Chapter 16 MY WIFE
\~~~RAINA.
Luciano didn’t say more than that and just exited the room without turning to look at me, like I automatically knew the right thing to do, which was to go after him.
After staying rooted in my spot for almost a minute, I shifted gently, breathed out, and then walked out of the room.
Luciano doesn’t stop walking until he gets outside, and walks straight to the car waiting in the driveway.
The door opens, and he gestures for me to get in first.
“Fine, I get that you are a mafia, yeah?” I blurt the moment I reach him, and I swear I notice the shift in his driver’s expression.
If he is his official driver or not, I am not sure.
I have seen this man since my very first day in this house, and the way he looks at me bothers me.
He is like Luciano in every sense that matters, only leaner, and a little less cold in the eyes.
This man barely bats an eye at me, and when he does, it is like he is staring straight through my soul, like there is something about me that unsettles him.
His name is Viktor, I believe.
“Mafia don,” Luciano corrects, still no change in his composure.
“Get in.”
Reluctantly, not wanting to get on his nerves more than I already do, I enter the car slowly.
God, this corset could murder someone. It is even worse than the wedding dress.
Luciano slips into the seat beside me. One look at him and I know I need to swallow every complaint down my throat .
The drive feels long, tense, and silent. When the car finally stops, I look outside.
We aren’t at a hotel or hall.
This place looks like the entrance to an underground world. The lights are dim and there are shadows everywhere, armed men stationed like statues. The air feels heavy and dangerous, like even sound doesn’t dare travel freely.
Viktor steps out first and then Luciano turns to me.
“If I were you, I would be on my best behavior tonight.”
“Why? Is this different from any random Tuesday?” I lift my chin.
He leans closer slowly and deliberately, his hand lifting to pat my hair gently.
That stupid gesture riles me up immediately.
What am I? A pet?
“You will be meeting my men,” he says. “The heads of my organization. As the wife of their don, you will hold yourself accordingly. If you so much as question my words instead of smiling like the doll you are meant to be…”
His fingers slide off my hair, his voice dropping.
“I will punish you.”
“I am not a doll,” I hiss. “And by punishment, do you mean pinching my nipple?”
His face darkens instantly.
Oh, yes.
I enjoy that.
Maybe a little too much.
But deep down, in the part of me that still has a functional sense of survival, I know I had better listen to him.
He pulls back from me and knocks on the window once.
Immediately, both doors swing open, and I step out gently, trying not to trip in the ridiculous stilettos.
The first thing I see is a tall, broad man bowing deeply at me and I almost step back.
Because why are they bowing?
Who am I? God?
Luciano rounds the car and stops beside me, extending his hand.
I glance at him first, then his hand, and then back at him.
Reluctantly, very reluctantly, I place my hand in his and together, we walk.
The path into wherever we are going is dim and quiet. Thick concrete walls enclose the hallway, illuminated only by long yellow lights running across the ceiling.
Men stand along the walls in sharp black suits, their guns strapped openly, and their expressions blank and cold.
Oh, that is my first time seeing a gun in real life, by the way!
Every step echoes, and every breath feels monitored.
It is like walking into the belly of something dangerous and alive.
When we finally enter the main area, the space opens up into a wide hall which looks industrial, dark, and buzzing quietly with power.
A long rectangular table stretches across the center, surrounded by men who look like they would actually kill people before breakfast.
The moment Luciano steps in, the entire room shifts.
Chairs push back, they all straighten, and then bow their heads.
“Pakhan,” several of them greet at once.
Nobody looks at him directly, they all look at him with respect… and fear.
Wait, is this some kind of scripted show?
Well, unfortunately, their eyes shift to me too.
Their smiles are tight, like I had pleaded with them beforehand to fucking smile at me. And the way they stare at me? Very curious. They don’t bother to hide their raised brows either.
My skin crawls instantly but regardless, Luciano leads me toward the center of the long table.
He pulls out a chair for me beside another empty one, which I assume is his,very carefully, like he is silently communicating with the people in the room.
I lower myself into the seat, the corset biting into my ribs, and he sits beside me.
I hate this place. I want to choke.
No, I am choking already.
All eyes are on me. They are looking at me too hard, too long, and too deeply.
God… I can’t breathe.
The room stays so silent for as long as I can think of.
No one dares to cough or even raise the glass cup in front of them.
The dozens of eyes remain glued to us like we are the main event of a circus I never auditioned for.
Luciano sits upright beside me, his posture shifting from relaxed danger to full authority, and everyone at the table straightens instinctively, as if they are commanded by an invisible force.
Then… his hand settles on my back.
It is neither soft nor affectionate.
To be honest, it feels like he is warming me again.
Oh, I hate that I am understanding this man already.
Finally, his voice carries through the hall, low and absolute.
“This,” he says, fingers pressing slightly into my back, “is my wife.”
A ripple of tension passes through the room.
“She sits beside me,” he continues, his tone colder than the walls around us. “She is to be addressed respectfully. You will call her Pakhanessa.”
My breath hitches.
What is that?
Vanessa?
No way he called me Vanessa.
No, it’s not Vanessa. Paka…
Oh, God, save my life.
I think if I get out of this hell, I will go for a baptism and become a nun for the rest of my life.
Whatever he has just called me to be addressed as carries a kind of weight no one dares question, and just like that, every head bows, deeply this time.
Not to him.
To me.
This should have been the part where the trumpet for the end of the world starts.