I shift against the door-frame, oddly discomforted, though why I’m not sure.
Caterina and I are married, it’s true, but those vows of fidelity we swore were only words with no meaning behind them.
I don’t love her and she doesn’t love me, and I’m going to make sure it stays that way, since love is a cruelty I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.
At some stage, though, I might want to explore that moment of chemistry we had during our wedding ceremony, but not now.
I ignore my discomfort. ‘She’s my mistress,’ I say bluntly. ‘I’m expecting a wedding night, after all.’
‘Mistress?’ She says the word as if it’s foreign to her and she’s unsure of the pronunciation. ‘What are you? Seventy? Who has mistresses these days?’
I can’t help but smile at the disbelief in her voice. ‘I have mistresses. Don’t you think the term is more romantic than, say, “lover”?’
‘Romantic?’ Again, she says it as if she’s never heard the word before. ‘Are you serious? You’ve just married me and you’re already talking about lovers?’
I study her a moment, because the shock on her face looks genuine. How strange. Why should she care how many lovers I take? Shouldn’t she be pleased that I’m not going to take advantage of her? That I’m seeking pleasure elsewhere?
‘What does that matter?’ I ask. ‘I already told you I’m not expecting you in my bed. All I want from you is your name and your father’s obedience.’
Expressions move over her face like clouds, moving so fast I can’t read them all. ‘So…what do you expect from me? I mean, are you going to get an annulment in six months or what?’
I haven’t told her my plans. I’m waiting for her father’s capitulation first, but it won’t hurt to tell her now. Perhaps it will make her lower that fucking gun.
‘I expect you to be my wife,’ I say simply. ‘As I said, it has to be you to ensure your father’s obedience. But I also need a wife to start a family with, building my dynasty, etc., etc.’
‘That might be difficult if we’re not sharing a bed.’ She goes pink as she says this, which again, I find strangely delightful.
‘I presume you’ve heard of the existence of fertility clinics?’ I murmur, then add, unable to help myself, ‘Or of course there is the old-fashioned way.’
Her cheeks flush an even deeper rose, but her mouth firms. ‘No. My statement about the goat still stands.’
‘Pity.’ I sigh theatrically, enjoying myself more than I care to admit. ‘I could wear a goat costume at a pinch.’
I’m hoping to get a smile out of her since she’s managed to get so many out of me, but her mouth remains in a firm line. ‘So, I’m what? Just a figurehead? What about me? What about what I want?’
Unfortunately, the answer is that I didn’t care what she wanted. But again she’s forcing me to contend with the fact that she’s a person. It’s inconvenient. I don’t want her thoughts and feelings getting in the way of my crusade, because nothing can get in the way of my crusade.
I will stop the murders of blameless women and children, stop the inter-family killings. I will stop the men who think violence is the answer, men like my father, and I will not be turned from my path. I will not be stopped, not by anyone, and she needs to understand that.
‘What about you?’ I ask, allowing a chill to enter my voice. ‘What you want doesn’t concern me.’
Her gaze narrows even further, turning calculating, which is fascinating, though I’m not sure why.
Perhaps it’s because while I can read most of her emotions, I can’t tell what she’s actually thinking, and it’s strange to realise that I want to know.
‘So, if I wanted to take a lover myself you wouldn’t care?
’ she asks, the gun still firmly pointed at me.
A sharp feeling knifes through me and it takes me a second to process what it is. Jealousy. But no, surely not? I’m territorial, it’s true, but as long as she’s discreet, what does it matter if she takes a lover? I don’t care. My father was a jealous man, but I am not.
Yet a part of me, the wolf, cares and it’s insisting that she’s mine. It won’t tolerate another male anywhere near her.
Her sharp green eyes glitter and I know she’s spotted my hesitation, and before I can speak, she says, ‘As per usual, a man is free to do whatever he wants, but not a woman.’ The muzzle of the gun lowers slowly from my face, tracking a line right down to…
fuck. ‘How would you feel if I shot off your dick?’ She’s all determination now. ‘Not so manly now, hmmm?’
The wolf in me growls in approval at her bravado, but the man is not amused. In fact, the man is now actively pissed off, because this ridiculous conversation has been going on much longer than he wanted, and he has things to do.
‘You can have lovers,’ I say impatiently, crushing my strange jealous feelings. ‘You can have as many as you want, I don’t give a fuck.’
‘Yes, you do,’ she disagrees. ‘Don’t deny it, I saw you hesitate.’
‘Caterina,’ I begin.
‘I don’t trust you,’ she says, ignoring me. ‘So, know this. If you don’t want me to have lovers, then you can’t have any either.’
I give a short laugh and take a step into the room, my patience rapidly thinning. ‘I’m not a monk, gattina, and I have no intention of living like one.’
She doesn’t move, the gun still pointed in the direction of my fly. ‘Well, you’ll have to figure out how, won’t you?’
My anger flares and holding her gaze with mine, I take another step. ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ I ask silkily. ‘That would mean living under the same roof as a very hungry wolf. Who sees you as prey.’
Her eyes widen as she understands my meaning. The colour of them is truly astonishing, green as grass and with gold glittering in the heart of them.
I take another step, halfway to her by now, and she doesn’t seem to realise that I’m stalking her. Coming slowly closer to grab the gun from her hand. At least, that was my plan, but now I’m fascinated by the colour of her eyes. So green, they can’t be real. Pretty, pretty eyes.
The gun shakes slightly, but she doesn’t look away. Her pupils are dilating and now I can see the pulse at the base of her throat, just above the neckline of her sweatshirt. It’s racing. Is it with fear? Or something else?
She swallows. ‘Y-you said you didn’t want me in your bed.’
‘Perhaps I do.’ I take another step. ‘In the absence of anyone else, I could be persuaded.’
‘Stop,’ she says, her voice husky.
But I don’t stop, because I’m already there, reaching out to take the gun from her shaking hands as she stares up at me, eyes wide, pupils fully darkened with something that definitely isn’t fear.
Except she doesn’t let go of the gun. Despite those wide eyes, nothing is going to deter her. ‘Cancel your mistress,’ she says. ‘Do it.’
I could pull the gun from her hands, it wouldn’t be difficult.
But the safety is off and I’m not fully convinced she wouldn’t actually shoot me by accident, so I don’t take it.
Instead I ask, ‘Why?’ And it’s a genuine question, because I don’t understand why this particular thing is important to her.
‘You married me,’ she says. ‘You didn’t have to, but you did, so you have to bear the consequences. And those are that you respect me enough not to screw another woman on our wedding night.’