Chapter 30 #2
My heart starts racing as we walk down the hall and then up the stairs to the third floor. It picks up even more when, instead of leading me to my room, he stops in front of the door right across from it. Without a word, he opens it and gestures for me to step inside.
“What’s this?” I ask, staring at the large suite.
“This is our room,” he says, like it should be obvious.
“But… I have a room,” I stammer.
Matteo chuckles as if my remark amused him. “And now you have a new one. A bedroom we’ll share. As husband and wife.”
“What?!” Panic claws its way up my throat.
His smile fades instantly when he sees the horror on my face. Still, it doesn’t stop him from leading me inside.
“Your things have already been moved,” he says matter-of-factly, tilting his head toward one side of the room, where I assume all the clothes he bought me have been neatly put away.
“I’ll give you a minute to shower and change.
I have a few things to take care of in my office anyway.
That should give you some privacy.” When I don’t say anything, he lets out an audible sigh.
“It’s just a room, wife. Not a death sentence. ”
I don’t move as he leans down and presses a kiss on the top of my head. It’s only when the door closes behind him that my knees give out.
I can’t believe this. He actually expects me to share a room with him. A bed.
No… not just a bed. He wants me to share a life with him.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I mutter, pressing a hand to my forehead.
Of course he expects me to fulfill my role as his wife. I heard the hushed murmurs from the Cosa Nostra capos earlier tonight. How they were over the moon, celebrating the sudden death of Matteo’s father, finally relinquishing his seat as boss to his eldest son.
How did I not read the writing on the wall? A capo must ensure his bloodline lives on. A boss, even more so.
I was never meant to be a wife only on paper.
Yes, I served my purpose in sparking a war with the Outfit, just as they intended, but my purpose doesn’t end there.
Matteo will need sons. And as his wife, I am expected to give them to him.
There’s no other way about it. I was foolish to believe otherwise.
That’s why he’s being so kind to me. That’s why he hasn’t locked me away in a cell somewhere.
That’s why he brought me into his home from the start.
This was always a part of his plan. And even if I refuse and give him free rein to take as many mistresses as he wants, it doesn’t change one universal truth in our world—a Capo dei Capi needs heirs, not bastards.
Suddenly, this wedding dress feels like an albatross.
Heavy and unrelenting. Something meant to weigh me down until I break.
I push myself upright and start tearing it off.
My fingers are frantic and careless as I rip the fabric, snapping its buttons.
But I don’t care, and I don’t stop. I just need it off me.
Once every stitch of fabric pools at my feet, I rush into the ensuite bathroom and step under the shower, cranking the water as hot as it will go.
I stand there, letting it pour over me, trying to wash away the stench of my impending future.
No matter how long I stand there, I still feel unclean. Dirty.
Matteo hasn’t even touched me, and it already feels like something has seeped into my skin, something I can’t scrub off.
I step out of the shower with water still dripping from my body, and brace my hands against the sink. The mirror is fogged over, hiding me from myself.
I wipe away the condensation with trembling fingers. There I am—the only person at fault for the mess I’ve made of my life.
I was more than willing to sacrifice myself if it meant ensuring my family’s safety. I even knew that marrying Matteo would be seen as a betrayal in the Outfit’s eyes. But giving him heirs… there’s no coming back from that.
Even if I managed to escape this godforsaken city, my father wouldn’t be able to protect me. The Outfit would deem me a traitor and demand a traitor’s death.
Matteo has killed me. Without ever firing a gun or using a single bullet, he has already killed me.
I can’t go home. I can never go home again. And this… this will never be my home.
God… what am I going to do?
“Anna? Sweetheart? Are you okay in there?” Matteo’s voice comes from the other side of the door.
“I thought you said I could have some privacy,” I accuse, unable to hide the bite in my voice.
“It’s been an hour, wife,” he replies, his voice quieter now.
An hour. Has it really been that long?
I glance around the vast bathroom and wonder if I could just stay here. Sleep here. Hide here. Live out the rest of my life within these four walls.
“Snap out of it, Anna. And stop acting like a goddamn victim. Remember. You’re the villain.” My sister’s voice echoes in my head as the last lifeline I have. The one thing I can still hold onto.
She’s right. I can’t let Matteo turn me into a victim.
I can’t let my poor choices of the past dictate my future.
If there is any hope for me, then I have to be the villain.
I have to be his villain. Which means that my husband’s dreams of an heir die with him.
I refuse to give him that part of me. He’s taken more than enough as it is.
