Chapter 7

Chapter

Seven

I falter on the stairs as Renzo storms in, his expression thunderous. Angelo and Federico flank him, their presence like looming shadows reminds me of silent predators waiting for the perfect moment to strike. When Renzo glances up at me, the look he gives me is so dark that my knees nearly buckle. I can't do anything but stare at him, and tremble in fear. I have to grip the banister to keep from collapsing. He continues down the hallway with the others in tow, and then I hear the slam of his office door. The tension releases, and I collapse onto the steps.

I should have never listened to my mother. If that look was anything to go by, Renzo hates me now. Not that he ever liked me, except maybe as a sexual playmate. But this hate is next-level terrifying. I didn't want to take over the business, but all he knows is that I moved in right away.

Shit. Shit. Shit. I have no idea how I'm going to fix this mess. Maybe day drinking was the best plan after all. I pull myself to my feet and continue down the stairs, clutching the banister for support. I round the corner and descend the next set of stairs, the stone steps cool beneath my feet. My mother packed my things and sent them over including the box of sex toys from Pippa and Luna. Mortifying to say the least, but she forgot most of my shoes so I spend a good deal of my time barefoot. The wine cellar seems like a good place to hide out—it's quiet, secluded, and stocked with all the wine I could ever need.

The cellar is impressive, a cool, dimly lit room with walls of thick stone, designed to maintain a perfect temperature. A large marble counter dominates the center, surrounded by sleek, high-backed stools, ideal for tastings. Behind the counter, a glass-fronted cabinet houses every type of drinking glass imaginable, along with various tools of the bartending and drinking trade. The walls are lined from floor to ceiling with bottles of wine—deep reds, crisp whites, and delicate rosés. A separate wine fridge hums softly, keeping sparkling wines at just the right chill. In the corner, a weathered wooden case holds what looks like bottles from centuries past. Is that wine even drinkable?

I wander through the room, running my fingers along the cool stone walls until I find a label I recognize. Champagne. Why not? I can celebrate how incredibly short my marriage will be. Or the fact that I was, for a few hours, the head of the mafia families of Northern Italy. Or maybe just the fact that I'm still alive—though there's no guarantee that will be the case in a few hours when Renzo is done with Angelo and Federico.

The cork releases with a satisfying pop. I pull a flute from the cabinet and fill it almost to the brim. No need to be shy. I set the bottle down, pull out a stool, and take a seat, the smooth marble is icy beneath my palms. I take a big gulp of the champagne, savoring the bubbles as they dance on my tongue. I glance at my watch. Just past six. Look at that… I'm not even technically day drinking. I take another sip, slower this time. Probably should've had lunch, but I was too busy talking to my parents about what I should do next. Not that it matters now.

They set up a meeting with the heads of all the northern families for next week. I was supposed to attend to make my case, but now it's all moot. Renzo is out, and he's in control. I don't know if I'm relieved or pissed off. A bit of both, actually. The idea of running the family was daunting but exciting at the same time. I have an undergrad degree in finance and an MBA from Columbia. I was actually starting to think about how to use what I know to improve the business.

I take another sip of champagne. "Now what?" I murmur aloud. All this has made me realize I am not excited at all about just being a stay-at-home wife. There's nothing wrong with it, but I need more. If Renzo lets me live, and right now, that is a big if, will he let me work? Probably not. Australia is becoming a better and better option. I tip my glass and guzzle the rest of the champagne. The bubbles tickle my nose, but I don't care. I set the glass down and start to refill it.

"I thought I said I don't want you drinking too much."

I let out a small squeak and spill a bit of champagne. "Shit." I put the bottle down with a thud and look around for something to wipe up the spill. Renzo is leaning against the door frame, arms folded across his chest. He's fresh out of the shower, his black hair damp and falling over his forehead. The crisp white shirt he's wearing is stretched tight across his muscular chest. He is a sight to behold, and my heart skips a beat.

I could go with guilty, or penitent. Instead, I opt for sassy. "You said I couldn't get drunk in public. This isn't public."

