A cold kiss

Chapter four

The Cybertruck pulled over in front of an enormous mansion. Lucia’s breath hitched in her throat.

The house was three stories tall. Its white marble exterior gleamed under the warm lights, with tall columns supporting a wide balcony that curved across the front.

At the center of the front yard was a beautiful small waterfall, built with smooth stones. Water gently flowed down into a clear pool, making a calming sound that filled the air. Around the waterfall, colorful flowers bloomed in perfect rows.

“You live here?” Lucia asked, barely finding her voice.

Lorenzo stepped out with effortless ease and nodded. “I’ve got a few more like it across the country.”

Lucia swallowed hard. For someone that grew up in a modest bungalow, this was another world entirely.

“This place looks like something out of a movie,” she whispered.

He smiled. Lorenzo came around to her side, opened the door, and carried her into his arms.

“What are you doing?” she gasped.

“Carrying my wife into our home. Isn’t that what husbands do?”

Inside, the mansion was even more impressive. A wide staircase stood in the center of the grand foyer, its polished wood rails wrapped with gold accents. Overhead, a massive chandelier sparkled, casting warm light across the black and white marble floor.

To the left, a sunken living room waited for two velvet couches facing a glowing fireplace, with paintings on the walls and classical music drifting through unseen speakers. The entire place was silent, calm, and expensive without trying too hard.

Lucia looked around, eyes wide. “You really live here alone?”

“Not anymore,” he replied with a sly smile.

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, unsure of what to say.

Lorenzo chuckled and gently set her down. “You’ll get used to it. Come.”

She followed him through a hallway that led into a modern kitchen. The counters were smooth and black, and the silver appliances looked brand new. The whole place was spotless, like no one had ever used it.

Lorenzo slipped off his black jacket and draped it over a stool. He loosened his tie and unfastened the top two buttons of his shirt. A tattoo peeked out across his chest—black wings curling around a dagger. His skin, warm and smooth, caught the low kitchen light.

Lucia couldn’t help but stare.

“You’re going to leave a hole in my chest if you keep looking at me like that,” he teased, flashing a grin.

She quickly averted her gaze. “I wasn’t staring.”

“Sure you weren’t.” He took a step closer, lowering his voice. “You looked like you saw something you liked.”

His breath brushed her now pink cheeks. She hitched. No man had ever affected her like this. Not even Mike.

Lucia turned away. “Don’t flatter yourself.” she said.

He chuckled and opened the fridge. “So… what do you want to do now, wife?”

Wife

The word sounded so new in her ears, especially coming from him.

“I don't know”

“We’re married. Technically, I could do anything to you.”

Her heart skipped. Her mind betrayed her, racing with images of his strong hands ripping her clothes off, his lips brushing her neck, fingers exploring every inch of her skin.

“I…” she stammered, flustered.

He shot her a sideways glance. “Relax. I meant I could cook for you.”

She blinked. “You cook?”

“ I can be full of surprises.” He laid out tomatoes, garlic, fresh basil, and pasta. “Hope you like Italian.”

Lucia leaned on the counter, watching him move with surprising ease. He washed his hands, chopped vegetables, and tossed ingredients into a heated pan. The aroma of garlic and butter began to fill the kitchen.

Mafia men were supposed to be brutal and distant. Lorenzo was nothing like that for a man like Lorenzo Salvatore, it was the opposite or his only pretending for today.

“I lived in Rome for five years,” he said, catching her watching again. “Learned from the best.”

“That’s impressive,” she said softly.

They ate in the dining room, at the end of a long, dark table that could seat ten. But they sat close, shoulders almost touching. The pasta was rich, the sauce creamy, and the silence between them comfortable.

“I thought someone like you would have a personal chef,” she said as she finished her plate.

“I do,” he replied. “But cooking helps me think.”

When dinner ended, he stood. “Come, I’ll show you your room.”

They climbed the grand staircase, the soft steps muffled by thick carpet. He stopped at a tall door and opened it.

“This is yours.”

Lucia stepped in slowly. The room was large, with soft-colored bedding on a king-sized bed, two tall windows overlooking a lit garden, and a private bathroom to the side. A cream rug covered the floor, and a vanity stood in the corner beside a reading chair.

“You’ll be comfortable here.”

She turned to face him. “And where will you sleep?”

“Across the hall,” he said. He leaned in, kissed her forehead gently, and whispered, “Goodnight, Lucia.”

His kiss felt cold

He shut the door behind him, leaving her standing in the center of a room that felt too good to be real.

One minute she saw her world crumbling but in a second she's leaving a life she never imagined.

As the wife of Lorenzo Salvatore.

What could happen?