With new resolve, I straighten my spine, grab a towel, and wrap it around my frame. When I finally open the bathroom door, Matteo is sitting on the bed in sweats and a T-shirt, looking as though he’s just stepped out of the shower himself.
I thought he said he had work to do. Was that a lie so he could give me some time alone to gather myself? Why would he do that? Hmm.
When he lifts his head to look at me, his eyes darken as his hands fist the duvet at his sides. And that’s when I realize I’ve just walked into our bedroom wearing nothing but a towel that barely clings to me. I might as well have walked in naked for all the good it does.
My forehead creases, however, when Matteo quickly averts his gaze, turning away and pointing toward a dresser on the other side of the room.
“There should be some nightgowns for you in there.”
Not having to be told twice, I walk to my side of the room and open the first drawer, grateful to find a modest nightgown among the clothes he bought me.
But before I dare let go of my towel, I glance over my shoulder, only to find Matteo still turned away, giving me his back.
I change quickly, pulling the fabric over my damp skin, then force myself to walk toward the bed.
It’s only when he hears me slip beneath the covers that he turns my way, looking more composed than he was a minute ago.
I steady my breathing so he doesn’t notice my anxiousness as he slides in beside me. I stare at the ceiling for a bit, gripping the sheet, and before I lose my nerve, I force the words out, “I’m not sleeping with you. Ever.”
A long silence follows, and for a moment, I start to question if he heard me. I turn onto my side and find Matteo staring up at the ceiling as well, his arm draped over his head, looking wide awake.
“Did you hear what I just said?”
“Yes, wife. I heard you just fine.”
“Stop calling me that,” I grumble, but again I’m met with silence. “That’s it? You’re not going to say anything?”
“Would you like me to?”
“You’re a very aggravating man, do you know that?” I snap.
“And you’re more spirited than I remember. I don’t mind it though. I might even prefer it.”
Matteo smiles, but it never reaches his eyes. In fact, he almost looks… sad. Good. That’s good.
No. That’s wrong. I was expecting anger. Fury. Maybe even defensiveness. Or more manipulation tactics. Not… sadness.
“I really don’t understand you,” I say, letting out a frustrated breath.
“Do you even want to?”
“What?”
Matteo turns onto his side, facing me, his gaze unwavering. “I asked… is that something you want? Do you want to get to know me?”
I let out a small scoff. “I think I’ve gotten the gist of the kind of man that you are. Why would I want to know more?”
His sad smile deepens, and I don’t understand why it makes something in my chest ache.
“True. If there’s anyone in this world who knows me,” he says quietly, “it’s you, wife.”
And there he is… confusing me again.
We stay like that for a while, just staring into each other’s eyes. When his gaze drops to my lips, my heart stutters. And just like that, I’m taken back to our kiss after we made vows that were never meant to mean anything.
The way my breath caught when his lips brushed mine. The way my body went still, then leaned into him before I could stop myself. His kiss had started soft, almost careful, and then deepened, turning into something that made my heart flutter and blur all rational thought.
For a moment, I hadn’t wanted it to end. That’s what terrifies me the most. Because I didn’t want him to stop. Ever.
Aside from Matteo, the only other person I’ve ever kissed was his brother, Raffaele. I remember how lackluster it was, how disappointed I’d been that there wasn’t even a spark.
Matteo’s kiss didn’t just spark. It consumed. It burned like napalm, igniting something in me I didn’t even think could be possible.
What does that say about me? That the man I thought I loved couldn’t stir in me what the man I swore to hate for all eternity can?
Hours have passed since he kissed me, and yet my lips still feel perfectly swollen because of it.
I keep brushing my fingers over them, relishing the memory more times than I can count.
Instead of the shame I should feel, there’s a part of me that aches for Matteo to lean in closer and just…
Heat rushes to my cheeks, my traitorous body betraying me all over again. For some reason, I have this visceral reaction to Matteo, and for the life of me, I don’t understand why. All I know is that I wish it would stop.
Before I can look away from Matteo, he beats me to the punch and turns onto his back again, fixing his gaze on the ceiling.
“When you’re ready to be my wife, that’s when I’ll take you. Not a second sooner.”
Why did he just say that? Did he see how much I wanted…
“And what if I’m never ready?” I ask, hating how my voice breaks at the end.
Matteo doesn’t answer. Instead, he turns onto his side, his back fully to me now.
“Good night, wife. Maybe you’ll give me a different answer in my dreams.”