Chapter 5
Four days of her fighting me in every way except the one that matters.
Four days of cold silence and heated glances, of her sleeping on the furthest edge of my bed while I lie awake, cock aching, remembering her taste.
Tonight’s family dinner at the estate will either break her or forge her into something stronger.
"She'll break in a week," Sofia's voice cuts through my thoughts before Valentina even enters the dining room, carrying the casual cruelty that runs in Rosetti blood.
I pause in the hallway, one hand on Valentina's back, feeling the tension coil through her body at my sister's words.
The black dress I chose for her fits perfectly, hugging curves that make my mouth water despite the circumstances.
Four nights since she came apart on my tongue, calling me husband, and I still wake hard from dreams of her taste.
"Your family's charming," Valentina murmurs, chin lifting in that defiant way I'm learning means she's preparing for battle.
"They're testing you." I guide her forward with pressure between her shoulder blades. "Consider it a compliment. They only bother with people who matter."
The dining room opens before us, crystal chandelier casting light across the mahogany table where my entire family waits.
The scent of garlic and basil from Maria's cooking mingles with expensive cologne and perfume. Dante sits with Ana, her pregnancy showing more each day. Luca lounges next to Faith, who clutches his hand like an anchor. He rarely leaves her side now that she’s pregnant, although she is only showing the smallest amount, a tiny bump and glowing skin.
Alessandro studies his wine with calculated boredom while Nico stands by the window, ever watchful. And Sofia, my baby sister who kills with a smile, tracks Valentina's entrance like a predator sizing up prey.
"Welcome to Sunday dinner," I announce, pulling out Valentina's chair. "Fair warning, principessa. This family eats their own when bored."
Alex raises his glass in mock salute. "We prefer to call it character building."
I take my seat at the head of the table, Valentina to my right where I can touch her, protect her, remind everyone she's under my protection.
The warning is clear in how I position myself, how my hand rests on the back of her chair.
She's mine. Anyone who forgets that will remember why I became Don at twenty-five.
"The infamous Bernardi princess," Sofia says, her smile sharp as glass. "Father would roll in his grave seeing you at our table."
"Probably," Valentina agrees, reaching for her water with steady hands. Crystal clinks softly as she sets it down. "But then, he's been rolling for a while now, hasn't he? Since the Morettis joined through Ana."
A surprised laugh escapes Luca. Even Dante's mouth curves slightly, the closest he gets to amusement these days. My chest swells with something dangerous I refuse to name, watching her navigate my family's minefield with natural grace.
"Oh please," Sofia continues, twirling her wine glass. "A Bernardi princess raised on weakness and luxury? She'll break within the week. Maybe less."
"Weakness?" Valentina sets down her glass with deliberate control. "Is that what you think the Bernardi family trades in?"
"Among other things." Sofia's smile widens, scenting blood. "Though I suppose spreading your legs for an alliance was more desperation than weakness."
The temperature drops ten degrees. Valentina's knuckles go white around her napkin, but before she can respond, Luca leans forward with that unsettling grin.
"Speaking of spreading legs," he says conversationally, "when do we get to sample the merchandise? Family discount, right Marco?"
Faith looks up, probably to scold him, but I don’t give her a chance.
My fist slams into the table before thought catches up to action. The wood cracks, crystal jumping, wine sloshing. The sound echoes through the room like a gunshot. The splintered mahogany cuts into my palm, but I barely feel it through the rage.
"She's under my protection." My voice comes out deadly quiet, the tone that makes grown men piss themselves. "That extends to family. Especially family."
Luca holds up his hands in mock surrender, but his pale eyes dance with interest. He's studying my reaction, filing it away. Faith touches his arm, a gentle reminder that pregnancy makes her nervous around violence, and he settles back like a leashed wolf.
"Protective," Alex observes mildly. "That's new."
"That's final," I correct, letting them all see the violence lurking beneath my suit.
Valentina watches me with those dark eyes, not with fear but with something like curiosity. She's examining my violence the way other women study flowers, with detached interest rather than terror. Fuck. Even her analytical gaze makes me hard.
