Chapter 5 Chiara
Chiara
Angelo says nothing. Instead he continues to sip his wine while glancing at his phone every few seconds.
Honestly, it’s irritating. I expected him to yell at me, threaten me with violence for daring to run away after our wedding.
But he’s acting like we’ve been married for years and this is just a regular Tuesday.
Have I misjudged him?
Maybe he’s not like his father.
When the tension grows so thick I could tear it apart with my hands and the chef has disappeared, I speak.
“I want a divorce.”
He looks up and smiles. “No.”
My temper explodes. The headache I woke with hasn’t fully gone, and I’m not in the mood for bullshit. Sure, I hold no power here, but I can make his life fucking difficult.
He watches with cold amusement as I pick up my now empty plate and throw it at the wall. It shatters, sending jagged shards flying all over the stone floor. A man in a black Henley and tactical pants rushes in, his gun cocked and ready.
“Sir?”
Angelo waves his hand like a bored prince. “Nothing to worry about, Cal. Just my wife throwing a tantrum.” Cal’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. I guess he wasn’t aware of my arrival. He holsters his gun and stands tall, carefully ignoring my presence.
“Um, okay. Want me to ask Maria to clean this up?”
“No, it’s late. Maria clocked off an hour ago. I’ll sort it.”
A sliver of ice in my heart melts. Angelo clearly cares about his household staff. A murderous, sociopathic dictator wouldn’t give a fuck about waking up a servant to wipe up after him. Maybe he’s not so bad after all.
Cal disappears, and Angelo’s calm facade slips.
“Have you finished?”
I eye his half-empty bottle of wine. The bastard notices and pulls it out of reach before pouring a fresh glass.
He doesn’t offer me another one.
“No.” I’m still angry, even if maybe he’s not as bad as I expected. Okay, so he’s not bad at all. So not bad I can barely take my eyes off him. And from the way his gaze lingers on my braless tits, he’s not entirely immune to my charms either.
“No?” He sits back in his chair, ignoring the mess I made for the moment.
I sigh as my anger drains away. I’m exhausted. Not just from being kidnapped yesterday. I’m exhausted from living on my wits for a year. From existing in fight-or-flight mode, hypervigilant every time a stranger looked twice at me.
“Look,” I begin, “I never agreed to this stupid marriage, and I’m sure you’d much rather choose a wife you actually love than be stuck with me.”
He doesn’t disagree, so I continue.
“I don’t know what agreement my stepmother made with your family, but surely we can figure something out?” My eyes well up and my lip quivers. It’s all fake, but Angelo doesn’t know this.
Crying on demand is my special skill, and my father usually caved when I sobbed my little heart out. Sadly, that trick stopped working when I hit my teens and everything changed.
Angelo shifts in his chair but seems unmoved by my show of emotion.
“Vivian needed money and my father wants an heir.”
My act slips. Why would she need money? My father left her well provided for. Then again, that woman had a real talent for spending money.
“The fact you’re not ugly as fuck helped seal the deal,” he adds with a smirk.
I tense as my fake tears dry up. If that bastard thinks he’s fucking raping me, he better start sleeping with one eye open.
“Are you fond of your dick?” I ask in a conversational tone.
He chokes on his wine. “Excuse me?”
I smirk while picking up my fork. Red sauce still clings to the sharp tines. It looks a little like blood if you squint. Angelo catches me admiring the fork and his jaw clenches.
“You hurt me, and I will retaliate using whatever means I have at my disposal.” I stab the fork into a bread roll so hard it penetrates the table. Angelo watches me, all traces of amusement gone. He’s not impressed by my show of defiance.
“Cute,” he says. “But I don’t respond well to threats.” He kicks back from the table and stands. The bastard is tall. Much taller than me.
My muscles clench as he stalks around the table like a panther before looming over me, caging me in with his arms. I hate how he uses his size to intimidate me, but I refuse to cower.
“I need an heir. You will give me a child by any means necessary. Sex doesn’t have to be part of the deal. Although…” He smirks. “I’ll leave it on the table in case you change your mind.”
That fucking asshole! On what planet does he think I’ll willingly open my legs for him? Okay, so he’s hot. But I’m not that desperate.
My pussy disagrees. Being this close to Angelo is a sharp reminder I haven’t had sex in forever. And goddammit, I miss sex.
Angelo sees the way my nipples perk in the thin top I stupidly chose from the closet. I grind my teeth, angry at the way my body happily betrays my true feelings on the matter.
