7. Caterina #2
The air in the bathroom seems to vanish completely, leaving me gasping for oxygen as the horrific reality of his request crashes over my exhausted mind.
He is asking me to act as the inside mole for a highly coordinated assassination, to hand over the digital keys that will result in the man I married bleeding out on my father's mahogany desk.
I am supposed to despise Alessio Severato with every fiber of my being.
He is the ruthless enforcer who burned my legacy to the ground, the arrogant captor who occupies my home, the monster who forces me to live under a microscope of constant, suffocating surveillance.
If Matteo executes his plan successfully, I will be liberated from this gilded cage, restored to my rightful position as the matriarch of the Falco empire, free to rule the city without a Severato collar around my neck.
Yet, as the prospect of Alessio's violent murder materializes in my imagination, a visceral, violently unexpected wave of nausea rolls through my stomach.
I close my eyes, and instead of feeling a victorious rush of impending freedom, my brain immediately conjures the scorching, undeniable heat of his skin pressing against mine.
I remember the calloused texture of his large hands gripping my waist, the wild, completely unfiltered passion blazing in his eyes when he tore my silk garments to shreds, the degrading, magnificent pleasure he dragged out of my body until I was sobbing his name into the cold marble.
He is a brutal, unforgiving man who claims his territory with violence, but he never resorts to the cowardly, manipulative tactics my cousin currently employs.
Alessio looks me directly in the eyes when he issues a threat, whereas Matteo hides in the shadows, threatening innocent maids and asking me to do the dangerous, dirty work required to secure his throne.
A throne he most definitely will not let me sit on, because he’s claiming it for himself.
"Do you understand the assignment, Caterina?
" Matteo demands, his voice growing impatient and increasingly aggressive through the static-filled connection.
"You secure those access codes by tomorrow evening, or I will assume you have betrayed your bloodline and joined the very animals who put your father in the ground.
I will not hesitate to burn that entire compound to the ash it deserves to be, regardless of whether you are sleeping inside it or not. "
My cousin's blistering ultimatum solidifies the horrifying realization dawning in the darkest corners of my soul.
I am trapped in a deadly, inescapable crossfire between the family that raised me and the husband who ruined me, and I honestly do not know which side represents the true enemy anymore.
I cannot hand Alessio over to be slaughtered like an animal by a man who possesses half his courage, because the twisted, unexplainable carnal craving burning in my core demands that the enforcer remains alive to finish the chaotic battle we started.
If I refuse Matteo's command outright, he will undoubtedly launch a reckless, suicidal assault on the estate, endangering my life and destroying whatever fragile stability I have managed to carve out in this nightmare.
"I understand the objective, Matteo," I lie, forcing my voice to project a calm, calculating confidence that I absolutely do not possess, embarking on a highly dangerous double game that will inevitably result in a bloodbath if I make a single miscalculation.
"But Alessio is incredibly paranoid, and he changes the primary encryption sequences every twelve hours to prevent internal sabotage.
I cannot access the study algorithms without raising immediate suspicion, but I did manage to observe the newly established patrol schedules for the outer gardens and the harbor checkpoints. "
"The outer patrols are useless if we cannot breach the interior, Caterina," Matteo snaps, his frustration leaking through the receiver.
"They are not useless if you want to orchestrate a diversion to draw his enforcers away from the main house," I counter smoothly, fabricating a complex, believable lie designed to stall his impending attack and buy myself the critical time I need to formulate a strategy.
"I will transmit the shift rotations for the southern perimeter guards to this device tonight.
You use that intelligence to test their response times, and I will find a way to extract the biometric bypass codes for the study while Alessio is distracted by the exterior breach. "
Matteo pauses, the silence on the line stretching for a miserable, nerve-wracking minute while he evaluates the tactical merit of my deceptive proposal.
"Fine," he finally agrees, his tone laced with a lingering, malicious suspicion.
"Send the southern patrol schedules tonight.
But do not think you can play games with me, little cousin.
If those guards are not exactly where you say they are, I will know you have been compromised and will act accordingly.
Keep the phone hidden, and wait for my instructions. "
The line goes dead with a harsh click, replacing his voice with a monotonous electronic dial tone.
I lower the phone from my ear, my entire body shaking with a mixture of terror and an exhilarating, reckless rush of adrenaline.
I press the power button, plunging the device back into darkness, and bury the cheap plastic beneath a stack of folded towels hidden deep inside the mahogany vanity cabinet.
I turn the brass fixtures, stopping the rushing waterfall filling the bathtub, and stare at my pale, frightened reflection in the massive mirror above the sink.
I just committed high treason against the surviving remnants of my own family, choosing to protect the life of the very monster who holds me captive, simply because my body refuses to relinquish the intoxicating, ruinous memory of his touch.
I am playing a fatal game of chess with men who do not hesitate to kill, walking a razor-thin wire suspended over a pit of absolute destruction.
I splash cold water over my face, attempting to wash away the evidence of my treacherous conversation, knowing I must walk out of this bathroom and face the man I just saved without letting him see the massive, unforgivable secret hiding behind my eyes.
I dry my face with a plush towel, arranging my features into the familiar, impenetrable mask of the defiant, hostile bride, preparing to endure another excruciating dinner sitting across from the husband I am desperately, foolishly trying to keep breathing.