"Boys and their toys," Sofia sighs dramatically. "Though I suppose if you're going to collect a Bernardi princess, might as well be a pretty one."
"I'm not a toy," Valentina says quietly, but there's steel beneath silk. "And I'm not weak. Whatever assumptions you've made about Bernardi women, I suggest you reconsider."
"Assumptions?" Sofia arches one perfect eyebrow. "What else would you call a woman traded between families like cattle?"
"A survivor." Valentina's voice cuts through the room. "I survived twenty-three years with my father. Twenty-three years of being groomed as a bargaining chip while watching him destroy everything he touched. You think your disapproval will break me? Your brother's violence? This pretty prison?"
She stands, hands flat on the table, addressing the room like she's holding court. The movement makes her breast brush my shoulder, and the contact shoots straight to my cock. I shift in my seat, grateful for the table's coverage.
"I've been slapped for speaking at family meetings.
Locked in my room for questioning orders.
Watched my mother die for trying to leave.
I learned to smile while bleeding, curtsy while furious, and plan while everyone dismissed me as decoration.
" Her eyes find each of my siblings in turn.
"So no, Sofia. I won't break in a week. I won't break at all.
I'll survive this the way I've survived everything else. "
Christ, her defiance makes me want to bend her over this table and show my entire family exactly who she belongs to. Make her scream my title again while they watch.
The silence stretches taut. Then Dante does something that shocks everyone.
He smiles.
Not his usual ghost of expression, but an actual smile. His hands move in quick signs that Ana translates: "She has spine. Good. Marco needs someone who won't fold."
"Well fuck," Alessandro says, raising his glass. "The princess has teeth."
Even Sofia looks mildly impressed, though she hides it behind another sip of wine.
The tension shifts, not friendly but no longer actively hostile.
Valentina has passed some unspoken test, proved herself worthy of more than contempt.
Every approving glance from my siblings shifts something between us.
"Twenty-three years," Nico says quietly from his post by the window. "That's a long time to play prisoner."
"Not prisoner," Valentina corrects, sitting back down with fluid grace. "Student. I learned everything about how this world works from watching my father fail at it."
The insult to her father hangs in the air, bold and deliberate. My family exchanges glances, recalibrating their assessment of the Bernardi princess who speaks of her own father's failures without flinching.
"Perhaps not a week then," Sofia concedes, the closest she'll come to approval.
Dinner continues with less blood in the water.
Ana tells a story about catching Dante composing at three AM, his way of processing the week's violence.
Faith mentions plans for the nursery, her hand protective over her small bump while Luca watches with an intensity that would terrify anyone who didn't know him.
Alex regales us with tales of his latest "negotiation" with the dock unions, which definitely involved more than talking based on his scraped knuckles.
My wife lifts her wine glass to her lips, and I remember those lips stretched around my name as she came. My cock throbs, and I shift again, the ache becoming unbearable. Four days of sleeping beside her, inhaling her scent, feeling her warmth, and not touching her is its own exquisite torture.
When plates empty and conversation lulls, Valentina stands and begins gathering dishes. The simple domestic gesture stops everyone cold.
"What are you doing?" Sofia asks.
"Clearing the table." Valentina stacks plates efficiently. "Despite popular opinion, Bernardi women weren't raised by servants. My mother insisted we learn to take care of ourselves."
She moves with capable hands, balancing crystal and china like she's done it a thousand times.
There's something mesmerizing about watching her perform such a mundane task, this woman I stole from her wedding now clearing my family's table by choice.
She moves through my space like she belongs here, and something dangerous tightens in my chest. This was supposed to be about possession, control, preventing an alliance.
But watching her handle my family's casual cruelty with grace, seeing her choose to help rather than sulk changes things.
It becomes something I didn't plan for and can't afford.
I follow her to the kitchen, drawn by the sight of her working in my space. She doesn't acknowledge me, just continues loading the dishwasher with mechanical precision.
"You didn't have to do that," I say.
"I know." She rinses a wine glass, holding the crystal up to check for spots. "But sitting still makes me feel more trapped than moving."
Through the doorway, I hear Sofia talking to Alessandro: "She's different than I expected. Not what I thought a Bernardi princess would be."