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He will see me as one of them, and no matter what my last name will be, I will never truly be a De Rossi.
Which is why I know I need an upper hand, or something of the sort, to make sure he doesn’t kill me on the first night. I did my fair share of research on Enzo since the night of the contract signing.
And that’s when I learned two things about my future husband.
Men age like a fine wine.
And Enzo de Rossi is an exquisite vintage.
Sighing, I move through the apartment. Since I’m alone, I don’t bother fighting, knowing there are two vicious bodyguards are right outside. One thing I learned from my father was that I should choose my battles. I may want to stab Enzo in the jugular for making me marry him, but, I know that if I choose my battles with him with a clear mind, I may get through this.
I take in his apartment. An intimate dining room sits to the left of the entrance, and to the left of it is the kitchen, which I don’t pay much attention to. The windows in the open plan living room are floor to ceiling, with an arch close to the top, which gifts it an appearance of a chapel of sorts. The views of New York greet me, the lights twinkling as I pass by the fireplace and head down the hall.
There are four doors. Pushing one open, I find a luxurious bathroom with spa bath and large shower. The next room is a bedroom with a single bed and a few bits of furniture. When I move deeper down the hallway, I open the next door to my right and find a beautiful bedroom decked out in soft blue furnishings, an enormous king-sized bed, along with a chaise longue which overlooks the city.
There are no photos with family memories, nothing that would confirm anyone actually lives here. Enzo’s house is as much a mystery as he is. The man is a ghost, apart from the photos captured of him attending expensive dinners and gala events with beautiful women on his arm. I noticed that none of these women were featured a second or third time with him. He’s well-known in this town for enjoying meaningless, no-string attachments. Nothing more.
That shouldn’t bother me as much as it does, but I can’t stop the jealousy from coursing through my veins. It’s stupid to be bitter over someone I don’t love, or even care for, but deep down, knowing he’ll soon be my husband does stupid shit to me. Shit, I didn’t expect or care for. I don’t like being vulnerable. I can defend myself, if need be, but right now, I feel like a fish out of water.
Turning my attention back to my surroundings, I focus on exploring more of my new home before Enzo returns. I find a walk-in closet in what I assume will be my bedroom. It’s filled with designer dresses and outfits in mostly red, white, black, and one stunning gold one. There are a few blouses in a variety of shades, but it seems my fiancé likes a specific color palette of evening dresses. I leave the closet and wander deeper into the room to find a marble tiled bathroom boasting a spa bath. This one larger than the other and includes a shower which I’m almost certain can fit at least four people comfortably.
Everything is pristine, from the silver taps to the exquisitely tiled floors. Each bedroom I venture into, three including mine, are all carpeted in lush fabric. But my interest is piqued when I move to the last door in the apartment. Pushing it open, I step inside a room that screams masculine energy. It’s dark, foreboding, and an icy shiver zips down my spine. This is without a doubt, Enzo’s bedroom.
Everything is black—from his bedsheets to his pillows, even the lampshades are raven-colored. The dark walls seem to close in on the enormous space, but it makes it feel warmer. I run my fingertips over the material of the comforter, the softness of the silk under my touch tingles on my fingertips. I wonder briefly if I’ll leave my scent on them, and for a long moment, I worry about invading his space.
But I convince myself that I’m going to be his wife soon, and everything he owns will be mine. With that thought in my mind, I move silently through his personal space. The carpet is a charcoal gray, the curtains match, offering a cloak of darkness the other rooms didn’t possess.
Fear grips me when I notice a cabinet in the corner of the room. Glass doors display leather belts, a whip, and three shimmering steel blades.
I’ve heard stories about him.
I’ve listened to the whispers of violence that he’s exacted on people he hates, and yet, I find myself enthralled by the stranger who I’m about to marry. All those whispers overheard from the men in my father’s clan, every violent act and merciless killing, replay in my mind as I recall them.
