Chapter 2 #2
“…Your wife has also settled in the west wing, proprio come hai ordinato (just like you instructed).”
I retrace my thoughts back to reality when I hear that word. Wife. Fuck. Even at forty-two, the title feels foreign.
“Her personal belongings have been taken to her. For the sake of the legal contract, Boss, you might want to appear in frequent public meetings with her. Get acquainted with her to—”
“Send her in,” I find myself saying before I can stop it. “And set a meeting with Dean Rossi.”
“Va bene, Capo (Alright, Boss).” Matteo wastes no time as he nods stiffly and walks out. Now that she’s settled she must understand her part to play in fulfilling the alliance.
A few more puffs of smoke stabilize me in the mood for dealing with someone not directly relevant to my mafia…or my cock…at least for now.
The door clicks open later than I expected, and that alone lifts the mask of indifference I have on. I despise being made to wait.
Although watching her stare at me for a beat too long almost makes me reevaluate my preferences. Almost. Because my principles are set in stone.
I watch her hands fiddle with the knob as the door slowly pushes back in place. I wonder why she’s taking time to shut the door. Nervousness? Or to spite me?
Either way, I’m enjoying how her pants split her ass into two delicious halves. I take another drag of my cigar to abate my raging hormones, and release when she turns to me.
“I hate lateness.” I clench my teeth, watching the nervous fiddle of her fingers pause. Nervousness it is.
She stares at me like I have two heads. “He just told me a few minutes ag—”
“That is none of my concern.” My voice cuts sharp through hers. She frowns.
“Rule number one. Don’t—”
Now, she interrupts me, her voice sharper and firm this time.
“I thought you gave me my rules yesterday.”
I hate that she’s right. Pressing my lips into a thin line, I narrow my eyes on hers and catch it. The fire in her eyes, the one that seemed to have been a little dim at the club the other night.
“You. Do. Not. Interrupt. Me.” I warn her.
She lets out a slow breath, arches her brow, and raises both hands in the air as if humoring me. “My bad.”
Somehow that sparks amusement in my chest. Might be the way her armpits expose the side of her creamy tits. Or the odd gut feeling that I’d enjoy seeing that fire dim.
I take another drag of my cigar to hide the small smirk on my lips. Oh, I’ll enjoy taming this one.
“Sit.” My voice turns dangerously low.
She swallows, and I wait for her to oblige. But her shoulders square ever so slightly, her voice mimicking mine.
“I wish to stand.”
That lights a fuse.
“Careful, little wife.” I crush my cigar into the ashtray and hold her gaze. “You don’t get to wish in the devil’s lair.”
The corner of my mouth twitches into something that could almost be a smile as she visibly releases a shaky breath. I lean back casually in my chair, watching her stride toward me and sit in the chair opposite mine.
Good.
“You’ll be required to attend outings with me.”
A flicker of surprise dances across her eyes, followed by a mischievous smirk. “You don’t strike me as the social type.”
I let out a dark chuckle. “Social implies human, darling,” I drawl. “I’m not.”
“That’s a lot of ego coming from—”
“From the only man in this mansion who decides where you stand, sit, or breathe,” I hiss.
“And here I was hoping for a honeymoon.” She lifts her stubborn chin a notch, sarcasm and mockery tainting her voice.
My cock stirs, but my nostrils flare. There’s a thin line between bravery and folly, and she’s treading it. I slam my fist against the table, watching how she flinches before she can mask it.
“You’ll smile when you’re told…” I lean in, my irritation burning into anger. “…Sit when you’re told and fucking talk when you’re told.”
Her head jerks at the venom in my voice, but her gaze doesn’t drop from mine. The silence that stretches next for a split second is satisfactory until she speaks.
“Hate to break it to you. But I don’t attend parties,” she says in a challenging tone that makes me want to kiss that stubborn pout off her lips.
My jaw twitches, and I sink back into the leather of my chair, watching the heavy rise and fall of her cleavage.
“The only reason you’re here is that business requires it.” I slide my gaze to her eyes. “So I do not give a damn about your preferences.”
She lets out a bitter laugh. “Husband of the year.”
I ignore the jab. Perhaps I should tell her that securing my next big legal contract depends on how well she plays her role. But instead, I say, “You will do exactly as I say.”
Apparently, it’s her turn to lean in. “I’m not your puppet,” she retorts.
“Oh, no…you’re worse,” I growl, my voice reducing to a cold whisper. “You’re mine in every possible way. Mine to command, mine to punish, and mine to ruin until the world forgets you ever belonged to the Rossis.”
There’s a pause.
“And if I don’t want to be yours?” she responds, throwing me a defiant glare. But there’s a slight tremble in her voice. It pulls something dangerous from me.
“I’ll take every ounce of that fire you flaunt, burn it into submission, and break you in ways you’ll beg me to repeat, until the only name you remember is mine.”
She bites her lips, her jaw locking tight, but the faintest hitch betrays her resolve. Somehow, I’m hyper aware of how her breathing shallows. Of the goosebumps that lace her skin. Of how a trail of sweat snakes down the valley of her breasts through her low-cut singlet.
Pulling back my cigar from the ashtray, I find the lighter, light it again, and take a long, slow drag. “You’ll learn the difference between serving me and surviving me, Bella. I’m not a man who enjoys repeating himself.”
I dismiss her, and she leaves.
After a few more puffs, I take my car key and head for the club office.
***
A few hours later, Dean enters alongside an average-height man with greying hair and tan skin, whom I know to be his second-in-command, Enzo.
Dean’s suit is tailored as he walks toward my desk like a long-term business partner, not someone coming to atone for his sins. Somehow that irks me.
“Dominic, I—”
“It’s Mr. Moretti to you.” I sit up in my chair, sliding the paperwork on the table to one side.
He pauses mid-step and smiles awkwardly. “Apologies, Mr. Moretti.”
His eyes dart to the chair across my desk but he doesn’t sit until I gesture for him to. His second-in-command stands at the corner of the room after acknowledging me with a deep nod.
“About the switch with the girls, I wanted to explain.”
I nod and he takes the cue to continue.
“Elena is gone.” He shakes his head, something raw shifting in his eyes.
“She ran away very early on the wedding day, leaving behind a letter.” He fiddles in his pocket, bringing out a folded paper and dropping it on the table, but I don’t take it.
“Here it is. She says something about not being ready for marriage yet and wanting to find herself.”
Of course. Young adults and thinking they can escape responsibility.
“When I realized she’d fled, I had two options. Call off the wedding…humiliate both families. Or simply replace her. I went for the latter. So that’s why, in her stead, I gave you her sister, Bella.”
I can hear the slight change in his tone as he speaks about Bella. I arch a brow.
“I-I’m sorry if she’s not what you expect, but I’m sure she’d even be more obedient.
I know she might not be your type, but feel free to do with her as you please.
Force her to dye her hair blonde, make her ditch those stupid glasses—whatever it takes.
She’ll stay in the background and never embarrass you. She hasn’t been with many men so—”
“Enough.” The way he commodifies her, like she’s a faulty piece of hardware rather than his own blood, scrapes at my eardrums. Even worse is the way he treats her like a consolation prize, a cheap substitute for the daughter who actually had the spine to run.
He clears his throat, forcing a smile.
“We’re done here,” I deadpan.
He looks like he wants to say more, or rather expects me to say more, but I simply return my attention to the paperwork before me. The alliance is all that matters, and I care less about which of the sisters I’m married to. But—
“Dean,” I call out and he stops at the doorway, turning to meet my eyes. “I hate surprises.”
The look in his eyes tells me he understands. No decision must be carried out without my knowledge… ever again.