Chapter 6

Salvatore

I t's been over a month of this hell. She doesn’t talk to me anymore, doesn’t touch me, doesn’t even fucking look at me. She used to treat me like I’m her world, now, it’s like I am nothing. A month of her giving me the cold shoulder, watching her flourish without me, has made me thirsty for her, like a man parched in a desert.

I don’t understand myself. I lied to myself, claiming that she didn’t matter, that she was just part of the plan, a piece on the chessboard. But now, her indifference is driving me insane. I failed at pretending she’s nothing to me, failed fucking miserably.

I see her eyes every time I close mine. Those eyes, filled with anger and hurt. She told me that if I didn’t love her, I wouldn’t be acting this way. She’s fucking right. I want to ram my head against the wall until all thoughts of her leave me.

I pace in my office, feeling like I’m suffocating. I take a sip of whiskey, but it doesn't make a difference. I hurl the glass against the wall, it breaks apart. I don’t give a shit.

Everything I did to try to win her back - dinners, flowers, apologies – didn’t make the slightest bit of a difference. She dismisses it as if it’s nothing, as if I’m nothing.

I’m Salvatore Agosti. I don’t lose. I don’t beg. But I’m desperate for her. I want to see that warmth in her eyes again. I want to feel like I matter to her. I’m terrified of losing her. Terrified of what I’m becoming.

I feel a fierce anger rising within me, both towards myself and towards her, for causing me to experience emotions I never intended to feel.

I need to see her. I need to make her understand. Maybe if I can hold her, press her tight against my body, I can feel normal again. Is this what she felt? Is this the same desperation, the same panic that drove her to lash out when she found out about the contract?

I accused her of throwing a temper tantrum, of overreacting. But now, I’m the one losing control. I’m the one desperate and frantic. I let her feel this way. I made her feel this way. And now, I’m getting a dose of my own fucking medicine.

I rush to the guest bedroom, wanting to drag her back to our bed, to do whatever it takes to make this bullshit stop. I barge in, my heart pounding.

But she isn’t there.

Panic grips me as I go ballistic, tearing through the mansion, checking every room, every corner. “Serena!” I shout. Where the hell is she?

I storm through the hallways like a mad man. She can’t just disappear. Not from me. I check every single room, but she isn’t there.

I grab my phone and dial Marco’s number. The phone rings only once, and he immediately picks up. “Yes, sir?”

“Did you see her leave?” I demand.

There’s a pause on the other end. “No, sir. I didn’t see her leave.”

I fume. “What do you mean you didn’t see her leave? Your job is to watch her!” I roar.

“I’m sorry, sir. I... I didn’t notice,” Marco stammers.

“Find her,” I order. “Search everywhere.”

“Yes, sir. Right away,” Marco responds, and the line goes dead.

I start pacing again. All I’m thinking about is where she could be and who she could be with. The idea of her out there, alone, or worse, with someone else, makes me want to kill. Is this what love feels like? If it is, I fucking hate it.

Cold sweat droplets drip down my back as I remember my past. "You know I do this because I love you," she would say, her voice making my skin crawl.

I remember being ten, maybe eleven, my small frame being crushed under her weight. My mother, spreading kisses all over my face, my chest, my thighs... Her breath smelled of alcohol, her touch was cold, and she would whisper, " This is love, Salvatore."

I push the memory away, my stomach turning. No. This is different. It has to be.

I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s 1 AM. Serena isn’t supposed to be out this late. She even has work early tomorrow. Marco calls me, his voice shaking. “Sir, I just saw her leave one of the clubs downtown. She’s heading back to the mansion now.”

A club? My Serena, at a club until this late? The thought of her in that environment, with bodies rubbing against her, surrounded by men... it makes my blood boil. I forcefully punch through a table close by, causing the wood to splinter.

I take a cigarette and ignite it, the smoke swirling around me while I pour myself another glass of whiskey. I wait for her in the dark. She’ll have to face me.

The door opens, and I hear her giggling. The sound, so carefree, nearly drives me over the edge. She steps into the dim light, her eyes widening slightly when she sees me.

“Enjoy your night out?” I ask as I take a gulp of the whiskey.

She shrugs, unbothered. “Yes, actually.”

I stand, my body tense. “A club, Serena? Until one in the morning?”

Her indifference only fuels my anger. “Yes, a club. What’s the big deal?”

I notice she isn’t surprised that I found out where she had been. There is a resigned acceptance in her eyes, as if she knows I will always track her every step. She understands that I will always know where to find her.

“The big deal? You’re my wife. You shouldn’t be out like that,” I bark, stepping closer.

She laughs, the sound mocking. “Your arranged wife.”

I grab her arm, pulling her close. “I’ve always cared. But you, out there with God knows who, doing God knows what—”

“Let go of me, Salvatore,” she says coldly, yanking her arm free. “You don’t own me.”

My eyes zero in on her bare finger. “Where the fuck is your wedding ring?” I bark out, my voice rising.

Her right eye twitches. “I left it behind. I didn’t want any reminders of you tonight.”

“You took off your ring?” I repeat. “You didn’t want to remember me?”

“I wanted a night without you, Salvatore,” she snaps back. “Is that so hard to understand?”

“You can’t just take off your ring and pretend you’re not married,” I growl, my grip tightening on her arm. “You think you can just walk away? Go out to clubs, have men look at you, touch you? I’ll kill anyone who even breathes next to you, Serena.”

I grind out through clenched teeth, “Did anyone touch you?” She digs her nails into her palms. “I didn’t break our vows, Salvatore. Unlike you.” The accusation stings, and I retort, “I haven’t even looked at another woman since I’ve been with you.”

I yank her closer, crushing my lips against hers. She tries to push me away, her hands shoving at my chest, but I kiss her harder, forcing her to feel my desperation, my need. After a moment, she stops resisting, her body submitting to me. I break the kiss, breathing hard, my forehead resting against hers.

It is like electricity coursing through my body, reigniting something deep within me that I had desperately missed. Her taste, her softness—it is intoxicating.

“You’re wrong,” I rasp. “I do own you. Every inch of you belongs to me. And if I ever see you without that fucking ring on your finger again, I will set the world on fire.”

She’s dazed for a moment, her eyes unfocused. But then she breaks out of it, shoving me away. “What do you want from me, Salvatore?”

“I want you to understand,” I say, my voice raw. “I reacted that way because of my past—”

“Don’t,” she cuts me off, giggling and shaking her head. “Don’t tell me some sad sob story about why you broke my heart. I don’t want to hear it.”

Shame runs through me from the tips of my toes to the ends of my hair, sharp and unforgiving. I was trying to open up, to tell her about my issues, my past, but she dismissed it as nothing more than a sob story. She brushed aside any vulnerability I was attempting to show her, leaving me feeling exposed.

I swallow it down. “It’s not a sob story. It’s the truth.”

“Your truth means nothing to me,” she says calmly. “You destroyed everything I thought we had. There’s no coming back from that.”

I look at her, my chest heaving. How can I make her see? How can I make her understand that despite everything, I need her, I want her?