Chapter 3

THE FORTRESS

~GISELLE POV~

I stopped crying somewhere around the bridge.

Not because I felt better, not because I had accepted what happened. But because my body physically ran out of tears.

Turns out you can only cry so much before your eyes just give up.

Alessandro was on his phone. Had been since we got in the car. Making calls in Italian. His voice was low and calm like he was discussing dinner plans, not cleaning up a fucking murder scene.

I stared out the window. Watched the city get smaller. Watched the buildings turn into trees. Watched my old life disappear behind us.

My wedding dress was ruined. Covered in ash and dirt and probably tiny bits of my parents. The white silk had grey lines across it like someone had taken a charcoal pencil and just dragged it everywhere.

I should take it off. I should demand he stop the car. I should do literally anything except sit here like a mannequin.

But I couldn't move.

Shock is weird. It makes your brain go fuzzy. Makes everything feel far away. Like you're watching yourself in a movie.

"Where are we going?" My voice came out scratchy, raw from screaming. Alessandro finished his call and put the phone in his pocket. He looks at me.

"Home."

"My home is…." I stopped, because my home was gone. The Castellano mansion would go to Marcus now, everything would go to Marcus.

I had nothing.

"You live with me now," Alessandro said. It wasn't a question. It was a fact. I looked back out the window. We had left the city completely. We were on some private road surrounded by trees, lots of trees.

"Where the hell are we?"

"Long Island. My estate is on the water."

Estate, of course, because a house would be too normal. The gates appeared out of nowhere. Huge black iron things that looked like they belonged in a medieval castle.

They were at least twelve feet tall with spikes on top and cameras on every corner. The car slowed. A guard stepped out of a booth. He had an assault rifle strapped across his chest.

An assault rifle. For a residential property.

What the fuck.

The guard looked in the car, saw Alessandro, and nodded, the gates groaning open. We drove through and I counted the guards we passed, one by the gate, two on the path, and three near the trees.

At least six armed men are on the approach.

"Jesus Christ," I muttered. "Are you expecting a war?"

"I am always expecting a war," Alessandro said. "That's why I win them." The trees cleared and the house came into view.

I had expected old money, Gothic architecture, Something dark and dramatic like the mafia houses in movies but this was the opposite.

The house was modern, made of glass, steel and clean lines. It sat on a cliff overlooking the ocean. Huge windows everywhere reflecting the grey sky.

It looked like something from an architecture magazine, beautiful, expensive, and cold. Like it was designed by someone who hated warmth.

The car stopped in front of the entrance.

"We're here," Alessandro said.

I didn't move, Alessandro got out and walked around to my side, he opened the door. I stared straight ahead.

"Giselle."

"I am not going in there."

"Yes you are."

"Make me."

He sighed, then he leaned in and scooped me up, he picked me up bridal style like I weighed nothing. Like this was completely normal.

"Put me down!" I shoved at his chest.

"No." He kicked the car door shut and started walking toward the house.

"Alessandro, I swear to God…."

"Swear all you want. You're covered in ash and you're going inside."

I looked at the guards we passed. They didn't even blink. Like their boss carrying a struggling woman in a ruined wedding dress was just another normal thing.

Maybe it was.

The front door opened before we reached it. A woman stood there. Older, maybe fifties, wearing a plain black dress and the most nonchalant face I had ever seen.

"Welcome home, sir," she said.

"Martha. Draw a bath in the master suite. Burn this dress. Prepare dinner for two."

"Yes sir."

She disappeared into the house. Alessandro carried me through the entrance and I got my first look at my new prison.

Everything was black or white or grey. The floors were shiny concrete, and the furniture looked expensive and uncomfortable. There were no photos on the walls, no plants, no color anywhere. It looked like a hotel, or a morgue.

"This isn't a home," I said. "It's a mausoleum."

"You will get used to it."

"I would rather die."

"That can be arranged," he said casually. "But not today."

He carried me up a floating staircase. Down a hallway lined with more grey walls. Through a set of double doors. The master bedroom was huge. And surprise, decorated in fifty shades of black.

Black bed, black sheets, black curtains. Even the view through the massive windows looked grey because of the clouds.

"You have a real thing for color, huh?" I said.

He set me down on my feet. Finally, I immediately stepped back and put distance between us. He just watched me, those pale blue eyes tracking my every move.

"Bathroom's through there," he said, nodding to a door on the left. "Martha's drawing you a bath. Get cleaned up."

"And then what?"

"And then we talk."

"I don't want to talk to you. I want to leave."

"Can't do that."

"Why? You already got what you wanted. You married me. My parents are dead. The deal is done."

He stepped closer, and I stepped back. My spine hit the wall, and he stopped a foot away.

"The deal isn't done until I say it's done, Giselle. And right now?" He reached up and touched my face. His thumb brushed over my cheekbone, coming away grey with ash. "Right now you're a mess. So you're going to get in that bath, put on the clothes Martha leaves for you, and eat something. Because you haven't eaten since yesterday and you get headaches when you skip meals."

