14. Simone #3
Enzo smiles, clearly pleased that I’m still continuing on down this conversational path.
"There are several options. The simplest would be to stage a kidnapping—take you from the house, make it look like an outside threat.
When Tristan comes to rescue you, as he inevitably will, he walks into a trap.
Clean, simple, and it makes you look like a victim rather than a conspirator. "
"And you're certain this would work?"
Enzo smiles, all teeth. "I'm certain that an Irishman has no business ruling Italian territory. Your father built an empire, Simone. It shouldn't be handed over to some outsider just because he was convenient for Konstantin's plans."
The plan feels too simple. I’m sure, if I thought about it long enough, I could find plenty of holes in it.
I’m sure there are a hundred ways for it to go wrong.
But is it my duty to find those holes? To figure everything out for the men who I’ve been told all my life are meant to be the protectors and decision-makers?
Tristan certainly wants me to sit back and let him make all the choices for us both. Why shouldn’t I trust Enzo, who was meant to be my husband from the beginning?
Deep down, some part of me can’t help but feel that it’s wrong to be conspiring against Tristan this way.
But I don’t know how I can spend my whole life in a marriage like this.
I was prepared for a marriage of convenience, for coolness and mutual respect and rules that suited me and my groom, not…
whatever this wild, passionate thing between Tristan and me is.
Not feelings that confuse me and make me crave him at the same time that I hate him.
I’m not attracted to Enzo. I have no desire to go to bed with him.
The thought of him touching me honestly makes my skin crawl…
but that feels easier than what Tristan makes me feel.
Simpler, to just close my eyes and go somewhere far away for whatever brief amount of time Enzo needs in my bed, instead of what Tristan demands of me.
Enzo will want my cooperation in providing an heir. He’ll fuck me, but he won’t try to claim me. Tristan demands nothing less than my absolute surrender. He wants my submission, my pleasure, my lust … and the loss of control that comes with that terrifies me.
"I need time to think about this," I say finally.
"Of course. This isn't a decision to make lightly." Enzo nods, though I can tell he’s a bit disappointed that I haven’t immediately agreed to his schemes. “But don’t take too long, Simone. The longer this situation continues, the harder it will be to correct."
I frown. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that every day you spend as his wife raises the risks of this becoming more difficult to untangle.
And if children come into the picture...
" He doesn't finish the sentence, but he doesn't need to.
A pregnancy would complicate everything, make any kind of separation exponentially more difficult.
I consider telling him that Tristan has only fucked me once, on our wedding night. But somehow that detail feels too private to share. And even that once could have been enough to get me pregnant. There’s no guarantee that I’m not already carrying Tristan’s child.
“What if I’m already pregnant?” I blurt out, and I see Enzo’s jaw tense.
“Then we’ll arrange for you not to be,” he says calmly.
“Another man’s heir would make our plans much, much more difficult.
The complications would extend into the child’s adulthood, and if he or she were ever to find out their true parentage…
” He shakes his head. “Better to nip that in the bud than to deal with problems later on.”
He’s right, of course, but the casual way he says it sends a chill through me.
I swallow hard, not wanting to let him see how his suggestion affected me.
I shouldn’t care. If I am pregnant, which is highly unlikely, it would be Tristan’s.
I want no part of having a child with him…
but something in me resists the idea of ending that pregnancy, regardless of how unwanted I know it would be.
I glance at the time. “I should go,” I say as calmly as I can manage. “My security is going to start getting restless. I said I was having lunch with a friend. I don’t want this meeting getting back to Tristan.”
“Of course not,” Enzo says smoothly. “But, Simone?”
I draw in a slow breath. “Yes?”
He catches my hand as I start to rise. "Think about what your father would have wanted. Think about the legacy you're meant to protect."
I nod mutely before extracting my hand and heading for the restaurant’s entrance.
Vitto and the others are waiting outside, one of the guards smoking a cigarette, looking more casual than I know they are.
I’m well aware that they’re on alert at all times, but someone else might not even notice them.
Vitto calls for the car and opens the door for me when it arrives. I slide in, my heart pounding. I got away with it. I met with Enzo, and we discussed the possibility of ending my marriage.
Not just ending it, but killing my husband. My husband . The thought is insane, but so is everything else that’s happened since my father died and Konstantin gave me that fucking ultimatum.
