CHAPTER 6: MORNING AFTER

I stood in front of the master bathroom mirror, staring at my pale reflection. I turned on the cold water tap and splashed it over my face.

Dark red bruises mottled the sensitive skin of my neck, glaring physical evidence of last night's transaction.

I opened the heavy mahogany drawer and took out a tube of thick concealer.

I blended the makeup carefully over the marks, completely erasing the visible evidence of his ownership.

I chose a crisp, white silk blouse with a collar that reached all the way up to my chin.

My body might have belonged to him during the night. But my dignity in the daylight belonged entirely to me.

My thighs ached slightly with every step I took down the grand spiral staircase.

Roman had been relentless, shattering my physical defenses with his overwhelming stamina. I expected the atmosphere between us to be different today.

I followed the rich smell of espresso into the grand dining room.

Roman sat at the head of a massive, twenty-foot mahogany table. He was dressed in a pristine, tailored navy suit. He looked completely untouched by the raw, physical dominance of our wedding night.

A second man sat to his right, silently reviewing a thick stack of financial documents.

"You're late," Roman stated, his eyes never leaving the glowing screen of his tablet.

"I wasn't aware I had a strict morning schedule," I replied smoothly. I pulled out a heavy chair halfway down the long table, deliberately keeping my distance.

The second man slowly lowered his paperwork. He had sharp, hawkish features and eyes as cold and calculating as a winter storm. He wore a bespoke silver suit that screamed old money and lethal precision.

"Your father assured us Vanessa was entirely compliant," the man said softly.

"I have a name," I told him, meeting his icy gaze head-on. "It's Cora."

"Dante Ricci," Roman introduced without looking up from his emails. "My Consigliere."

Dante picked up a thin brown folder from his stack of documents. He slid it directly across the long marble table toward me.

"Open it," Dante commanded.

I pulled the folder closer and flipped open the heavy cardstock cover. Inside were dozens of printed bank statements and offshore transfer logs. My father's name was printed boldly at the top of every single page.

"Your father didn't lose twenty million dollars in a failed business venture," Dante stated, watching my eyes scan the numbers. "He gambled it all away at a Russian Syndicate underground casino."

My breath caught in my throat. "He told me the shipping company went bankrupt."

"He lied," Dante corrected coldly. "He lost the money at the roulette tables, then he borrowed from our port operations to cover his pathetic tracks."

A hot, blinding fury ignited deep in my chest. My family hadn't just sacrificed me to save their legitimate business. They had sold my body to pay off my father's degenerate gambling debts.

"I don't disagree with your assessment of him," I replied honestly, closing the folder.

Both men paused, slightly surprised by my absolute lack of familial loyalty. I didn't care what they thought of me. The truth was the truth.

"They drugged me and left me to the wolves," I continued, setting the folder aside. "I owe my family absolutely nothing."

Dante studied me for a long, heavy moment before nodding once. "We will see."

He stood up smoothly, gathering his thick stack of syndicate files. "The weapons shipment from the docks arrives at two o'clock. I'll meet you in the study, Roman."

"Make sure the perimeter is secure," Roman ordered him.

Dante offered me a slight, mocking bow of his head and walked out of the massive dining room. The heavy double doors clicked shut behind him.

The silence in the room instantly turned heavy and suffocatingly cold.

I looked at Roman, sitting at the head of the table like a stone king. He picked up his tablet again, swiping through an email as if I didn't even exist. My anger flared hot and fast again.

"Are you just going to ignore me?" I asked, my voice cutting through the quiet.

Roman didn't flinch. "I am working."

"Last night you couldn't keep your hands off me," I snapped, leaning forward in my chair. "Today I'm just a piece of furniture?"

Roman finally lowered his screen. His obsidian eyes locked onto mine, completely devoid of the burning passion from a few hours ago.

"We executed a clause in our contract last night," Roman said, his voice terrifyingly flat. "Nothing more."

"You were practically tearing my clothes off," I reminded him, my face flushing with humiliated fury. "Don't pretend it was clinical."

"It was a bodily function," he dismissed effortlessly.

His cruel words hit me like a physical slap across the face. I gasped slightly, reeling from his utter detachment.

"You are a master of compartmentalization," I spat out, my hands curling into tight fists in my lap.

"I am the head of a syndicate," Roman corrected coldly. "I don't have the luxury of emotions, Cora. Especially not with a Belmont."

"Then what am I supposed to do all day?" I demanded.

"You exist," he commanded. "You walk the gardens for your allotted hour. You read your books."

Roman stood up from the table, buttoning the center button of his expensive navy suit. He turned toward the massive dining room doors, ready to leave for his syndicate operations.

Then, he stopped abruptly.

Roman reached inside the inner breast pocket of his tailored jacket. He pulled out a sleek, black smartphone. I instantly recognized the cracked screen protector—it was my original personal phone.

He placed the device onto the marble table with a sharp, heavy click.

"I reactivated your number," Roman stated, his ice-cold eyes locking directly onto mine. "Of course, my cybersecurity team planted full audio and location surveillance protocols inside it first."

I stared down at the black screen, my heart kicking into a sudden, frantic rhythm.

"Your family—specifically Vanessa—will call you at exactly twelve o'clock today," Roman continued.

He leaned down slightly, resting his large hands flat on the table. He stared at me with a lethal, absolute warning burning in his dark eyes.

"This is your first test, Cora," Roman whispered dangerously. "Don't make me regret not killing your father yesterday."