He cocks an eyebrow at me. "So that's how it is? You're going to take what I say literally and not apply it across the board? To the letter of the law and not the spirit?"

I finish pouring my glass and then take a sip of my champagne. I set the glass back down, casting around for something to say. I'm nervous. My husband makes me nervous. "I'm glad you're out on bail," I blurt out.

"Are you?" His tone is mocking.

"Yes." It's true—I am glad he's out. Prison must be awful. Besides, I want to have sex with my husband. I run my gaze over him. Yes, I want him. Now more than ever. He's so incredibly sexy. If he's in jail fucking him is pretty much off the table…

"So, is that why you're drinking champagne? You're celebrating my release?"

He moves across the room until he's standing beside me. I look up at him and lick my lips. His gaze follows the path of my tongue. Heat radiates from his chest, igniting my arm. It warms my core. Just having him next to me is enough to turn me on. He runs his knuckle along my jawline leaving a path of fire across my skin.

"Or are you drowning your sorrows because you no longer have to lead the families?"

I blink. "What? No." I shake my head. "I stepped up because, as my mother pointed out, it made the most sense." Having him this close sends my senses into overload and makes it hard to think straight.

"Did she? And why is that?" he asks as he takes the glass from my hand and downs the rest of it. Then he throws the glass at the stone wall where it shatters into a million pieces. I try not to show my fear but a small gasp escapes my mouth. I bite my tongue. I don't want him to know his violence turns me on. Then he runs his hand down my arm, grabbing my hand and rubbing my palm with his thumb. My knees get weak.

"Well…" I lick my lips again. It's so hard to focus. "Because if I step in as the head and still have the backing of both my family and yours, we keep our spot as the ruling family of Northern Italy. If one of the others steps up, they probably wouldn't back down when you got out of prison."

"I see."

His gaze holds mine hostage. I can't look away. His emerald eyes seem to glitter, glowing from within. "It only makes sense," I finish lamely.

"Does it?" he asks. He runs his knuckle along my jawline again, and my nipples harden in response. "You were doing it for me? For our family?"

I nod, unable to speak, my mouth too dry.

Renzo's knuckle trails down my neck and into the hollow between my breasts. His fingers glide back up until they encircle my throat. His eyes darken, turning a deep green as he begins to squeeze. "Did you set me up? Did you marry me so you could be the head of the families? Was this your plan all along?"

I try to answer, but I'm struggling to get air into my lungs. His fingers dig into the skin of my neck as he lifts me off the stool. Renzo knocks it away, the stool clattering to the floor as he backs me up against the island.

Renzo's grip tightens, the pressure on my throat cutting off the last remnants of air. Panic surges through me, but the heat pooling low in my belly is undeniable. My body's reaction to his dominance is as confusing as it is real. The gleam in his eyes tells me he sees it too—he sees everything, damn him.

"Answer me, gattina ," he demands, his voice low, dangerous. His face is inches from mine, and his breath warms my lips. A pulse pounds in my ears, the frantic rhythm matches the turmoil inside me.

"N-no," I manage to choke out, the word barely audible. "I didn't… I would never…"

His fingers loosen just enough for me to suck in a desperate breath, but he doesn't let go. "You would never what?" His unyielding gaze locks on mine. "Never betray me? Never take what's mine?"

My heart hammers a wild, desperate beat. "Never betray you," I whisper. "I'm not like that. I was raised in this world. I know the consequences of betrayal. I would never do that."

"No?" His grip tightens again, and a moan escapes me before I can stop it. His eyes glitter like hard-cut emeralds, a predatory gleam in them. "Not like the others who would use me to get what they want?"

"No," I gasp. "I swear."

His hand loosens, and he releases me suddenly, leaving me gasping for air. I clutch my throat, the imprint of his fingers still burning against my skin. My knees wobble, and I brace myself against the cool marble countertop to keep from collapsing.

