Chapter 27 #2
He shakes his head, unblinking. “All this time, I still can’t believe it.”
A nervous, unusual sound leaves me. “What?”
“That you’re my wife.”
I'm sure my relief is utterly transparent .
My defenses are steadily dwindling as he stops before me, his fingers nudging my chin to draw my gaze into his eyes. Eyes that won’t make light of this moment.
“That you love me enough to do this,” he whispers, taking my face in his hands.
Words catch in my throat. All I can manage is a breathless, pathetic nod. Xavier’s dark brows trough, contrasting how his mouth spreads into a cautious smile. “It’ll be alright.”
Another nod. But this time, I manage to get a few words out. A plea. “Don’t let me go.”
Fear triggers irrational emotions, such as tears. I believe I hold them back before he notices, but my strained voice... I'm sure he heard that.
His caresses are tender, strokes meant to soothe. “Listen to me. We alone control what happens tonight. Not Vito. Not my father.”
“I know.”
“This is a new start. It may not be the start we wanted, but it’s ours . The best revenge is this.” He releases my face, slipping his hand into mine and bringing it to his lips. My heart loses sense within me, and I understand him perfectly.
This —love .
It’s the one thing they couldn’t take from us.
“Are you two coming or not?”
Peering through the front door, Bo lifts his arms to draw attention to his watch.
Ignoring him, Xavier gauges my expression, and something in his eyes tells me he’d call this whole thing off if I truly wanted to. The tension between us crackles, but I flash him a confident look, knowing my decision was made the moment I jumped on a plane bound for New York.
I'm his.
And he knows it.
Squeezing my hand, he leads me out of the house.
Mimi and Delli are the only ones who utilize the well-stocked mini-bar throughout the torturous journey into the city.
With Dario disrupting our usual informality by spending most of the drive rambling nonsense into his phone, there’s an air of distrust from Xavier’s closest friends, who barely say a word while their girlfriends enjoy conversation on the other side of the vehicle.
Every so often, Dario’s eyes drift toward us: Xavier and me in the farthest double seat, our entwined hands resting in my lap. His expression is unreadable, yet he continues to gaze.
I’m not sure what it signifies, but Dario was my father’s man before he became Xavier’s.
That alone ensures I’ll never trust him.
As twilight descends, Manhattan comes to life.
The sunset outlines the sky-high skyscrapers, enhancing their supremacy over the city, while rows of pylon signs light up the streets.
The flashing of red and blue overhead lights from cop cars set the scene as the limousine glides to a stop at the hotel’s curb.
The Bellare stands on the corner of a busy intersection, its granite facade contrasting with the city’s sleek glass structures.
Its rich history has been diminished by patriotic banners and obnoxious portraits, and there’s really no mistaking that we’re in enemy territory.
No one does greed like the rich. A crimson runner stretches down the perron steps, inviting New York’s elite to pose for photographs.
As Dante is the first to get out of the car, I brace myself with a hand against the window, damn near sick. Fuck .
I knew I’d be scared, but this ?
Xavier exits the vehicle to an absolute uproar .
He was always popular as a bachelor, even more so after he married.
The media made it their personal mission to track us down whenever we left the house, only to have their articles pulled after publication.
But this is different. This makes me sink deep into the embossed leather, hesitating to reach for his waiting hand.
Victoria wasn’t lying about one thing.
Xavier has become one of the most powerful men in New York.
“We’re safe,” Xavier says, knowing it’s the one thing I need to hear, whether it’s true or not.
Once I take his hand, stepping out onto the curb, all noise plummets to nothing. For a few seconds, there is absolute dead silence riding on every face etched with disbelief.
Just as easily as the noise faded, it returns—and it does so, tenfold. The camera flashes become blinding . An explosion of pandemonium swells into something that prompts Xavier to shoot a trained glance at the soldiers flanking us on all sides, who close in tighter.
When strangers surround us, I straighten my posture and raise my chin, reverting to the lessons my mother instilled in me from birth.
Eyes up. Smile. Never let them see a hint of weakness.
There’s no posing for pictures.
No chatting with paparazzi.
Unlike those around us trying to stay relevant and impress the reporters, a crime lord avoids the spotlight. All catcalls go unanswered, yet they continue to try, waving their microphones behind the barriers.
