Chapter 2: Behind Closed Doors
The heavy oak door of the master suite clicked shut behind us, cutting off the whispers of the guards stationed outside in the corridor. The room was vast, smelling faintly of cedar, expensive leather, and the dark-roasted coffee Luciano drank before dawn. I stood near the edge of the Persian rug, my fingers twisting the hem of my apron until my knuckles ached. The beige fabric felt heavier now, a costume that no longer fit the scene we had just played downstairs.
Luciano walked over to the mahogany sideboard, poured two fingers of amber bourbon into a heavy glass, and held it without drinking. He didn't look at me right away. He let the quiet settle into the corners of the high-ceilinged room, giving me space to breathe, though my chest felt tight as a drum.
“You didn't warn me,” I whispered, the words coming out rough and small against the polished wood and glass.
“If I had warned you, your hands would have been shaking while you poured his morning espresso,” Luciano said, his voice low and even as he turned to face me. He set the glass down untouched. “Chloe has spent three years positioning herself as the necessary fixture in my public life. She assumes proximity equals permanence. She needed to understand, with absolute finality, that the door is closed.”
“By calling me your wife?” I stepped closer, needing to look into his dark, steady eyes to see if he had lost his mind or simply calculated a new angle in a game I didn't know how to play. “I scrub the baseboards in the east wing, Luciano. I mend the linen sheets. Last Tuesday, I cleaned out the fireplace in your study. I am not your wife.”
“Legally, as of six months ago, you signed the papers in my attorney's office on Fourth Street,” he replied without missing a beat, stepping closer until the clean scent of his cologne filled my senses. His gaze was soft, almost gentle, yet completely unyielding. “The ink is dry, Clara. The protection is active. Tonight was simply the first time the rest of the world had to look at the truth.”
May you like
I shook my head slowly, my mind racing back through the dull routine of my months in this fortress of a house. “Why? Why me? You could have bought any society debutante in the city to play this part.”
“I didn't buy you,” he said quietly, reaching out to brush a stray blonde lock from my forehead with a touch that was surprisingly tender for a man who commanded armed men. “And I didn't need a debutante. I needed someone who knows what it means to survive without an empire behind her. Now take off that apron. We have a long week ahead.”
