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“You just said I could go home.” My voice comes out low and weak.
He nods. “I did say that. But I didn’t say you could go permanently.”
My anger bubbles up again. “Listen, you narcissistic, controlling, asshole! I’m not staying here. I refuse to stay here with you, and you can’t keep me here against my will. This is basically kidnapping.”
He gives me a look that suggests my outburst is a mere tantrum and not something he gives a fuck about. Then something in his gaze shifts and he’s walking closer to me. I should move, take a step back, but I stand my ground, refusing to let him see me scared.
Christian’s hand comes up to my face and his thumb caresses my cheek, the motion almost reverent. My eyes meet his, amber on blue, ice on fire.
“In case you didn’t realize, Ms. Evans, the two of us are to be married.” He says the words slowly, like he’s talking to a preschooler. “We’re going to be living with each other eventually, why not start now?”
The tension in the room goes up several degrees, shortening my breath.
“I don’t want to live with you. And considering you disappeared for two weeks, I’m not sure you want to live with me, either.”
He smirks. “I was busy. Being a narcissistic, controlling asshole is a lot of work.”
My gaze narrows. “You don’t own me, Christian D’Angelo.”
“Oh, but I do,” he says, just as he takes a step back from me. He takes his heat with him. “The minute your father signed that contract with your grandfather, you became mine, Daniella.”
His words are like a vicious bite against my skin. My eyes follow him the entire way to the door. Before he turns the knob and opens it, he looks back at me.
“And remember,wife,” his tone is mocking, grating, “if you ever try to run from me again, two weeks of confinement will be the least of your problems.”
Then he’s walking out the door. It slams behind him and the noise reverberates in my head. And in my soul—because for the first time, I realize just how hopeless my situation really is.
CHAPTER6
Christian
My fist slams into my brother’s stomach, hard and precise. Adrenaline buzzes through me as Carlo groans, but it’s short-lived when he counters with a hit to my lower ribs. It’s a punch that knocks the wind out of me. I pause for a few seconds to catch my breath before shaking it off.
“You alright,fratello?” Carlo asks. “You seem a little distracted.”
Sweat drops down my forehead, and with a groan, I wipe it all away. Carlo and I have been in here for an hour, trying to land punch after punch. It’s how we work through our frustrations. I’ve been sparring with my brothers since I was five.
“I’m fine,” I grit out.
Carlo gives me a look that says he doesn’t believe me. Then he runs a hand through his hair and nods at me, a clear sign that he’s done. I raise an eyebrow.
“You punching me isn’t going to solve whatever it is that’s bothering you, Chris,” he says.
I rub my jaw, which is still sore from the punch he landed earlier. I always tell him not to go for my face but he never fucking listens.
“She’s on a fucking hunger strike,” I mutter.
Carlo’s brown eyes brighten. “I’m sorry, repeat that?” he asks, amused.
“Daniella hasn’t eaten anything since yesterday,” I grumble. “She’s pissing me the hell off.”
My teeth clench as Carlo’s amusement grows. The fucker’s really enjoying this new impossible situation I’ve found myself in. A lot of my men are, in fact. I’ve walked in a few conversations about “the Don’s pretty fiancée.”It’s maddening.
“So what are you going to do about it?” he asks. “You can’t let her starve to death. It’ll make you look bad.”
“You think I don’t know that?” I growl.
Carlo smiles before reaching over and clapping my shoulder.