The drive home passes in a blur. I stare out the window at the familiar streets of Miami, trying to process everything Enzo said.
He's right about one thing—this marriage isn't what I’d been prepared for.
I wasn't prepared for the way Tristan looks at me like he wants to devour me, the way he makes my body respond even when my mind rebels.
I wasn't prepared for the intensity of our fights, the electric tension that crackles between us, the way he makes me feel things I didn't even know I was capable of feeling.
Enzo is offering me what I wanted. A calm, traditional marriage where I'd be respected but not challenged, comfortable but not passionate. A peaceful marriage. One where, once I gave him the requisite children, I’d likely be mostly ignored while he went in search of a woman more to his taste, except for when I needed to hang off of his arm at parties.
Is getting back the life I expected a worthwhile justification for ending a man’s life?
And not only Tristan, but whoever is framed to take the fall for it.
Can I be as cold-blooded as the men in this world?
Is that what it will take to have a chance at what I was promised before my father blew our entire life apart?
I'm still wrestling with these questions when we pull through the mansion's gates. Home. Except it doesn't feel like home anymore—it feels like a beautiful prison. Like all the comfort and safety I once found within these walls has been taken away from me.
By Tristan.
That hatred slithers through me again as I walk up the steps, Vitto following behind me. We step inside, into the cool marble interior of the entryway, and I expect him to split off, to go off and handle whatever duties he has to do for the rest of the day.
Instead, he comes up next to me. Something in his demeanor has changed, become more formal, more distant.
"Mrs. O'Malley, I need you to go straight to your room."
I turn slowly to face him. "Excuse me?"
Vitto’s face gives nothing away. "Your room, ma'am. Mr. O'Malley's orders."
"Tristan isn't even here. What are you talking about?" I narrow my eyes. “You’re not going to give me orders in my own home.”
“It’s Mr. O’Malley’s home. You are his wife.” Vitto doesn’t budge. “I’ll follow you up. You’re to stay there and not leave the room until he returns. Meals will be brought up to you.”
Cold dread settles in my stomach. “Why would he do that?”
“You’ll have to ask him when he returns. I spoke with him, and this is what he directed me to do. Upstairs, ma’am.”
I run through my options in my mind. Stay here locked in a stalemate with Vitto…
until at some point, he’ll undoubtedly force me upstairs.
Run… where? To do what? I doubt Enzo would shelter me from Tristan; at this point in the plan, to do so would be suicide.
He needs Tristan dead and me playing the grieving widow before he can step in without great risk to himself and his—our? —plans.
Vitto must have seen something. Suspected something. Disobeyed my instructions to stay outside. I draw in a slow breath, pretending to be outraged instead of frightened.
What I am is terrified, and humiliated. I’m going to be marched to my room by the help, and if Tristan has the slightest idea of what Enzo and I discussed…
I have no idea what the consequences will be. Something terrible, I’m sure.
"This is ridiculous," I snap, but there's very little heat in it. I'm too frightened by the implications.
Vitto doesn’t budge. “Those are my orders, Mrs. O’Malley. Let’s make this simple.”
I want to argue, want to assert my independence, but I can see the other guards moving into position around us. I'm outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and completely at their mercy.
Just like I'm at Tristan's mercy.
The walk to my room feels like a funeral march.
Vitto accompanies me upstairs, then stands aside as I enter my bedroom.
The click of the lock engaging behind me sounds like a death knell.
I'm trapped. Truly trapped now, not just by the circumstances of my marriage but by the walls of this room, waiting for my husband to return and demand explanations I'm not sure I can give.
I sink onto the bed, my mind reeling. How did he find out so quickly?
How much does he know? And what will he do when he gets home and discovers that his wife was plotting with another man?
The thought of facing Tristan's anger makes my chest tight with panic.
But underneath the fear is something else, something I don't want to examine too closely.
Guilt.
I feel guilty for meeting with Enzo, for listening to his proposal, for even considering betraying the man I married. Which is insane. He's the one who's been hurting me, controlling me, treating me like property. I should want him gone, should jump at the chance to be free of him.
That chance might be entirely gone now. I feel like a caged animal, and I know I’m not going to get any sleep tonight.
I have no idea when Tristan is coming back. But when he does, I know that I’m going to be in more trouble than I’ve ever been in before.