“Feel free to change your mind anytime, Chiara.” The way he purrs my name has me gripping the edge of my seat like it’s the last lifejacket on the fucking Titanic.
“I could be infertile,” I spit out while debating whether to punch him in the dick. He’s close enough, and that bulge in his pants makes a very large target.
“You’re not.”
Huh? His words distract me enough that all thoughts of Angelo’s dick evaporate.
“What?”
“At your last health check, they tested your fertility. You are more than capable of carrying a healthy baby to term.”
My jaw drops. I had no fucking clue, although I remember wondering why the doc ran so many tests.
The knowledge Angelo knows more about my body than I do hits me like a semi-truck. It’s bad enough that Vivian married me off like a fucking 17th-century virgin, but knowing she paid for invasive tests to ensure I was worth selling? That rankles.
Angelo steps back and scrubs his jaw, all traces of flirtation gone.
“You didn’t know about the tests.”
Of course I didn’t ask about the tests. Stupid me. I should have known Vivian would pull a stunt like that. God, I can’t believe I actually fell for her maternal chat about how pap smears save women’s lives and it was better to be safe than sorry now I was old enough to be sexually active.
“I’m sorry. I thought you agreed to all the tests.”
This time, my tears are real. “Why would I agree to have invasive tests done to check my fertility? I’m twenty-two! I’m not ready to be a mom! Yes, I might want kids one day, but I thought that would happen at least ten years in the future, when I’ve met some nice guy and maybe fallen in love.”
Angelo’s expression hardens, and this time, I see the mafia heir, not the man.
“I regret you were subjected to medical tests without your consent, but that’s on your stepmother.
I was not a party to the negotiations between Vivian and my father.
Nevertheless, an agreement was made that you would give me an heir.
I don’t have time to find a wife the normal way, and I’m not willing to shackle myself to some gold digger who sees me as a meal ticket for life. ”
“Oh poor you,” I snipe while wiping a stray tear away.
I’m still fucking angry, and while I believe him when he says he knew nothing about the tests, I don’t buy his sympathy.
“Ever thought about renting a womb? There are always desperate women from third-world countries willing to do whatever it takes to survive.”
His expression turns glacial. “What kind of man do you take me for? Do I look like a monster?”
“I guess that’s open to interpretation.” Memories of my ill-fated wedding are front and center. Being dragged down the aisle by Vivian while a hundred strangers stared at me. The priest slurring his way through the vows while I tried not to vomit over my groom’s shiny shoes.
The sympathy in Angelo’s eyes before he turned away and refused to look at me again.
Yeah. It was hardly the wedding of my dreams. Not that I had a Pinterest board or anything. I’d always been more interested in pursuing a career than marrying some mafia prince.
Angelo stalks across the kitchen. He reaches up into a high cupboard and removes a bottle of liquor. Tequila or bourbon judging from the tawny color. I watch as he pours a generous measure into a glass and gulps it down before turning to face me.
This time, he keeps his gaze firmly focused on my face.
“You will remain in this house for the time being. Like I said, I need an heir. I’m not expecting you to have sex with me, so I’ll make an appointment with a fertility clinic. They can discuss your options. You’re young, so artificial insemination should work.”
“If you have a turkey baster, why not save yourself some cash, spunk into a cup, and I’ll do the honors?” He scowls at my flippant suggestion. Not that I’m seriously agreeing to get knocked up so I can give him my firstborn child.
Over my dead fucking body.
He slides an icy glare in my direction. “As tempting as that sounds, I’d rather take professional advice.”
“I will not consent to more invasive procedures,” I warn. If he thinks some quack is pumping me full of fertility drugs, he can get fucked. I’d rather have sex with him than let that happen.
I clench my thighs together as an unwelcome picture of Angelo naked pings into my brain. Damn libido. Not helping!
“Noted.” He picks up the bottle and turns to leave.
“I’m giving you the run of the house, but don’t try leaving.
My men are under orders to use reasonable force to restrain you if you attempt to run away.
I’m happy to let you have some freedom for now, but don’t mistake my generosity for stupidity.
You can be chained to a wall and still carry a baby to term, Chiara. ”
“How lovely. What a great start in life this child will have.” Angelo curls his lip up at my comment but doesn’t bite back. I watch him leave before slumping back in my chair.
Hopefully the house is large enough that I can avoid him until I figure out an escape plan. Otherwise, one of us will be dead before long.