3. Caterina
Caterina
I lie motionless for an eternity, tracing the ornate plaster moldings on the ceiling with my eyes, trying to convince my exhausted brain that the past twenty-four hours were an elaborate, horrific nightmare.
But the Falco empire is ash. My father is buried.
And I am legally bound to the man responsible for the carnage.
I slowly push myself up, resting my spine against the carved mahogany headboard of my late parents' room.
Now my room. But my childhood sanctuary no longer smells like the comforting blend of lavender and sea salt I prefer.
Instead, the intoxicating, infuriating scent of bergamot, expensive scotch, and gunpowder invades my nostrils, claiming the oxygen before I can even draw a breath.
I scan the massive room, my blood running cold.
Two men wearing the Severato crest on their lapels are meticulously unpacking a series of leather duffel bags near the sprawling walk-in closet.
"What the hell are you doing?" I demand, my voice hoarse from crying myself to sleep, though I will never admit that weakness to a living soul.
One of the guards, a massive brute with a jagged scar running down his cheek, barely glances in my direction. "Unpacking the Underboss's belongings, ma'am," he replies flatly, treating my presence as a minor inconvenience.
They hang custom-tailored charcoal suits next to my designer gowns, placing polished combat boots beside my stilettos.
It is a visual violation, an undeniable confirmation that the enemy has successfully breached the final stronghold of my existence.
I watch them arrange his expensive watches on the vanity my mother used to sit at, feeling a visceral, boiling fury clawing its way up my throat.
They are attempting to erase the Falco name from the very walls that built it.
The double doors swing open without a knock.
Alessio strides into the room, radiating arrogant, unbothered superiority.
He wears a crisp white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to expose the intricate black ink sprawling across his forearms, the top two buttons undone to reveal the golden crucifix resting against his chest. He dismisses the two guards with a nonchalant flick of his wrist. They vanish, pulling the doors shut behind them.
We are alone, and the space suddenly feels claustrophobic despite its sprawling square footage.
"Get out of that bed, Caterina," he orders, walking toward the sitting area to pour himself a cup of espresso from the silver tray resting on the glass table.
"You have twenty minutes to shower and dress.
The remaining Capos from your father's faction are arriving for a midday briefing, and you are going to stand by my side and look appropriately subdued while I restructure the routes. "
The audacity of his command is like gasoline on a raging inferno.
I throw the silk duvet aside, my bare feet hitting the hardwood floor.
I am wearing nothing but a thin satin chemise, offering minimal coverage, but I refuse to cower.
I walk across the hardwood floor, relishing the fact that he cannot help but watch my hips sway.
He might be an unfeeling monster, but he is still a man, and the feral hunger burning in his evil eyes betrays his composed facade.
"I will not parade myself in front of my own men so you can play the victorious conqueror," I spit, crossing the room to confront him. "You stole this house. You stole my name. But you cannot order me around like one of your expendable street soldiers."
Alessio takes a sip of his espresso, his eyes tracking my approach with a lazy, infuriating amusement.
He sets the porcelain cup down, leaning his hip against the edge of the glass table.
"You are my wife, and you will do exactly what I tell you to do.
Go put a dress on, or I will dress you myself. "
I reach out blindly, my fingers wrapping around the neck of a priceless, hand-painted Ming dynasty vase resting on the antique console table.
It was a gift to my grandmother, a treasured artifact of the Falco legacy, but right now, it is merely ammunition.
Without a second thought, I hurl the porcelain directly at his arrogant face.
Alessio moves with a fluid grace, dodging the projectile by a fraction of an inch. The vase crashes against the plastered wall behind him, shattering into a thousand irreparable pieces, the ceramic fragments raining down onto the floorboards like jagged confetti.
"You are nothing but Niccolò’s lapdog," I sneer, advancing on him, ignoring the shards biting into my bare soles.
"You run around executing his enemies and claiming his scraps, pretending you hold real power.
