004 — THE MAD MAN

VIOLA

Cosimo reaches for me, burying his face against my stomach, his massive shoulders heaving. My pulse kicks into a frenzy as his muscular arms wrap around my waist. What is this? Why is he—

"Mamma, leave us, please," he says in a hoarse voice.

Ottavia hesitates, her gaze meeting mine for a second. Then she turns and walks out with worry written all over her face.

Blowing out a breath through my nostrils, I attempt to pull away, but his arms tighten, making me gasp.

"Cosimo!"

"Don't leave me," he says, and I narrow my eyes at him.

"I have made up my mind. No amount of begging—" The words break off into a startled gasp when he looks up, strands of his hair dipping over his bloodshot eyes.

Desperation and anguish. It's all I can see in their depths. Perhaps the old me might have faltered. But I still remember the Cosimo that abandoned me and left me to die.

My breathing quickens.

I can't let him trap me. If he won't let me go, I'll make him.

"I don't love you anymore," I say, and his eyes widen.

"Viola—"

"I'm in love with someone else," I blurt out, and his whole body goes rigid.

Slowly, his brows draw together, the vicious spark returning to his eyes. That's it. That's more like the ruthless man I know.

The warmth quickly drains from his face.

"Take that back," he says, his voice dangerously low.

Determined not to give in, I fold my arms. "He's a much better man than you. At least, I don't have to beg for scraps of his attention—"

The words have barely left my lips when he rises to his feet and tosses me over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

"Cosimo!" I cry, startled.

"You brought this upon yourself," he deadpans, and my mouth drops open.

The nerve of this—

"Put me down, you arrogant bastard!"

I pound my fists against Cosimo's back, kicking my legs as he carries me out of the bathroom. He doesn't even flinch.

"I swear, if you don't put me down this instant—"

He kicks open our bedroom door and deposits me on our enormous bed.

I kick at him, narrowly missing his stomach, and try to crawl away. But I married a six-foot-four nightmare with ridiculously long arms.

He catches me around the waist and pulls me back.

"Cosimo!" I shriek, twisting around to slap him.

He catches my wrist. I try using the other hand. He catches that too and somehow manages to keep both my wrists secured in one enormous hand.

"Are you finished?" he asks, breathing heavily.

"NOT EVEN CLOSE!"

I attempt another kick. He dodges it. Then, to my absolute horror, he starts unbuttoning his shirt.

My eyes widen. "What are you doing?"

He pulls off his shirt, and I try to escape again. But it's useless. A moment later, he's using his shirt to secure my wrists to the headboard.

For an extraordinary nanosecond, my brain simply refuses to understand what's happening.

"Did you..." My voice comes out strangled. "Did you just TIE ME TO OUR BED?"

Cosimo steps back, his bare chest rising and falling rapidly.

I yank at my wrists, but the shirt holds. Someone definitely has a fucking death wish!

"UNTIE ME!" I yell.

He drags a hand through his hair, looking everywhere except at me. A vein throbs in his forehead, a trace of regret flashing across his face very briefly.

"Cosimo!"

He starts pacing. I stare in disbelief as he walks towards the windows, turns around, and comes back.

What the hell is wrong with him?

"You're not seriously going to leave me like this!"

He keeps pacing, his jaw clenched so tightly that I can see the muscles moving beneath his skin.

"Answer me!"

"FUCK!" he curses, and I jump.

Cosimo stops abruptly, his eyes closing. Then he exhales heavily, planting one hand on his hip while the other rubs his forehead.

I've never seen him like this. He looks completely overwhelmed.

I hope he explodes. Preferably into a million tiny pieces that I can sweep into the nearest dustbin.

"Is this a joke?" I say through gritted teeth.

He opens his eyes and looks at me. For a moment, anguish crosses his face. Then he approaches the bed and crouches beside me.

"Listen to me carefully, Lillà. Stay here. Don't struggle. I'll be back."

My mouth falls open. "Excuse me?"

"I have something to take care of."

"Then TAKE CARE OF MY WRISTS FIRST!"

He straightens, glancing at the bedroom door. His phone starts ringing, and he pulls it from his pocket, silencing the call without answering.

"Cosimo, I'm warning you."

He looks at me again. "Fiorella's with Mamma. She's safe. I'll come back shortly."

"That's not what I'm worried about, you insufferable—"

"Please, Viola. Just stay still."

And then he leaves. He actually walks out of our bedroom, closing the door behind him.

For a horrible moment, I’m back on that surgical bed, struggling against the restraints while nobody listens to me. Nausea swells inside me.

Then I look at Cosimo’s shirt securing my wrists, and the fear gives way to white hot rage.

One second passes. Two. Then three.

"WHAT THE FUCK?"

I yank against the shirt so hard that the headboard rattles. This is unbelievable!

I ask for a divorce, and his solution is to tie me to our marital bed like some kind of deranged caveman?

I twist my wrists, trying to work one hand free. But his stupid shirt is made from ridiculously expensive fabric that refuses to tear.

I attempt to push myself higher against the pillows. Perhaps if I can loosen the knot with my teeth—

No. That's impossible.

I turn my head towards the bedside table.

My phone. It's right there. Barely two feet away.

I stretch my leg towards it, but all I accomplish is knocking a decorative cushion onto the floor.

I hear footsteps outside, and I stop struggling.

The door opens and Cosimo steps inside.

"Untie me," I hiss, my voice shaky.

He approaches the bed, his eyes travelling over my dishevelled appearance before settling on my wrists.

Gently, he cups my face with one hand. "Are you in pain?"

I laugh coldly, angry tears pricking my eyes.

"Yes. A terrible pain in my backside. His name is Cosimo Domenico."

He exhales through his nose and retrieves the phone from the bedside table.

Wait. That's my phone!

"Put that down!"

He slips it into his trouser pocket. I nearly choke on my own saliva.

"What? So you can call him?"

Oh, bloody hell.

"Cosimo, I swear—"

"I need to make a call. I'll be back." He turns towards the door, and the bastard walks out.

Again.

I stare at the closed door, trembling with rage. This cannot be happening.

I've been given a miraculous second chance to save my daughter, reclaim my career, and escape the marriage that ruined my life.

And on my very first morning, my husband has held me hostage inside my own bedroom!

"YOU OVERGROWN, ARROGANT, CONTROL-FREAKING ASSHOLE!"

He's going to pay for—

"And I'm fucking telling you, Enzo! It's not safe! Get back here!"

I freeze at the sound of Cosimo's furious voice outside the bedroom.

Enzo?

For a moment, I wonder what his younger brother has done to make him so angry. Then my stomach plummets as a terrible memory resurfaces.

How could I have forgotten?

I remember the black suits, the flowers, and Ottavia crying so hard at the funeral that she fainted.

Enzo Domenico is supposed to die tomorrow. And his death was only the beginning of my misery.

Because after we buried him, his grieving widow moved into our home.

Corina. My husband's first love.