Renzo watches me, his expression unreadable, though the tension in his body is unmistakable. He's struggling—caught between anger and something else, something darker that stirs between us like a storm ready to break. His chest heaves with the force of his breathing, and for a moment, neither of us says anything, the silence thick with unspoken words. He leans against the cabinet and stares at me.

When I finally find my voice, it's hoarse and trembling. "Renzo, I stepped up as I was taught to do. I didn't want to take over, but my parents, my mother, demanded I do it, and she was right. It made sense. We want to keep control in our family." I curse silently. Somewhere in the last twenty-four hours, I started thinking of Renzo and me as a ‘we.'

The admission hangs in the air between us, a bitter truth that neither of us can deny. The marriage was a strategic move—a way to secure alliances to protect our families. Love had no place in it. And yet… somewhere in the last day, I found myself wanting more. Wanting him . But those feelings are dangerous, and in our world, weakness is unforgivable. Opening myself up to Renzo will only lead to heartbreak. I know that. I have seen it time and again. Only my mother has stood strong. She never loved my father but has always respected him. That's the key, she says, to a successful marriage. All I know is that I want Renzo badly, but I also want a life. I'm not sure how to balance those things.

The silence stretches on, heavy and suffocating, until I can't stand it any longer. "Renzo," I say, my voice trembling. "I'm trying to make this work. For both of us. For our families."

His expression hardens. "Trying to make it work?" he echoes, his voice incredulous. "By taking over the business behind my back? By stepping into a role that was never yours to begin with?"

"It was mine." I spit out the truth as if it's poison. My truth, the one I've been holding back for years, pretending it didn't exist. "I should've been the one to take over but I was born a woman. My father wasn't strong enough to solidify my place so I was married off to you. And I didn't do anything to create the situation, but you can be fucking sure that, given the opportunity, I will step up. That's all I did. You were in prison, Renzo. What was I supposed to do? Let everything fall apart? I had to act—I had to protect what's ours."

"Ours," he repeats, his voice dripping with disdain. "Tell me, gattina , what exactly is ours? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like everything is slipping through my fingers. I'm in prison for less than twenty-four hours and the whole world mobilized against me."

I feel the stress inside me release and turn to anger. I am done with cowering. "That's not true. We mobilized to save your ass. Angelo and the rest of your people worked to get you out of prison while presenting a united front. You know how this works. Show weakness and it's over. You weren't installed as head of the families for more than half a dozen hours before you were in prison. If I hadn't stepped up. someone else would've, and we would have lost everything. Yes, we. I am in this too. I might not have had a choice but that doesn't mean I'm going to walk away from it. I'm not some weak pathetic woman. Get used to it."

Suddenly, I realize everything I said is true. I had been forming an escape plan, but honestly, staying in this marriage gives me better options. This situation has awakened ambition in me. It was time to start thinking of it as a business not as a marriage. I am good at business. I can make this work.

Renzo pulls me to him and spins so my back is against the cabinet. His lips hover just above mine, and I can feel the tension simmering between us, a dangerous current that could either pull us together or rip us apart. I decide it's time to take control.

"Kiss me," I whisper, my voice trembling. I won't beg but I will tell him what I want. What do I have to lose?

For a moment, he hesitates, his eyes locked on mine. Then, with a low growl, he closes the distance between us, his lips crashing against mine in a kiss that's anything but gentle. It's fierce, demanding, full of all the anger and frustration we've been holding back. But beneath it, there's something else—something raw and desperate, a need that neither of us can deny.

I melt into him, my hands tangling in his hair as I kiss him back with everything I have. The taste of champagne lingers on our tongues, mingling with the heat of the moment, the fire that's been smoldering between us for far too long. His hands roam over my body, possessive and rough, as if he's trying to claim me, to remind me that I belong to him now.

I do. God help me, I do. Heat pools between my legs. That's the only way this is going to work. We have to be a team. A united front that is impenetrable. Show no weakness .

But even as the kiss deepens, as our bodies press closer together, I can't shake the lingering fear in the back of my mind. The fear that this might not be enough, that Renzo won't trust me enough or that he won't protect me. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I do need an escape plan. Just. In. Case.