But everyone in this city knows the truth.
You are just the feral attack dog your brother keeps on a leash.
Do you honestly believe taking my father's desk makes you a Don?
You are a pathetic placeholder, Alessio.
A blunt instrument swinging blindly until someone puts you down. "
The amusement vanishes from his expression, replaced by a cold, homicidal blankness that makes the ambient temperature in the suite plummet.
He closes the distance between us in a single, blurring stride.
His large hand wraps around my throat, not tight enough to cut off my airway, but firm enough to hold me immobilized against the closet door.
He backs me up until my spine hits the wood.
"You possess a very reckless mouth for a woman who has no army left to protect her," he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear. "You want to test the length of my leash, Caterina? Fine. Let's establish exactly who controls this territory."
He releases my throat, stepping back, and pulls a sleek radio from his belt. "Silvio," he barks into the device. "Bring the staff into the main foyer. All of them."
He grabs my arm, hauling me out of the master suite. I struggle against his grip, cursing him in rapid-fire Italian, my heels dragging across the runner rugs, but his strength is insurmountable. He drags me down the sweeping grand staircase, depositing me at the bottom step.
The entire household staff is assembled in the foyer.
The maids, the cooks, the groundskeepers, and the remaining Falco security detail who survived the purge.
These are people I grew up with. Caro, the head housekeeper who sneaked me pastries when I was a child, stands near the front, wringing her apron with terrified, shaking hands.
Her eyes dart nervously between the hulking Severato enforcers surrounding the perimeter and me.
Silvio stands at the center of the marble floor, flanked by a dozen heavily armed men. He offers Alessio a respectful nod, awaiting the directive.
Alessio gestures toward the terrified assembly.
"Every single person in this room is terminated, effective immediately," he announces, his voice booming across the foyer, reaching the farthest corners of the vaulted ceiling.
"You have one hour to pack your belongings and vacate the premises.
If I find anyone wearing a Falco crest inside these gates after the clock runs out, my men will put a bullet in your skull and dump your body in the harbor. "
"No!" I scream, lunging forward, only to have Silvio block my path with an impenetrable wall of muscle. "You cannot do this! Caro has worked here for thirty years. These people have families! They have nowhere to go! They did nothing to you!"
Alessio ignores my protest completely, turning his attention to his Capo. "Process their severance from the syndicate accounts. Pay them double what Falco paid them. Then lock the perimeter. Replace the interior detail with our own men. Nobody gets in or out without my explicit authorization."
"Understood, Boss," Silvio replies, motioning for the enforcers to begin herding the weeping staff toward the servant quarters.
"Signora," Caro whimpers, reaching a trembling hand out toward me as a guard shoves her roughly forward.
"Caro!" I cry out, fighting against Silvio's iron grip. "Take your hands off her, you fucking animals!"
I watch in unmitigated horror as the very foundation of my childhood is systematically dismantled and escorted out the front doors.
My home is being scrubbed clean, sterilized of every comforting memory, replaced by hostile, unfamiliar faces carrying automatic weapons.
The realization of my isolation crashes over me in suffocating waves.
I am truly alone, surrounded by wolves masquerading as men, trapped inside the sprawling mansion that once represented my unshakeable safety.
Alessio turns back to me, grasping my jaw, forcing me to look directly into his merciless eyes.
"You want to throw tantrums and break vases?
You want to question my authority? Congratulations, sweetheart.
You just fired your entire support system.
From this second forward, my men cook your food.
My men wash your clothes. My men stand outside your bedroom door. "
He leans in closer, his thumb stroking over the skin he bruised yesterday at the altar.
"You belong to me, Caterina. Your privacy is a privilege I am officially revoking.
If you walk into the gardens, you will have two armed guards shadowing your steps.
If you sit in the parlor to read a book, a Severato enforcer will be watching you turn the pages.
You are going to live in a glass cage until you learn how to behave like a respectful wife. "