CHAPTER FOUR

GABRIELE'S POV 

She's beautiful in white, and I hated myself for noticing.

Elena wore white too. Smiled like she believed in forever. Looked at me like I was her future.

This woman—her sister, whose name is finally carved into my mind: Carmela—looked at me like I'm her target.

"You're sure about this?" I asked, giving her one last chance to run.

"Are you?"

No. I'm not sure of anything except that this will end badly for both of us.

The priest turned to her as he recited the vows for her to repeat after him. The smile she showed as she said “I do” held a deadly promise made for me. 

I could see the gleam in her eyes, promising me nothing but torture, destruction, and death.

The priest turned to me and did the same. I repeated the vows. The same vows I told her sister and failed to keep. The bowtie felt tight all of a sudden.

When I say "I do," I mean it in more ways than one.

I do take you as my wife.

I do accept whatever revenge you have planned.

I do swear to protect you even as you try to destroy me.

I do.

*****

The reception ended when I decided it ended.

I'd given them three hours—smiled at the right people, accepted hollow congratulations, let the old guard speculate about strategic alliances while the young ones whispered about desperation.

None of them knew the truth. None of them needed to.

I caught Giovanni's eye across the room and gave a slight nod. He understood. Ten minutes later, we were in the car.

Carmela sat beside me in silence, taking up half the backseat with that ridiculous dress. White silk and lace, like an angel. A fucking lie.

She looked like a bride. Moved like an assassin.

I'd married her six hours ago.

I'd regret it by morning.

The driver knew better than to speak. Carmela knew better than to ask questions. Smart girl. Her sister used to fill every silence with nervous chatter.

I preferred the quiet.

The gates opened as we approached—Francesco had the timing down to the second. Good. I paid him to be perfect.

"We're home," I said.

Carmela's jaw tightened. Hated that word. Home. As if this place could ever be home to someone planning my murder.

I didn't wait for a response. Opened my own door—the guards knew touching her without permission meant losing a hand—and walked around to her side.

She was already stepping out, ignoring my offered hand.

Definitely her father's daughter.

"This way." I moved up the steps. She'd follow or she wouldn't. Either way, I was going inside.

Her heels clicked behind me. Smart.

Maria had done her job—staff dismissed, champagne chilling, candles waiting. All the romantic theater expected for a wedding night between two people who'd rather kill each other.

I led Carmela through the foyer, past the formal rooms, toward the stairs. I watched her in my peripheral vision. She was cataloging everything. Security cameras. Exit routes. Weapons within reach.

Let her. She'd find thirteen cameras on this floor alone. What she wouldn't find were the other forty-seven.

I opened the double doors to the room without ceremony.

My room. Not ours. Never ours.

Elena's things were gone—packed away weeks ago because I didn't need the reminder that I'd failed. The room was mine again. Clean.

Carmela stopped in the doorway.

"This was her room." Not a question.

"It's mine. Now it's yours too."

"Don't—" Her voice sharpened. "Don't say 'ours' like this is real."

I turned to face her. Let her see exactly how little I cared about her comfort.

"We're married. In every way that matters in our world. That makes it real."

"A transaction. An arrangement—"

"Semantics." I shrugged off my jacket and tossed it over a chair. "Here are the terms. We share this suite. We share that bed. Everyone—staff, family, associates—believes this marriage is real. Which means you'll play your part."

"I'm not sleeping with you."

"I don't recall asking."

That stopped her. Good.

I loosened my tie, let her absorb the implication. 

"But we share the bed. Political necessity. Servants talk. Separate rooms raise questions I don't feel like answering."

"I don't care what—"

"You should." I let my voice drop—the tone that made grown men reconsider their life choices. "Because perception is power. And right now, my enemies are watching for weakness. A fake marriage is a weakness. Weakness gets people killed."

I paused, let that sink in.

"People like you."

Her chin lifted. Defiant. Brave or stupid, I hadn't decided yet. She wore her feelings boldly on her face which was stupid.

Blatantly wearing your feelings like a sleeve was another weakness.

"Fine. We share the bed. But if you touch me—"

"I won't."

The words came out colder than intended. Let her think it was disdain. Better than the truth—that I didn't trust myself to touch her and remember she wasn't Elena.

"Good," she said. "Then we understand each other."

"Perfectly.”

She moved to the dresser, started removing jewelry with sharp, angry movements. The diamond earrings I'd given her as a wedding gift— traditional, expensive, meaningless— she dropped them like they burned.

"Your things are in the closet," I said. "Bathroom's right through that door. You have ten minutes."

"Excuse me?"

"Ten minutes to change and get in bed. After that, I'm turning off the lights and going to sleep. You can join me or sleep on the floor. Your choice."

Her eyes flashed. "You don't give me orders."

I moved closer. Not threatening—didn't need to be. Just close enough that she had to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact.

"In this house, I give everyone orders. You're not special just because you want me dead." I held her gaze. "Nine minutes now."

She grabbed something from the closet and disappeared into the bathroom. The lock clicked.

Stupid. Like a fucking lock would stop me if I wanted to go in.

I crossed to the bar cart and poured whiskey. The bottle was half empty. I'd fix that problem tonight.

The burn helped. Reminded me I was still alive, still functional, still the man who ran thisorganization with an iron fist even when everything inside me was ash.

I poured another. Considered a third.

Then, the bathroom door opened.

Fuck.