7. Caterina
Caterina
The fading, yellowish-purple bruise staining the sensitive skin just above my collarbone is a vivid, constant reminder of the monster currently sleeping on the opposite side of my mattress.
I sit perched on the edge of the velvet vanity stool in my sprawling dressing room, tracing the outline of the mark with a shaking fingertip, entirely consumed by the confusing, chaotic memories of the night we effectively destroyed the boundaries of our arranged marriage.
Four agonizing days have passed since Alessio dragged me down to the cold marble floor of the main entrance hall, four days since we replaced our blistering verbal hostility with a savage, punishing intimacy that completely rewrote the chemical makeup of my brain.
We have not touched each other since that explosive, degrading encounter, maintaining a suffocating distance whenever we are forced to occupy the same room, yet the memory of his massive hands pinning my wrists and his mouth claiming my flesh refuses to evaporate.
He watches me across the expansive mahogany dining table every evening with a dark, consuming hunger burning in his obsidian eyes, and I spend every single night lying rigidly on my side of the custom king-sized bed, fighting a treacherous, unwanted heat that pools between my thighs the moment I hear his breathing even out in the dark.
I pull the lapels of my silk robe tighter across my chest, attempting to banish the humiliating flush creeping up my neck, when the brass handle of the dressing room door turns with a muted click.
Maria, the young maid I practically begged Alessio to keep on staff to manage the outer guest houses, slips into the room carrying a large wicker basket piled high with freshly laundered linens.
The girl looks completely terrified, her knuckles stark white where they grip the basket's woven handles, her gaze fixed on the polished hardwood floorboards as if looking at my face might somehow incur the wrath of the Severato enforcers stationed in the corridor.
I immediately recognize the unnatural rigidity in her posture, the frantic, panicked way her chest rises and falls beneath her starched white apron, but I attribute her obvious distress to the traumatic, hostile environment my husband has cultivated within these walls.
"You can just leave the basket on the settee, Maria," I instruct her gently, adopting a soothing, sisterly tone in a desperate attempt to offer the frightened girl a fraction of comfort amidst the occupation of my home.
"I can fold the remaining garments myself if you need to return to the kitchens before the evening shift begins. "
Maria practically drops the heavy wicker basket onto the tufted velvet cushions, nodding her head in a series of jerky, erratic movements that only serve to amplify my growing concern.
"Yes, Signora Caterina, thank you, I will just go see to the downstairs preparations," she stammers, her voice cracking embarrassingly before she turns on her heel and practically sprints out of the dressing room, pulling the door shut behind her with a frantic urgency that leaves me staring at the wood in profound confusion.
I abandon my spot at the vanity, crossing the room to inspect the laundry basket she discarded so carelessly, assuming the poor girl simply buckled under the immense psychological strain of serving the men who slaughtered her previous employers.
I reach into the pile of freshly pressed silk camisoles and soft cotton nightgowns, intending to organize the garments into my cedar drawers, when my fingers brush against something hard, completely foreign, and distinctly unnatural hidden beneath the pristine white fabrics.
My breath catches in my throat, a sudden rush of adrenaline surging through my veins as I push the expensive linens aside, revealing a cheap, unremarkable prepaid cellular phone nestled discreetly at the bottom of the wicker basket.
I stare at the plastic device for a suspended, breathless eternity, my brain struggling to comprehend the magnitude of the lifeline resting right in front of me.
Alessio confiscated my personal devices the moment we arrived at the estate, systematically cutting off every conceivable avenue of communication with the outside world to ensure my total, uninterrupted isolation.
Finding this phone means someone successfully breached the impenetrable security grid he brags about constantly, bypassing the heavily armed guards and the sophisticated surveillance cameras to smuggle a weapon directly into my hands.
I snatch the phone from the basket, my hands quivering as I immediately recognize the dangerous, potentially fatal implications of holding unmonitored contraband inside a house controlled by the Severato syndicate.
Without a moment of hesitation, I rush into the adjoining master bathroom, a vast, cavernous space crafted from imported Italian marble and gleaming gold fixtures.
I turn the handles on the sprawling soaking tub, letting the steaming water crash violently against the porcelain basin, creating the sound of a rushing, chaotic waterfall meant to mask any conversation from the enforcers standing guard outside the bedroom doors.
I drop the toilet lid and take a seat, pressing the small power button on the side of the plastic device, watching with bated breath as the cheap screen flickers to life, displaying a single encrypted contact number waiting to be dialed.
I press the call button, bringing the speaker to my ear, listening to the ringing tone bounce through the digital ether while my blood races wildly through my veins.
The line clicks open after the second ring, and a familiar, grating voice fills the receiver, a sound that instantly transports me back to the crowded, cigar-smoke-filled rooms of my childhood.
"It took you long enough, little cousin," Matteo Falco sneers through the static, his arrogant, entitled tone dripping with the same toxic superiority my father used to wield over his subordinates.
"I was beginning to think that Severato bastard already brainwashed you into playing the obedient, submissive housewife. "
"Matteo," I breathe, pressing my hand against my forehead as a complicated mixture of relief and immediate apprehension washes over me. "How did you manage to get this device past the perimeter guards? Alessio has the entire property locked down tighter than a federal penitentiary."
"Your new husband is a predictable, violent street thug who relies entirely on brute force and intimidation, assuming a dozen men with automatic rifles can magically secure a compound that was built by our bloodline," Matteo dismisses my concern with a scoffing laugh, sounding exactly like the overly confident, foolish lieutenants who underestimated Niccolò right before they were slaughtered.
"He replaced the security, but he kept a few of the outer house staff because he thinks he can buy their loyalty with a paycheck.
I reminded one of those maids that her family still lives in a neighborhood controlled by my associates, and she proved remarkably willing to act as my courier. "
A sickening knot twists viciously in my stomach as I process his ruthless methodology, realizing my cousin resorted to threatening an innocent woman's family just to slip a piece of plastic into my dressing room.
"What do you want, Matteo?" I ask, keeping my voice hushed despite the roaring water filling the bathtub next to me.
"The old alliances are completely gone. The Capos surrendered the shipping ports to the Severato enforcers, the offshore accounts were seized the night of the wedding, and there is no army left to challenge their authority in this city. "
"The cowards surrendered, Caterina, but the true traditionalists refuse to kneel to a family of imported usurpers who orchestrated a cowardly ambush," Matteo corrects me, the fanaticism bleeding through his words and revealing the dangerous, unyielding ambition driving his actions.
"I have quietly gathered a splinter faction of men who remain fiercely loyal to your father's memory, men who are willing to bleed to reclaim the territory that rightfully belongs to our name.
We have the weapons and the manpower to take the city back, but we cannot breach the compound's main gates without incurring unacceptable casualties. That is exactly where you come in."
"I am locked inside, with two massive guards shadowing my every move," I inform him, my grip tightening on the plastic phone until my knuckles turn white. "I do not possess the ability to open the front gates or command the men patrolling the outer gardens."
"I do not need you to open the front gates, Caterina.
I need you to bypass the interior biometric locks," Matteo explains, detailing his horrific strategy with a chilling, businesslike efficiency.
"Alessio spends every single morning locked inside your father's study, managing the syndicate ledgers while his guards patrol the exterior.
I want you to steal the updated security codes for the electronic deadbolts securing the study doors and transmit them directly to this device.
Once my strike team bypasses the exterior walls using the old bootlegger tunnels, we will use your codes to walk right into the study and put a bullet directly in your husband's skull before he even has the chance to draw his weapon. "