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I hear Caterina’s breathing, and I glance sideways to see her hand pressed over her mouth, tears gathering on her lower lashes. But neither Luca nor Don Rossi is paying attention to any of us. Franco stands at his elbow as Luca takes the ring, sliding it onto his first finger and gripping Don Rossi’s hand.
“You’ve been like a second father to me,” he says quietly, his voice low enough that I have to strain to hear it. “I’ll do my best to be worthy of the trust you’ve placed in me.”
“I have faith in you, son.” Rossi smiles weakly, gripping Luca’s hand until his knuckles turn white.
“He needs rest,” Caterina says suddenly, stepping forward. Her voice is shaky, and her face is very pale, but she looks firm. “Please, this is enough ceremony.”
“Quiet, woman,” Franco growls, and I look over sharply at him, surprised. I’ve spent very little time around him, but on the few occasions that we have met, he seemed the most lighthearted and boyish of them, not someone who takes life all that seriously. But now I see someone else underneath that, someone capable of snapping at his fiancée on one of the worst days of her life, someone who might have a side to him as brutal as any of these other men.
It’s a reminder to me all over again not to let my guard down. I can’t trust anyone—least of all, my new husband.
Caterina visibly flinches, shrinking back next to me, and it makes my heart ache to see it. Everything about her so far has shown me that she’s kind, that she at least wants to try to be my friend, even if it’s hard for me to let her in. Seeing Franco be so cruel to her makes me hate him. At least Luca speaks to me politely in public, even if we fight behind closed doors.
“I want Giulia avenged,” I hear Rossi say quietly, still gripping Luca’s hand. “Those bastard dogs killed my wife. That’s not something that can go unanswered.”
“We don’t know for sure that it’s the Bratva,” Luca replies quietly. “But rest assured, Vitto, we won’t allow her death to be ignored.”
“I won’t be able to be at the funeral. Make sure—”
“I’ll handle all of it, papa,” Caterina says, stepping forward again with her chin lifted. “Don’t worry about a thing.” She walks to his bedside without looking at Franco, taking her father’s other hand. “I’ll make sure mama is laid to rest properly.”
I realize then, with a little bit of a shock, that she really does love her father. It shouldn’t have surprised me, I suppose—I’m sure there were many things my own father did that were as violent as anything Rossi has done. He worked for him, after all—served him, really. And I loved my father deeply. But I wasn’t aware of the things he did, everything he was a part of. Caterina surely knows more—she was raised to be a part of this, marry the right man, and be a good mafia wife. But she still loves him.
And now he and Franco are all she has left.
“Come on,” Luca says tersely, letting go of Rossi’s hand and crossing to me. “It’s time to get you home and safe.”
The words should be reassuring, but they’re not. I know I don’t have any choice, though, so I follow Luca obediently out of the hospital room and to the elevator, staying silent the whole way.
The ring on his finger glimmers in the light, the red ruby gleaming. It sitting on his right hand represents every bit as much of a commitment as the gold band on his left does, and I can’t help but wonder if it comes down to it, which commitment will win out? He’s promised to keep me safe, made me his wife to accomplish exactly that, and yet—if the title he’s just vowed to uphold demands otherwise, what would he choose?
It makes me feel more uneasy than ever, and I can’t shake the feeling as we get into Luca’s car and ride the blocks back to the towering building that he—we—live in. It persists all the way up to the penthouse, and as we walk into the living room and he presses the button to pull the blinds back and flood the room with light, I turn to face him.
“So what now?” I swallow hard, looking up at my new husband. “When will the funeral be?”
“It’s tomorrow,” Luca says tightly. “But you won’t be going.”
“What? But surely, since we’re married, people will expect to see me there—”
“There will be plenty of times you’re expected to be seen, but I’m not particularly concerned with this one.” The words are cold and clipped, curt. “You’ll be staying here. It will reduce the likelihood that the Bratva will try to hit us at the funeral, although I hope Viktor might have enough respect to hold back from that.”
“And what about me, here?” Cold fear winds through my belly and up my spine—has Luca decided I’m too much trouble? Would he rather the Bratva come for me here than put everyone else in danger again? And if that’s the case, why not just go ahead and hand me over?
“You’re not to leave the penthouse for any reason. My security will be doubled, and I’ll assign you a personal bodyguard.”
“Until when?” I can feel the panic rising. “This wasn’t the deal, Luca. I’m supposed to be given my own apartment, so we don’t have to stay here together—”
“Until the Bratva are pushed out of the territory.” He strides towards me, that hard glint in his green eyes. He looks as handsome as ever—sometimes I think, traitorously, that he looks themostattractive when he’s like this, cold and angry and almost terrifying, but hard and chiseled as if made from granite. This hard and cold man only burns hot when it comes to me, only ever softens a little when we touch.
But I can’t think like that. I can’t think about him in any way that might make me want him more, let my guard down, feel things towards him that aren’t cautious, and even hate. I can’t allow myself to soften towards this man who has now become even more powerful than before, who might have to be and do even more awful things in order to keep it.
“How long will that take?” My voice trembles as much as I try to keep it from doing exactly that. I don’t want Luca to know how afraid I am—of him, of them, of all of this—but I can’t stop it.
He shrugs nonchalantly as if it doesn’t matter. “Who knows? Weeks? Months? Years? I can’t possibly know the answer to that, Sofia. They will be beaten back when they realize they can’t win, and no sooner than that. Viktor won’t give up easily.”
Panic floods me. I can feel my rational, logical thought slipping away in the face of being kept a virtual prisoner in this penthouse—however luxurious—for an undetermined amount of time. “No!” I exclaim, shaking my head and stepping back, trying to put some distance between us. “You promised, you told me if I married you that I’d be safe, that—”
“You will be,” Luca says patiently, but I can hear it eroding from his tone. “In time.”