I froze.

"How do you know that?"

He smiled, but it was not a nice smile, it was the smile of someone who knows way too much.

"I know everything about you." Then he turned and walked into the bathroom. I heard water running. Heard him say something to Martha.

Then he came back out. Walked past me to the bedroom door.

"Alessandro."

He stopped and looked back.

"The door," I said. "You're not going to lock it, right?" He stared at me for a long moment. Then he stepped out and closed the door.

‘Click’ The lock turned, I ran to it, and yanked on the handle. It was locked. "ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?" I screamed at the door. "YOU LOCKED ME IN?"

His voice came through the wood, calm, bored. "For your protection."

"PROTECTION? YOU KILLED MY PARENTS!"

"I saved you from dying with them."

"LET ME OUT RIGHT NOW OR I SWEAR TO GOD…."

"Take your bath, Giselle. I will be back in an hour."

I heard his footsteps walk away. I stood there staring at the door. My hands were shaking. My whole body was shaking.

I was locked in. He fucking locked me in.

The bath was still running in the other room. I could hear it, I could smell whatever expensive bath salts Martha had put in. I walked into the bathroom like I was walking to my own execution.

It was huge. Black marble everywhere. A massive soaking tub that looked like it could fit four people. The water was steaming and smelled like lavender.

There were clothes laid out on the counter, a black silk nightgown, and a black robe. Of course.

I looked at myself in the mirror.

Holy shit.

I looked like I had crawled out of a grave. My makeup was smudged down my face in black lines. My hair was falling out of the pins. The white dress was grey and ripped at the hem.

I looked like a ghost. I peeled the dress off. It stuck to my skin. When it finally came off I threw it in the corner. I never wanted to see it again.

I got in the bath. The water was hot. Almost too hot. But it felt good. It felt real. I sank down until my chin touched the water.

And then I started crying again.

Big ugly sobs that made my whole body shake. I cried for my parents. For my freedom. For the fact that I was trapped in this house with a man who knew everything about me and I knew nothing about him.

Except that he killed people. And he had been watching me since I was twelve. And he probably killed my father.

That thought made me cry harder. I cried until the water went cold. Until my fingers were wrinkled. Until I had nothing left. Then I got out and put on the clothes he had picked for me.

The nightgown was silk. It felt expensive against my skin. It was also way too revealing. The neckline plunged. The hem barely covered my thighs.

This is what he wanted me to wear? I put on the robe and tied it tight.

I tried the bathroom door. It opened. I walked back into the bedroom.

Alessandro was sitting in a chair by the window. He had changed. Black t-shirt. Black pants. Barefoot. He looked up when I entered. His eyes tracked down my body then back up to my face.

"Better," he said.

There was a tray of food on the table next to him. Pasta. Bread. Water. My stomach growled. Traitor.

"Eat," he said.

"I am not hungry."

"You're starving. Sit down and eat."

"Stop telling me what to do."

He stood up. Walked over to me. Grabbed my arm and pulled me to the table.

"Sit."

I sat. Mostly because my legs were tired of holding me up. He pushed the tray toward me. I stared at the food. It looked good. It smelled good.

I picked up the fork and took a bite. It was the best pasta I had ever had. Which made me hate him more. He watched me eat. Didn't say anything, he just watched.

When I finished he took the tray and set it aside.

"I want my own room," I said.

"No."

"I am not sleeping in the same bed as you."

"Yes you are."

"You can't force me."

He walked over to the bed. Pulled back the covers. Then he walked to the couch by the window and sat down. "You sleep there," he said, pointing to the bed. "I will sleep here."

I blinked. "What?"

"I am not touching you tonight, Giselle. You just watched your parents die. I am not a monster."

"You literally are a monster."

"Fair." He grabbed a blanket from somewhere and stretched out on the couch. "But I am a monster with boundaries."

I stared at him.

"Why?" I asked. "Why not just... why wait?” He looked at me, like really looked at me.

"Because when I finally touch you," he said quietly, "I want you to want it too." Heat flashed through my body, unwanted, unwelcome.

"That will never happen."

He smiled. "We will see."

I walked to the bedroom door. I tried the handle again, but it was still locked. "Let me out," I said.

"No."

"Alessandro…."

"You will run. Or you will do something stupid. Or you will hurt yourself. I am not taking that risk."

"I won't…"

"You will." He closed his eyes. "Go to bed, Giselle. We will talk in the morning."

"I can't sleep in here with you."

"You don't have a choice."

I looked at the locked door. Then at him on the couch. Then at the huge bed that looked like a black hole waiting to swallow me. I walked to the bed. Climbed in. Pulled the covers up to my chin. The sheets smelled like him. Sandalwood and something darker.

I lay there staring at the ceiling. Listening to him breathe across the room. My parents were dead. I was married. I was locked in a room with a killer.

And the worst part? The absolute worst fucking part? I felt safer in this locked room with Alessandro Romano than I ever had in my own home.

And I had no idea what that said about me.