Chapter 2. Till Death Do Us Part

“What did you say?”

His voice turned colder as he snapped around and glared at me.

The anger in his steel-grey eyes made me lower mine.

“I said…” I swallowed, wetting my dry lips. “Now that your first love is back, we should get an annulment.”

One moment, he was glaring at me from three feet away.

The next, he was standing right in front of me.

His arm closed around my waist, and he turned me toward the mirror. His hard, bare chest pressed against my back, making me shiver despite the thin fabric of my dress between us.

Before I could react, he snatched the necklace from my hand. The sudden pull made my fingers sting.

His grip tightened around my waist as his angry expression reflected in the mirror.

“Playing hard to get, huh?” His voice was low and cold as he slipped the necklace around my neck. “You know very well that divorce isn't an option in the famiglia. I'm done with your pathetic act. You disgust me, Gia.”

He leaned closer to fasten the clasp behind my neck, using his teeth. His lips brushed my skin, making me close my eyes and bite my lip to keep the sound that threatened to escape.

I clenched my hands into fists, digging my nails into my palms, but I still couldn’t stop my body from reacting to him like it always did.

Traitor.

He stepped back and turned me to face him, looking me over before his eyes settled on the necklace. The diamonds glittered against my skin, almost outshining me.

He sneered.

“Playing innocent doesn’t suit you.” His fingertips skimmed over the cold diamonds, trailing down to brush the sensitive dip of my collarbone. A sudden shiver broke across my skin, sending a chill straight down my spine.

“Sixty million. Isn’t that enough to make you behave?”

There he was, using his wealth and power to force me into submission, just as he always did. But I wasn't a transaction he could buy or a possession he could control.

I was tired of it all—his arrogance, his humiliation, and the price I had paid for loving a man who had always been out of my league. I was exhausted from living in the shadows of his life, sharing his bed while he paraded Naya around as though she were his real wife. He gave me gifts as if they were compensation for everything he put me through, yet he couldn't even acknowledge me as his wife in front of the world.

“If you hate me so much, why won't you just let me go?” I whispered, my lips trembling as the pain in my chest crept into my voice.

He would never admit it, but I knew he hated me. He hated me for coming between him and Naya, for being an embarrassment he didn't want the world to know about. That was why he had never taken me out as his wife or introduced me to anyone as Mrs. Romano. Yet he had no problem being seen with the beautiful women hanging off his arm. He never hid them. He never cared what people thought when he was with them.

But me? I was the wife he kept hidden.

He moved before I could react, shoving me back until my spine hit the wall. I winced, squeezing my eyes shut on instinct. Before I could even process what was happening, he pinned my wrists above my head, making me gasp. His warm, heavy breath fanned across my face, and I didn’t dare open my eyes to look at his angry face.

“Because in our world, there’s only one way in and no way out. You’re stuck with me, mia moglie…”

My eyes snapped open in panic at his words, and I saw him leaning down, closing the distance between us. But just before his lips could touch mine, I quickly turned my face to the side. His kiss landed hard against my cheek.

A sharp, frustrated breath escaped through his nose. His grip on my wrists tightened, while his free hand clamped around my jaw. His fingers dug into my cheeks, forcing my lips apart as he turned my face back toward him until I had no choice but to stare straight into his icy grey eyes, bloodshot with fury.

“…till death do us part,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, lethal vow.

Before I could catch my breath or pull away, his mouth came down hard against mine, as if sealing his vow.

His mouth crashed over mine, hard enough to cut off my protest. What started as an act of absolute dominance turned wild and dangerous when his tongue forced its way past my parted lips. He tasted of bitter whiskey and raw anger, taking my mouth with an unrestrained hunger that made my mind go blank and my legs feel weak beneath me.

But the way he kissed me and held me so close to his body didn't feel like punishment. It was as if he'd been waiting for this all evening, anticipating the moment when he could finally pull me into his arms and have me.

It didn't feel like he was in a hurry or acting out of cold duty. It had never felt that way whenever we were intimate.

He kissed me so deeply, so passionately, so sensually, as if he wanted me to give in to his seduction, as if he wanted me to participate instead of simply taking what he wanted. Just like he always did in our marital bed—making me moan, cry, and scream, not from pain, but from immense pleasure.

His warm breath and intoxicating scent—so masculine, so intense—overwhelmed my senses, and my legs began to give out. Before I could collapse, his hold on my wrists loosened, and his arm hooked beneath my thighs, lifting me off the floor.

I gasped and quickly grabbed his shoulder, afraid I would fall. I weighed nearly two hundred pounds, yet he carried me as if I weighed nothing at all. He walked without any visible effort, reminding me of his effortless power—and how hopelessly captivated by it I had always been.

But my thoughts were cut short when he threw me onto the mattress. Before I could react, he turned me onto my stomach, his fingers finding the zipper of my dress.

“Wait!” I said urgently.

“Why?” His voice was filled with irritation. “Isn’t this what you want? Me fucking you hard? Wasn’t that the point of your tantrum tonight?” His fingers dragged my dress up, brushing over the soft, milky skin of my thighs as he hissed in my ear. “You threatened me with divorce, made a scene, and now you expect me to believe you don’t want this?”

But before he could pull the zipper down and remove my dress, there was a loud knock on the door, making his jaw clench.

He ignored the first knock and slowly pulled the zipper down.

I knew he wouldn’t stop once he decided he wanted something. Nothing seemed capable of stopping him anyway.

Then came that sweet voice.

“Leone! Are you in there?”

My sister, Naya. His first love. The woman who always seemed to have a claim on him.

The expression on my husband’s face suddenly changed, and I knew what was coming next.

He quickly let go of me and got off the bed, walking toward the door. His hands worked at the buttons of his shirt as he went, and before he opened the door, he tucked it into his pants.

When the door opened, I saw that flawless, beautiful face, with just the right amount of makeup to enhance her features, looking at my husband with undisguised affection.

“You left, and I started missing you,” she said, stepping closer and slipping her slender arm around my husband's neck.

They looked like a couple deeply in love, completely lost in each other, as though I wasn't even in the room. Yet I was still sitting on the bed right behind them, my dress zipper still undone.