Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Antonella
Isit in a black SUV, surrounded by strangers. Men in dark suits fill the front seats. Their eyes stay forward, but I feel their awareness. Every shift I make. Every breath.
My family left twenty minutes ago. Papa couldn't meet my eyes. Claudio hugged me so tight I thought my ribs would crack. Gianna cried into my shoulder until Vittoria gently pulled me away.
Oliver stood by his car. Watching. His jaw tight. His hands shoved in his pockets.
I wanted to run to him. To beg him to take me home.
But I don't have a home anymore.
I have rules now. Obligations. A husband who wheeled away from me at the altar like I was nothing.
Vittoria sits beside me. Her dark hair falls in waves past her shoulders. She's beautiful.
She's been quiet since we got in the car. Giving me space, I think. Or maybe she just doesn't know what to say.
What do you say to a woman who just married your brother in a transaction?
"Whatever you need," Vittoria says suddenly. Her voice is soft. Careful. "You can call me. Anytime."
I turn to look at her.
"I don't live at the compound," she continues. "My husband and I have our own place. But I'll always be there. For any question. Anything at all."
I nod.
It's all I can manage.
Vittoria sighs. She shifts in her seat, angling her body toward me. Her fingers twist the diamond ring on her left hand.
"I don't know you, Antonella." She pauses. Chooses her words. "But I know enough to say that this... this is going to be hard to manage."
Hard to manage.
That's one way to put it.
"My advice?" Vittoria leans closer. Her voice drops. "Stay away from Bruno."
The laugh escapes before I can stop it.
Vittoria blinks.
I press my hand over my mouth, but the laughter keeps coming. My shoulders shake. My eyes water.
The men in the front seats exchange glances.
"I'm sorry." I gasp for air. "I'm sorry, I just—" Another laugh. "How exactly am I supposed to stay away from my husband?"
"Bruno won't ask you to be his actual bride."
The laughter dies in my throat.
"He doesn't want anyone close," she says. "He's been like this since... since everything happened. He pushes everyone away. Family. Friends. Anyone who tries to reach him."
I stare at her.
"So when I say stay away from him, I mean—" She exhales. "He'll make it easy. He won't seek you out. He won't expect anything from you. You'll have your own space. Your own life, as much as that's possible in the compound."
"That's fine with me," I hear myself say.
Vittoria tilts her head.
"I don't want him either." The words come out flat. Empty. "I don't even know him."
"Good." Vittoria nods slowly. "That's... good. It'll be easier that way."
Easier.
I want to laugh again. Nothing about this is easy.
I'm twenty-one years old. I just married a stranger to save my family from my father's debts. I'm leaving everything I know to live in a compound full of people who see me as a transaction.
"The compound is about thirty minutes from here," Vittoria says. She's watching me again. Studying my face. "Someone will show you to your room when we arrive. You'll have your own space. Bruno's room is in a different wing."
Different wing.
Of course.
"There's staff," she continues. "Giulia runs the household. She's been with the family for decades. She'll help you settle in."
I nod again.
It's becoming a habit. Nodding. Agreeing. Going along with whatever I'm told.
That's what good daughters do.
That's what good wives do.
I stare out the window. Trees blur past. The city fades behind us, replaced by open roads and expensive estates.
My old life disappears with every mile.
Bruno
I stare at my phone.
The screen glows in the dim light of my room. Everyone's done their part by now. Vittoria would have talked to her. Giulia would have shown her to her room. Made sure she had everything she needed.
Clean sheets. Fresh towels. A closet full of clothes she didn't pick.
All the things that make a cage comfortable.
Now it's my turn.
I don't want to do this. Don't want to see her face again. Don't want to watch her eyes drop to my chair and stay there.
But I have to.
She's my responsibility. Whatever this arrangement is, whatever it becomes, we need to establish the rules.
I pull up her contact. Antonella Romano.
My thumb hovers over the call button.
No.
I can't call her. Can't hear her voice.
I'll lose my temper. I know I will.