“That’s Sophia Marcello !”
A reporter stands under the spotlight, broadcasting live for a television station.
"In a very shocking turn of events, Sophia Marcello, daughter of businessman Vito Marin, has made her first public appearance in years. Speculation surrounding her absence had grown, with many fearing for her safety, suggesting conspiracy theories of kidnapping or even death.” From her gossiping lips, the circumstances here sound insane.
“But now she is here, in the flesh, a vision in red, appearing unified with her husband of five years, Xavier Marcello.”
A man stretches over the partition to get a microphone near Xavier’s mouth. The soldier beside me hits him with such force that he tumbles into the potted plants behind him. Mostly, I'm protected by Xavier’s back as he guides me into the venue, but occasionally I glance at the onlookers.
She’s probably his prisoner.
They look happy, though.
Yeah, but God knows where he’s had her all this time.
Unlike before, when Xavier was known to the world as a handsome brute, he now appears different to these people. A frightening figure, but their eyes can’t help but follow him like greedy moths to a flame. Other reporters concentrate on more pressing matters—like Xavier’s occupation.
You were cleared of the audit investigation. Who did you pay off to make that happen?
You’re the senator’s special guest tonight. Will you hold office if he’s reelected?
The coached smile fades from my face as soon as we’re behind closed doors, but we’re far from alone.
The lobby is crowded with tuxedos and evening gowns as people file through metal detectors.
Just as I expect we’ll follow suit, Xavier leads me around the edge of the room where one of his men, who was briefed back at the estate, is waiting to unclip a velvet rope, granting us access to the building without a security check.
In that moment, I realize Xavier is armed, as are all the men around us.
Mimi turns, beaming widely, unfazed by the chaos. She’s simply delighted to be here, which brings a smile to my face despite the circumstances.
The corridor opens into a grand room embellished with stained-glass windows that transform sunlight into a mosaic of colors.
Multi-tiered chandeliers dangle from the painted ceiling, casting soft light onto the polished floor below.
On one side of the room, assigned tables beckon guests to congregate.
The opposite side has a stage and dance floor, crammed with dancers.
The sound operator is switching between Sinatra and Dean Martin, knowing his crowd.
“Is that who I think it is?”
“That’s her. That’s his wife.”
It’s hard to ignore them.
“He hasn’t let go of her hand since they left the car. He’s not letting her out of his sight. Possessive much?”
I'm seconds away from implosion when I notice Dante shake his head out of the corner of my eye, a silent reminder for me to get my shit together. Because it doesn’t matter what they think.
Xavier Marcello is dangerous, and they know it.
A man interjects himself into the women’s conversation. “Just look at her. That’s why he won’t let her out of his sight. He knows every man in this building has their eyes on her.”
Xavier’s hand is squeezing mine hard enough to stop the blood flow to my fingers.
Prompted by the man’s words, my eyes scan the room now that Xavier’s soldiers have retreated to blend into the crowd more discreetly, and I realize that the man is correct.
They are looking. Staring. While I should feel flattered, especially after years of not caring about my appearance, their gazes only trigger fear.
Trauma. I instantly want to vanish, cover myself up, and dull my presence to merge into the background.
To those who hold any significance for him, Xavier wears a pleasant smile, kind yet reserved enough to leave them wanting more. His interactions with the guests are often cryptic, filled with hidden messages concealed within trivial small talk and the allure of a private conversation.
When the senator arrives to resounding applause, all of the chandeliers are dimmed. Candelabras enhance the atmosphere at every table as the dancing commences.
Xavier guides me to a chair, my designated spot, and that’s when I notice the senator walking toward the table.
We’re at his table.
I quickly rise to my feet as I'm introduced.
“Senator, you haven’t met my wife, Sophie.”
“I heard the commotion outside. I wasn't even aware that you were still married.”
“She spent several years in Sicily due to a family member's illness. We saw each other when we could.”
“You’re a busy man. I get it. I barely see my family, and we live in the same country. It’s very nice to meet you, Sophie.” He chuckles, taking my hand and bringing it to his lips. “You are a fortunate man, Marcello.”
“I'm aware.”