She parts for me, and I groan low in my throat, one hand threading into her hair—finally, it's everything I imagined. It’s thick and soft and warm, and the feel of it against my skin is maddening. I tighten my grip, not hard, just enough to let her know I’ve waited for this. She leans in. Breath to breath, chest to chest. I curl my tongue around hers, and she makes a sound in her throat, somewhere between a sigh and surrender, and it nearly undoes me.
Our breaths are hot as our tongues slide silkily against one another. Her lips move with mine now, bolder, hungrier, like she’s been waiting too. I kiss her like a man starved, like I’m trying to brand her from the inside out. I want to consume her, drown in her, ruin her for any name that isn’t mine.
When we break apart, we’re both breathless. Her lips are red and swollen, and her eyes… Dio. Her eyes are bright. She looks at me like I’m the only thing she can see.
She tries to look away, but not before I see it. Trust. And something… want. It twists something deep in me.
I want to drop to my knees in front of her. Swear myself to that fragile piece of faith she’s just given me. Instead, I run my thumb over the corner of her mouth, catching the last trace of our kiss, and rest my forehead against hers.
She has no idea what she's just given to me. I make a quiet vow. I will never hurt her. Not with my hands. Not with my words. Not with my choices.
She is mine now. But more importantly, I am hers.
6
LILIANA
Married. I'm married to Giovanni Renzetti.
If someone had told me three weeks ago that I’d be married now, I would’ve labeled them insane and asked what brand of delusion they were peddling. But here I am. I walked into Giovanni’s study single, and I came out with a ring on my finger and his name attached to mine.
The moment still feels surreal. I don’t know if it was for my sake that the ceremony was small and discreet—just the priest, Giovanni, Tomasso, and me—but I’m grateful all the same. I despise fanfare. Maybe it’s the years of being shut behind doors every time my father hosted guests, like a shameful secret he couldn’t bear to expose. Because heaven forbid his guests sawhis defective daughter. The embarrassment. The disgrace. The mute, half-deaf girl who reminded him of everything he couldn’t control.
I’d resigned myself to living and dying with my father’s disdain. I never thought I’d be free of it. But then Giovanni came along. I don’t know what the future holds between us, but for now, it’s enough that I’m no longer under that roof. It won’t kill me to give Giovanni a bit of trust. He’s earned it. He’s been nothing but kind to me.
He’s leading me across the sprawling estate grounds. We’ve just left the main building where he introduced me to the house staff, all of whom greeted me with warm smiles and a gentle reverence I didn’t expect.
Now we’re heading toward the southern edge, where I spot the armory and garages tucked between buildings that look like old villas repurposed for modern use. The estate is expansive but tightly guarded. The buildings stretch out in wings, guarded corners and gravel paths, fountains that look like they've been here a hundred years. There’s a central courtyard with a high-arched colonnade, and I think of how easily a man could vanish in here. Or be made to.
Every corner carries intent, purpose, vigilance. High walls, thick with ivy and secrets. Wide, manicured grounds. Iron-wrought gates. This place isn’t just a home. It’s a fortress. It breathes old money and older power. Nothing about it is ostentatious, yet everything screams control.
Giovanni walks beside me, tall and composed, a quiet force in his button-down shirt with open collar. I trail behind him a little. It strikes me, as we step past a stone arch and toward another set of buildings where I can hear male voices rising and falling, that I hadn’t fully thought this through. What would his men think? About him marrying a mute, half-deaf woman?
Giovanni must have noticed because he pauses and looks over his shoulder. His eyes find mine and hold them. He waits for me to catch up, then without a word, clasps my hand in his. His palm is warm, steady. His fingers brush over my wrist and gently dislodge it from where I’d been unknowingly rubbing.
His smile is low and slow, and it stops my breath. You don’t need to be nervous, he signs. They’ll love you.
My chest tightens. The way he says it, with such certainty, such ease. It shouldn’t mean as much as it does. But it does. His assurance feels like sunlight after years in the dark.
My eyes drift to his mouth. That mouth that kissed me with devastating intensity just after we exchanged our vows. The memory of it haunts me. The way his tongue, warm and demanding, had tangled with mine. The way he groaned low in his throat when I parted for him. The way he took his time to devour and brand me as. Maddening hot possession.
I’d meant to resist. I tried to be cautious, tried to keep some part of myself distant, but the moment his lips touched mine, I shattered. At that moment, I hadn’t wanted him to stop. I’dwanted more. His hands. His body. I’d wanted to be claimed entirely by him. And I'd wanted him too.
I want him so badly, the mere thought of it hurts. The realization unnerves me. He catches me staring and a flicker of something flashes in his eyes. I quickly look away before he sees too much.
We arrive at the courtyard where his men are gathered. There’s a stillness in the air when they notice us, followed by a ripple of acknowledgment. They look at me, not with disdain, but with caution. Like I’m a puzzle they weren’t expecting to solve today.
Giovanni doesn't let go of my hand as he introduces them to me, one by one. I nod and offer polite smiles. There’s no need to sign. They already know who I am. They must know.
Then, when he finishes, he pulls me flush against his side and says it. “Liliana Renzetti. My wife.”
Heat rises up my neck, blooming across my face as my body stiffens. I feel every eye on me. Embarrassment claws up my spine, but I force myself to hold my ground and keep my smile.
They nod back, some giving faint smiles, others curious glances. But there’s no cruelty in their expressions.
They respect him. I can see that clearly. Every movement, every glance, every silence they share speaks of loyalty. And Giovanni commands it effortlessly. He’s only just stepped into his father’s shoes, but they already follow him with the kind of loyalty that isn’t coerced, but is earned.
He dismisses them all with a brief nod, and they begin to file out. Except for Tomasso who lingers.