I switch to messages instead.
We need to talk.
Four words. Simple. Direct.
I hit send before I can change my mind.
The message shows as delivered. Then read.
I wait.
One minute. Two.
No response.
She's probably unpacking. Settling in. Trying to make sense of the room that's now hers. The life that's now hers.
Or maybe she's ignoring me.
I wouldn't blame her. I humiliated her at the altar. Wheeled away like she was nothing. Like she didn't matter.
She doesn't matter.
That's what I keep telling myself.
Three minutes.
Still nothing.
I toss the phone onto the bed. Run my hands through my hair. The silence in my room presses against my skull.
This is fine. She doesn't have to respond right away. She doesn't have to respond at all. I gave her the opening. If she wants to take it—
My phone rings.
The sound cuts through the quiet like a blade.
I grab it. Her name flashes across the screen.
She's calling me.
Fuck.
I stare at the phone. It rings again. Again.
Answer it. Just answer it.
My thumb slides across the screen.
"Yes." My voice comes out rough. Harder than I intended.
Silence on the other end.
Then: "You said we need to talk."
Her voice is steady. Controlled. No tremor. No hesitation.
I wasn't expecting that.
"I did."
"So talk."
"We need to establish some rules," I say. "To make this easier. For both of us."
"Mhm."
One sound. That's all she gives me.
But something about the way she says it makes my grip tighten on the phone.
I lose my train of thought.
What was I saying? Rules. Right. Rules.
"This arrangement doesn't have to be complicated," I continue. "We stay out of each other's way. You have your space. I have mine."
"Mhm."
There it is again.
Her voice curls through the phone like smoke. Warm. Unhurried.
I like her voice.
What the fuck?
I shift in my chair. Clear my throat. Focus.
"Tomorrow night," I say, forcing the words out. "There will be people coming to the compound. Family friends. Business associates. They'll want to congratulate us."
"On our wedding."
"Yes."
"The wedding where you refused to kiss me."
Her tone doesn't change. Still steady. Still controlled.
But the words land like a slap.
I clench my jaw. "They don't know the details of the ceremony. They only know we're married. Tomorrow, we need to appear like a couple."
Silence.
Then: "You want me to pretend."
"I want you to play your part."
"And what part is that, exactly?"
"The dutiful wife." The words taste bitter on my tongue. "Smile. Stand beside me. Let them believe this marriage is real."
"Stand beside you." she repeats.
"You won't have to do it for long," I say through gritted teeth. "I won't stay among them for more than necessary."
A pause.
"Why?"
The question is simple. Direct.
And it makes me want to tell her to go fuck herself.
But I can't say that. Not if I want this arrangement to work. Not if I want to prove to Pietro that I can handle a wife without destroying everything.
I search for other words. Better words.
"You're not allowed to ask why."
The silence stretches.
Then she laughs.
Not a polite laugh. Not a nervous one.
A real laugh. Low and surprised, like I've said something genuinely amusing.
"I'm not allowed," she says. "That's your answer."
"That's my answer."
"You're serious."
"I don't joke."
"No," she says slowly. "I don't imagine you do."
I can hear the laugh in her voice. It irritates me more than her questions did.
"Something funny?"
"You," she says. "You're funny."
"I'm not—"
"You text me. Tell me we need rules. Then you give me orders and expect me not to ask questions." She pauses. "That's not how rules work. That's how commands work."
My jaw tightens. "You agreed to this marriage."
"I agreed to marry you. I didn't agree to be silent."
"You'll do what I tell you."
"Will I?"
The challenge in her voice makes something hot flare in my chest.
Anger. It has to be anger.
"You're in my house," I say. "Under my protection. My name. You'll follow my rules."
"Your rules," she echoes. "Which apparently include not asking questions."
"Correct."
"And if I ask anyway?"
"Then we'll have a problem."
Another pause. Longer this time.
I wait for her to back down. To apologize. To remember her place.
"Bruno."
The way she says my name stops me cold.
