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.
My future husband is a murderer.
A forewarning that I shouldn’t be in here, but I can’t stop my curiosity from piquing when I reach his closet. Inside, I find nothing but black and white. The crisp, stark cotton shirts against inky suits and torn jeans show just how much this man revels in the darkness.
I head to his bathroom, finding the same color-scheme bleeding through from the bedroom. Black marble tiles, with white veins tinged with gold. There is no longer a doubt in my mind that the bedroom I visited earlier will be mine, and this one will always be his private domain.
Even as his wife, I doubt that I’ll ever be allowed in here again. For a brief moment, a split second, sadness overwhelms me, and I realize that no matter what I do, I’ll never be someone he loves.
I’m nothing more than a contract.
A twisted obsession for him to use to fulfill his ultimate goal—revenge for my father’s actions.
Chapter 5
Enzo
When I reach the top floor of my apartment building, I find Mario and Adriano flanking the door. Both dressed in black, they offer me a nod as I near them.
“All quiet?” I ask, gesturing toward the entrance of my home.
Mario nods. “She’s been warned that we’ll be right outside. I haven’t heard her breaking anything, but then again, she’s a fiery one. She may be waiting for you on the other side with a knife or something,” he tells me, a small smile glinting on his lips.
“I am not averse to tying her to the fucking bedframe,” I inform him. “I need you both at the door while I’m out tomorrow. Valentino wants to meet with the Morettis. Franco is back from Italy, and I have a feeling we may garner support against the Irish mob that’s moving into town. I can’t take her with me, she’s too volatile now.”
“Understood,” Mario says with a nod of his head. “If you need me beside you, I’ll be there. We can get Thiago here. He arrived from London a couple of days ago.”
“I didn’t realize he’s back. Yes, call him in and you can join me in the meeting.” I nod, knowing that Thiago is one of the best. He usually looks after the outfit in London, but if he’s in the city, I’d rather have him here than someone else. Adriano is good, but I would feel better having two men watching Luna. Because as much as I know she can’t escape, I don’t trust her.
Not yet.
Perhaps never.
“You’ll stay here with Thiago until I return tomorrow night,” I inform Adriano quickly before I grab the door handle and twist it.
“Understood, sir,” he responds. He’s new to the clan, being brought here from Black Hollow Isle. A place where our Familia has trained the soldiers who work for us. A school where students learn how to kill, while getting a higher education. Since he’s arrived, Adriano has proven himself loyal when he took a bullet for me a couple of months ago when we went to war with the Cavallones. Now, I trust him with my life.
I take my leave of the men and push open the front door, only to be met with silence. Without calling to her, I make my way into the empty living room. For a moment, I wonder if she found a way to escape without my guards noticing her. But that won’t be possible since everything is locked up tight. Even the fire escape only opens with my fingerprint, so if she has fled, she would’ve jumped off the balcony. I doubt she’d risk her life that way.
Shrugging off my jacket, I hang it on the coat hook and head deeper into the apartment. When I pass by each of the open doors, I realize she’s clearly been exploring her new home.
By the time I reach my bedroom, I’m tense. I don’t allow anybody in this space. It’s mine and mine alone. But as I step into my bedroom, I hear the distinct sound of the metal hangers in my closet being pushed back and forth. It’s then that I know I’ve found my little dancer.
The perfect princess of the Cavallone clan is standing in my walk-in closet, touching my clothes. Two emotions course through me at seeing her fingertips against the material of my shirts—desire and hatred.
There is a fine line between love and hate, but this twisted need inside me makes me want to see her cry for invading my sanctuary. For handling my things. Those aren’t for her to touch, at least not yet.
Once she takes my name, she’ll be a slave to my needs. Perhaps I’ll make her my own personal maid. She can clean and cook while I’m working. I’m by no means old school, believing that women should be in the kitchen, pregnant, but with her, I can’t stop the heat from flooding my veins when I imagine her perfect body swollen with my son.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
And she is most certainly exquisite.
I shake that thought from my mind as I watch her touching my clothes before she drops her hand and grips the metal bar that holds my suit pants. They’re about waist high to her, and she shifts them around to make space for her delicate hands.
It’s then that the ballet training she’s been accustomed to shines through when she does some silly little pose, which pushes her tight ass out and curves her back beautifully. I could fuck her into submission just like that.
I fold my arms across my chest and lean against the bedframe. The four-poster bed will be a place she’ll come to know well, but she’ll never sleep beside me. As hard as her beauty makes my cock, she’s still the enemy.