3. Caterina #2
I slap his hand away, my chest heaving with a suffocating, blinding fury that burns hotter than the fires of hell.
The urge to rip his throat out is overwhelming, consuming every logical thought I possess.
"I will kill you," I vow, the promise dripping with unfiltered venom, my voice is remarkably calm despite the inferno raging inside my soul.
"I will find a weapon, I will wait until you fall asleep, and I will carve your heart right out of your chest."
"Many have tried," Alessio replies smoothly, offering me that infuriating, arrogant smirk, completely unfazed by my homicidal threats.
"None have succeeded. Now, go upstairs and put a fucking dress on.
We have guests arriving, and you are going to smile and pour the wine like the obedient mafia princess you were trained to be. "
He turns his back on me, dismissing me entirely, and strides into my father's study. The mahogany doors click shut behind him, sealing him inside the epicenter of my stolen kingdom.
I am left standing alone in the massive marble foyer, shivering in my thin satin chemise, surrounded by men who would shoot me without a second thought if their master gave the order.
The mansion feels expansive and claustrophobic simultaneously, a beautiful, gilded prison designed to break my spirit piece by piece.
I turn and walk back up the sweeping staircase, each step feeling like I am wading through wet cement.
When I reach the master suite, two heavily armed Severato soldiers are already stationed outside the double doors, their faces arranged in blank, professional masks.
They do not acknowledge me, but their presence is a glaring, unavoidable reminder of my captivity.
I push the doors open and step inside, locking the brass latch behind me, though I know a simple lock will not keep the monsters out.
I step into the walk-in closet, staring at the row of expensive designer gowns hanging next to Alessio's tailored suits.
The visual juxtaposition is nauseating. I pull a sleek, form-fitting black dress from a velvet hanger, the fabric a suitable mourning attire for the death of my independence.
As I slip the dress over my shoulders and smooth the material down my hips, I stare at my reflection in the full-length mirror.
My eyes are red-rimmed, my makeup smudged from the tears I shed hours ago, but the determination burning in my irises remains fully intact.
Alessio Severato believes he can conquer my mind by occupying my house and replacing my staff.
He thinks isolation and intimidation will force me into submissive obedience.
He vastly underestimates the bloodline running through my veins.
I am a Falco, raised on a diet of betrayal and retaliation.
If he wants to turn my childhood home into a war zone, I will gladly hand him the ammunition, and I will watch him choke on it.
I run a brush through my tangled hair, applying a fresh coat of crimson lipstick, armoring myself for the impending battle.
I walk downstairs, the black fabric clinging to my curves, my stilettos clicking sharply against the hardwood floors.
The two guards fall into step behind me immediately, their combat boots thudding in tandem, an ever-present reminder of my revoked autonomy.
I lead them toward the formal dining room, where the muffled sounds of male voices suggest the briefing has already commenced.
I push the double doors open without knocking.
The long mahogany table is surrounded by the surviving Capos of my father's faction, men who watched me grow up, men who taught me the nuances of the Boston underworld.
They sit with their heads bowed, discussing shipping manifests and territory boundaries with the man who murdered their Don.
When I enter, the conversation ceases instantly. Every eye in the room snaps toward me.
Alessio sits at the head of the table, occupying my father's oversized leather chair. He pauses his sentence, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his features before the arrogant, possessive mask slides back into place. He gestures to the empty chair situated directly to his right.
"You are late, Caterina," he notes, his tone an icy reprimand thinly veiled as a casual observation. "Take your seat. We are finalizing the transition of the northern docks."
I do not move toward the empty chair. I walk slowly around the perimeter of the room, trailing my manicured fingernails lightly across the polished backs of the dining chairs, making eye contact with every single traitor sitting at the table.
Vincente, a man who once carried me on his shoulders at the summer festivals, refuses to meet my gaze, opting to stare intensely at his leather-bound ledger.
Marco, my father's former lieutenant, swallows hard, guilt practically radiating from his pores.
"I am not interested in sitting beside a thief while he divides the spoils of my family's legacy," I announce, my voice ringing with crystal-clear authority that commands the entire room.
"I came down here to ensure you men understand exactly what you traded your dignity to acquire.
You sold your loyalty for a temporary peace, kneeling to a man who considers you nothing more than expendable assets.
Do not expect my forgiveness, and do not look at me for salvation when the Severato syndicate eventually decides you have outlived your usefulness. "
I turn on my heel, offering Alessio a final, chilling smile before exiting the dining room, the doors swinging shut on the stunned disbelief I leave in my wake.
The guards immediately flank me again, but the suffocating captivity feels marginally lighter.
I may be a prisoner in my own home, monitored by armed thugs and bound to a feral enforcer, but I will ensure every single day he spends in my kingdom is an exhausting, relentless nightmare.
After all, I’d already be a corpse if he wanted me dead.