Just... my name. In that voice. That warm, steady voice that does something to my chest I don't want to examine.
"What."
"I'll play your wife tomorrow. I'll smile. I'll stand beside you. I'll let them believe whatever you need them to believe."
"Good."
"But I'm not going to stop asking questions."
I open my mouth to argue.
"And you're not going to stop me," she continues. "Because you need me. Whatever this arrangement is, whatever you're trying to prove to your family, you need a wife who can play the part. Not a puppet who nods and stays silent."
The words hang between us.
She's right.
I hate that she's right.
"You think you understand what's happening here," I say quietly.
"I think I understand more than you want me to."
"You don't know anything about me."
Antonella
"No," I agree. "I don't."
The admission hangs between us. Simple. True.
"But I will."
Silence.
I can almost hear him processing that. Turning it over in his mind. Trying to figure out what I mean.
Good. Let him wonder.
I don't know why I'm pushing him. Don't know why I can't just nod and agree and make this easier for both of us.
Maybe it's because of the altar. The way he wheeled backward instead of forward. The way he refused to kiss me in front of everyone. The way he made me feel like something dirty. Something unwanted.
I've spent my whole life trying to understand people. Why they do what they do. What drives them. What breaks them.
My mother taught me that. Watch, Antonella. Listen. People tell you everything if you pay attention.
Bruno Sartori is a puzzle. And I've never been able to leave a puzzle unsolved.
"How am I supposed to live?" I ask.
"What?"
"From now on. In this house. In this marriage." I keep my voice steady. "What does my life look like?"
He's quiet for a moment. When he speaks, his tone is clipped. Business-like.
"I'll assign a man to be your guard. He'll accompany you when you leave the compound."
"A guard."
"For your protection."
"Mhm."
"You'll have access to my credit cards. If you need anything—clothes, personal items—you can use them."
"How generous."
He ignores the sarcasm. "When you want to go somewhere, you'll inform me. Where you're going. Who you're meeting. I'll decide if it's safe."
"You'll decide."
"Yes."
"And if you decide it's not safe?"
"Then you don't go."
I let the silence stretch. Let him think I'm considering his terms.
Then: "No."
"No?"
"This isn't happening."
His voice drops. "There's no other option."
"There is." I sit up straighter on the bed, even though he can't see me. "I'm going to live my life, Bruno. I'll inform you when I'm heading out. That's all you need to know."
"That's not how this works."
"It's how it's going to work."
"You're my wife." The words come out sharp. Hard. "You're under my protection. My responsibility. You don't get to—"
"I don't get to what? Leave the house without your permission? Meet people without your approval?" I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "I'm not a prisoner."
His breathing changes. Heavier. Rougher.
He's angry.
Good.
"You don't understand the world you've married into," he says. "There are people who would hurt you just to get to me. To my family. You need protection whether you want it or not."
"I know the world very well Bruno. In case you don’t remember, I was born into the same world. I literally married a stranger to protect my family from the consequences of our world. You think you’re protecting me while you are caging me."
"It's the same thing."
"It's not."
"You're being naive."
"And you're being controlling."
The word lands like a blow. I can feel it through the phone. The way his silence sharpens. The way the air between us turns to ice.
"I'm trying to keep you alive," he says quietly.
"And I'm trying to stay sane." I take a breath. "I agreed to this marriage. I agreed to play your wife. But I didn't agree to disappear. I have a family. Friends. A life outside these walls."
"Your life is here now."
"My life is wherever I choose to make it."
"You don't get to choose."
"Watch me."
Another silence. Longer this time. Heavier.
When he speaks again, his voice is low. Controlled. But I can hear the anger underneath. The frustration.
"You're making this harder than it needs to be."
"Maybe." I shrug, even though he can't see it. "Or maybe you're making it harder by trying to control everything."
"I'm not—"
"Goodnight, Bruno."
"We're not finished."
"We are for tonight."
I pull the phone away from my ear.
"Antonella—"
I hang up.