That got his full attention, though. And I knew from the way he slowly tucked away his phone and stalked toward me, leaning down as he held my gaze, something dark and wicked in his eyes, that I’d fucked up.
“I will talk about your panties anytime I want, Isabella. Or have you forgotten that you will be my wife in all ways a woman is a wife?” he asked.
That flip-flop in my stomach, that was absolutely disgust. Right?
It was a moment of pure insanity that had me lashing out. And I mean lashing out. I cocked my arm back and slapped him across the face. Hard enough that the sound ricocheted around the empty room.
Oh, I’d fucked all the way up that time.
Because the men in the room all stiffened and reached for their weapons.
“One, little lamb,” he said, running his fingertips across the red mark on his cheek. “You get one of those. Now get your ass up to the apartment before I drag you there myself. Terzo,” he called, keeping unnerving eye contact the whole time it took for his brother to move in at my size.
“Ready?” Terzo asked, tone lighter, like he was trying to deescalate the situation.
“Yeah,” I agreed, gaze moving away from Primo, looking at his little brother who seemed like a more friendly face at that moment. “Sure,” I added, falling into step with him as he led me away from the boss of the Esposito crime Family.
My soon-to-be husband.
“Why are we going up?” I asked when we walked into the oversized elevator in the warehouse.
“Primo lives here,” Terzo said, shrugging.
“He lives in a warehouse?”
“The top floor,” Terzo confirmed. “The lower floor is for the trucks to back up into and the workers to load in and out. The second floor is the meat processing and packaging center. We are leaving the third floor. And the top is Primo’s place.”
“He lives above a meat packaging facility?” I asked, nose wrinkling.
“Primo likes to be close to work if or when something is going down,” Terzo said as the elevator came to a stop.
The doors opened to a, well, metal box.
My stomach immediately dropped at the tight space.
“Half-inch steel wall, a layer of Kevlar, then another half inch steel wall,” Terzo explained. “It’s bulletproof,” he told me when I didn’t respond. Not because I wasn’t interested but because I felt like the air was suddenly very thick in the small space as the doors behind us slid closed.
Terzo pressed a button on the wall, making a drawer move out. He pressed his finger into a screen there, then ran his fingertips over a number pad, typing in a passcode.
Then, finally, what felt like a lifetime later, the box opened, and I felt like I could take a proper breath again.
I don’t know what I thought the home of a man like Primo Esposito would be like. But this definitely wasn’t it.
It was, well, homey.
I guess I figured a cold man like him would be all about that awful, industrial look.
But no.
The whole space felt warm and inviting, if a bit masculine, but not in an oppressive way. The walls were exposed red brick, the floors dark hardwood, and the ceilings were exposed wooden beams stained to match the floor. Except for in one area where there was a closed-off loft. The bedroom, I figured. And there was only one.
I tried not to focus on that. It wouldn’t do me any good.
I focused on the space instead.
It was huge.
I’d seen the warehouse from outside, but I’d been a little too busy running for my life to take in the size. But it must have been a big warehouse to make such a roomy space.
Windows lined the whole front of the building, letting in a fair amount of light, but there was some kind of film on them that didn’t let it come in completely.
In the center of the room was the living room with a giant brick fireplace that seemed to separate the living room with its framed flatscreen, brown leather couches, and a long, low table behind the couches filled with what looked like a huge collection of records with the player perched on top.
When I took a couple steps to the side, sure enough, I saw more exposed brick and windows, but also an all-black kitchen. The cabinets and cupboards, the countertop, and all the appliances looked to be black stainless steel. It was a big kitchen, too, but all standards, not just New York City ones.
I loved to cook.
But I’d be damned if I ever cooked for him.
“You’re free to roam around,” Terzo said, walking over toward the couches and dropping down, reaching for his phone. “It’s yours now too,” he added, and his words were like a kick to the stomach.
It was mine now.
Because I would never see my own apartment again.
Okay, admittedly, this one was much nicer than mine, but mine was full of the love I’d put into it. It was my safe space. It was the one place in the world I had to go to when everything felt like it was falling apart, and I could bundle under the covers and recover.
I would never have that again.
This would be my home.
This warehouse apartment was owned by a man who’d forced me into agreeing to marry him.
A pathetic whimpering sound rose up my throat.
My gaze shot over toward Terzo, not wanting him to hear if I was about to have another weak, emotional moment. I opened my mouth to say something to him about exploring the upper level before I remembered his words.
This was mine now.
I didn’t need to explain myself to him.
Squaring my shoulders and lifting my chin, even if my insides felt like they were shaking, I made my way across the apartment toward the staircase that led up.
It wasn’t that I wanted to be in Primo’s bedroom. In fact, it was the last place I wanted to be. But it was the only place I could see that I could escape for a little while.
I needed to get myself together.
I might have been stuck in an impossible situation, but I was not going to let Primo see that he was getting the better of me. I needed to wash my face. I needed to give myself a pep talk. And then I needed to slip behind a shield of cold indifference.
It was the only way I was going to make it through this sham of a wedding.
And whatever might come afterward.
Primo’s bedroom was, essentially, a brick-walled box. No windows. But the anxiety didn’t build as I made my way toward the door that looked suspiciously like the same material the metal box we’d stepped into from the elevator. Because the bedroom stretched the entire width of the warehouse and about a third of the length.
There was a moment of hesitation as I reached toward the handle, a part of me worried it wouldn’t open without a code, and some prideful part of me not wanting to have to ask Terzo Esposito to give it to me.
The matte black knob turned in my hand, though, and I felt a trip in my heartbeat as I pushed it open. Some twisted depth of my mind had me wondering if this was going to turn into some cheesy erotic fiction movie, and I was going to walk into a full-on sex dungeon complete with whips and chains. He already carried handcuffs on him, after all.
But I simply walked into a bedroom.
Like the floor below, the walls were all exposed brick. There was the same dark wood floor and the same exposed wooden beam ceiling. The bed was enormous. A California King, perhaps? It was impossible to know since any apartment I’d ever been in was lucky if it could hold a queen, let alone anything bigger. It had a sturdy wood frame stained the same color as the floor and all-black bedding. Two nightstands flanked it in a matte black color. Each had a lamp.