#2
We ascend the marble steps together, crossing the threshold of the magnificent home she grew up in.
The sprawling foyer is eerily quiet, the crystal chandelier casting a pristine light over the sweeping double staircase.
Caterina scans the room, her eyes darting frantically, searching for a familiar face, a loyal maid, or a trusted guard who might offer her a shred of comfort.
She finds nothing but my men, standing like immovable statues against the paneled walls, their weapons clearly visible beneath their jackets.
"Get your hands off me," she hisses, trying to wrench her elbow from my grip as I steer her past the grand staircase and down the western corridor.
I do not release her. I tighten my hold, marching her directly toward the formidable mahogany doors of her father's private study. This room was the epicenter of Don Falco’s power, a sacred, impenetrable fortress where he orchestrated his empire and ordered the deaths of my men.
I kick the double doors open, the wood crashing violently against the interior walls, and drag my bride into the center of the room.
The space remains exactly as Niccolò left it on the night of the execution.
The imported Turkish rug still bears the faint, rust-colored stain of her father's blood.
Caterina stumbles as I finally release her arm, her eyes immediately locking onto the ruined patch of fabric on the floor.
A ragged, fractured gasp escapes her lips, her hands flying up to cover her mouth as the horrific memory assaults her senses.
I bypass her completely, walking with unhurried, purposeful strides toward the massive mahogany desk dominating the far end of the room.
I run my hand along the polished wood, admiring the craftsmanship, before reaching out to grasp the crystal decanter resting on the silver tray.
I pour a generous measure of the dead Don’s expensive, aged whiskey into a tumbler and take a slow sip, letting the smooth burn coat my throat, before lowering myself into her father's high-backed leather chair.
I prop my boots on the edge of the immaculate desk, crossing my ankles, and survey the furious, trembling woman standing in the center of the study.
"Welcome home, wife," I mock softly, raising the crystal glass in a sarcastic, victorious toast.
Caterina shakes her head, her hands balling into fists at her sides as she tears her gaze away from the bloodstained rug.
"You are a sadistic, vile animal," she breathes, the words trembling with a mixture of terror and fury.
"You bring me into the room where your brother slaughtered my father, sit in his chair, and drink his liquor like you earned the right to occupy this space.
You earned nothing, Alessio. You stole this territory in the middle of the night like a coward. "
I do not react to the insult. I take another sip of the whiskey, savoring the flavor and the beautiful, furious picture she paints standing in the center of the room.
"I did not steal it, sweetheart," I correct her.
"I conquered it. Your father broke the treaties.
He sent a hitman to murder a pregnant woman, operating with the arrogant, foolish belief that he could strike the Severato crown and survive the fallout.
He orchestrated his own execution. I am merely claiming the spoils of a war he initiated. "
I set the crystal tumbler down on the polished mahogany, uncrossing my legs and leaning forward, resting my elbows on the desk.
"You are going to learn very quickly that the rules of this house have changed," I instruct, locking my eyes onto hers, ensuring she understands the reality of her new existence.
"You will not raise your voice to me. You will not disrespect my Capos.
You will sleep in my bed, you will wear my ring, and you will submit to my authority without a single argument.
If you attempt to contact the remaining Falco loyalists hidden in the city, I will hunt them down and butcher them in the streets, and I will force you to watch the carnage. "
Caterina steps forward, the massive layers of her ivory gown rustling aggressively against the floorboards. She refuses to cower, tilting her chin up to meet my lethal glare with an astonishing, reckless bravery.
"I will never submit to you," she promises fiercely. "You can kill my guards, you can occupy my home, and you can lock me in this compound, but you will never break my mind. I will fight you every single day of my miserable life, Alessio. I will make you bleed for the throne you stole."
A slow, wicked smirk curves my lips. Her defiance is a narcotic, flooding my veins with a thrilling, chaotic energy that demands immediate action.
I stand up from the leather chair, pushing the mahogany desk aside with a loud scrape, and close the distance between us with grace.
She doesn't back away. She stands her ground, bracing herself for the impact as I reach out, wrapping my hand firmly around the back of her neck.
I pull her flush against my chest, feeling the frantic, erratic hammering of her pulse against my palm.
"I look forward to the battle, mia regina," I whisper fiercely against her mouth, tasting the mint and the impending violence hovering between us.