Page 146 of Vicious Intentions
No… not just a bed. He wants me to share a life with him.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I mutter, pressing a hand to my forehead.
Of course he expects me to fulfill my role as his wife. I heard the hushed murmurs from theCosa Nostra caposearlier tonight. How they were over the moon, celebrating the suddendeath of Matteo’s father, finally relinquishing his seat as boss to his eldest son.
How did I not read the writing on the wall? Acapomust ensure his bloodline lives on. A boss, even more so.
I was never meant to be a wife only on paper. Yes, I served my purpose in sparking a war with the Outfit, just as they intended, but my purpose doesn’t end there. Matteo will need sons. And as his wife, I am expected to give them to him. There’s no other way about it. I was foolish to believe otherwise.
That’s why he’s being so kind to me. That’s why he hasn’t locked me away in a cell somewhere. That’s why he brought me into his home from the start. This was always a part of his plan. And even if I refuse and give him free rein to take as many mistresses as he wants, it doesn’t change one universal truth in our world—aCapo dei Capineeds heirs, not bastards.
Suddenly, this wedding dress feels like an albatross. Heavy and unrelenting. Something meant to weigh me down until I break. I push myself upright and start tearing it off. My fingers are frantic and careless as I rip the fabric, snapping its buttons. But I don’t care, and I don’t stop. I just need it off me.
Once every stitch of fabric pools at my feet, I rush into the ensuite bathroom and step under the shower, cranking the water as hot as it will go. I stand there, letting it pour over me, trying to wash away the stench of my impending future. No matter how long I stand there, I still feel unclean. Dirty.
Matteo hasn’t even touched me, and it already feels like something has seeped into my skin, something I can’t scrub off.
I step out of the shower with water still dripping from my body, and brace my hands against the sink. The mirror is fogged over, hiding me from myself.
I wipe away the condensation with trembling fingers. There I am—the only person at fault for the mess I’ve made of my life.
I was more than willing to sacrifice myself if it meant ensuring my family’s safety. I even knew that marrying Matteo would be seen as a betrayal in the Outfit’s eyes. But giving him heirs… there’s no coming back from that.
Even if I managed to escape this godforsaken city, my father wouldn’t be able to protect me. The Outfit would deem me a traitor and demand a traitor’s death.
Matteo has killed me. Without ever firing a gun or using a single bullet, he has already killed me.
I can’t go home. I can never go home again. And this… this will never be my home.
God…what am I going to do?
“Anna? Sweetheart? Are you okay in there?” Matteo’s voice comes from the other side of the door.
“I thought you said I could have some privacy,” I accuse, unable to hide the bite in my voice.
“It’s been an hour, wife,” he replies, his voice quieter now.
An hour. Has it really been that long?
I glance around the vast bathroom and wonder if I could just stay here. Sleep here. Hide here. Live out the rest of my life within these four walls.
“Snap out of it, Anna. And stop acting like a goddamn victim. Remember. You’re the villain.”My sister’s voice echoes in my head as the last lifeline I have. The one thing I can still hold onto.
She’s right. I can’t let Matteo turn me into a victim. I can’t let my poor choices of the past dictate my future. If there is any hope for me, then I have to be the villain. I have to behisvillain. Which means that my husband’s dreams of an heir die with him. I refuse to give him that part of me. He’s taken more than enough as it is.
With new resolve, I straighten my spine, grab a towel, and wrap it around my frame. When I finally open the bathroomdoor, Matteo is sitting on the bed in sweats and a T-shirt, looking as though he’s just stepped out of the shower himself.
I thought he said he had work to do. Was that a lie so he could give me some time alone to gather myself? Why would he do that? Hmm.
When he lifts his head to look at me, his eyes darken as his hands fist the duvet at his sides. And that’s when I realize I’ve just walked into our bedroom wearing nothing but a towel that barely clings to me. I might as well have walked in naked for all the good it does.
My forehead creases, however, when Matteo quickly averts his gaze, turning away and pointing toward a dresser on the other side of the room.
“There should be some nightgowns for you in there.”
Not having to be told twice, I walk to my side of the room and open the first drawer, grateful to find a modest nightgown among the clothes he bought me. But before I dare let go of my towel, I glance over my shoulder, only to find Matteo still turned away, giving me his back. I change quickly, pulling the fabric over my damp skin, then force myself to walk toward the bed. It’s only when he hears me slip beneath the covers that he turns my way, looking more composed than he was a minute ago.
I steady my breathing so he doesn’t notice my anxiousness as he slides in beside me. I stare at the ceiling for a bit, gripping the sheet, and before I lose my nerve, I force the words out, “I’m not sleeping with you. Ever.”
