Chapter 39
Sophia's POV
I slipped off his lap so quickly I nearly stumbled, my legs unsteady after what had just happened between us. The sudden absence of his warmth, his touch, left me feeling exposed and disoriented in the candlelit room.
Why did I have to mention her name?
The question hammered through my mind as I stood there clutching the ruins of my wedding dress against my chest. One moment we'd been lost in each other, sharing something that had felt real and intimate and precious. The next, I'd destroyed it all by asking about Maria.
Stupid. So incredibly stupid.
But I'd needed to know. Even as pleasure still hummed through my system, even as my body continued to tremble from his touch, I couldn't ignore the elephant in the room. The other woman. The one he'd promised to marry twenty years ago. The one who'd pulled him away from our wedding reception.
The way his entire body had gone rigid at her name told me everything I needed to know about where I truly stood in his priorities.
I should have kept my mouth shut. Should have let myself pretend, just for a little while longer, that I was the only woman who mattered to him. That this marriage could be more than a political arrangement, more than duty and obligation wrapped in expensive silk and candlelight.
But that would have been living in a fantasy, wouldn't it? And I'd learned the hard way that fantasies only led to heartbreak.
She saved his life. She has history with him that goes back decades. What do I have? A few weeks of forced proximity and a body that responds to his touch despite my better judgment.
The comparison was devastating in its clarity. Maria Castellano was his childhood savior, the girl who'd risked everything to pull him to safety. She represented innocence and loyalty and a promise made in desperation and gratitude.
What was I? The replacement bride, thrust into this role by circumstance and family debt. The woman whose sister had run away rather than marry him.
I need to remember my place in all this.
The thought was like ice water in my veins, shocking me back to reality. This wasn't some romance novel where the reluctant bride gradually wins the hero's heart. This was real life, where powerful men kept their promises and honored their debts, even when it meant dividing their attention between the woman they chose and the woman they were obligated to marry.
As long as Maria existed in his life, I couldn't allow myself to hope for more than physical attraction and mutual respect. I couldn't let myself fall in love with a man who'd already given his heart to someone else.
This is just family business. A merger. Nothing more.
I repeated the mantra as I made my way toward the bathroom, each step taking me further from the warmth of his presence and deeper into the cold reality of my situation.
The bathroom was as opulent as the rest of the master suite—marble floors, a bathtub the size of a small pool, fixtures that probably cost more than most people's cars. I let the ruined wedding dress fall to the floor and sank into water hot enough to wash away the lingering traces of his touch.
Get yourself together, Sophia. You know what this is. Don't make it into something it's not.
But even as I tried to build walls around my heart, I couldn't forget the way he'd held me afterward. The gentle way he'd stroked my hair, the unexpected tenderness in his voice when he'd called me his honest girl.
Stop it. I scrubbed at my skin with more force than necessary, trying to wash away the memory of his hands, his mouth, the way he'd made me feel like I was the only woman in the world.
Because I wasn't. I was just the woman he was stuck with while his heart belonged to someone else.
When I finally emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a silk robe I'd found hanging on the door, the bedroom was dim with only a few candles still flickering. The bed—our bed—loomed large in the shadows, its black silk sheets and scattered rose petals a reminder of expectations I wasn't sure I was ready to meet.
Where was he? Had he left to check on Maria again? The possibility sent a fresh wave of pain through my chest.
Of course he did. Why would he stay when she needs him?
I approached the bed cautiously, unsure of what I was supposed to do. Was I expected to wait for him? To lie there like some medieval bride ready to fulfill her marital duties? The thought made my cheeks burn with embarrassment and something that might have been longing.
The connecting door to his dressing room was closed, but I could see light beneath it. Relief flooded through me. He was still here, at least for now.
I slipped beneath the covers quickly, pulling the silk up to my chin and closing my eyes tightly. If he came to bed, if he expected... well, I'd pretend to be asleep. It was cowardly, but I needed time to process everything that had happened, everything that had changed between us.
The sound of the connecting door opening made my breath catch in my throat. I forced my breathing to remain deep and even, fighting the urge to peek at him through my lashes.
The mattress dipped as he settled beside me, and I had to bite my lip to keep from gasping at his proximity. The heat of his body radiated through the space between us, and I could smell that intoxicating scent of cedar and bergamot that seemed to cling to his skin.
I waited for him to reach for me, to demand the intimacy that was his right as my husband. My entire body was tense with anticipation and anxiety, every nerve ending hyperaware of his presence beside me.
But he didn't touch me. He simply lay there, his breathing steady and controlled, respecting the boundary my feigned sleep had created.
The consideration should have been comforting. Instead, it felt like rejection.
He doesn't want me. Not really. Not when he could be with her instead.
I lay there for what felt like hours, hyperaware of every shift in his breathing, every small movement he made. Eventually, exhaustion claimed me, and I drifted into uneasy sleep filled with dreams of golden-haired women and promises I could never hope to fulfill.
I woke to sunlight streaming through the windows and the rustle of newspaper pages. For a moment, I was disoriented—this wasn't my childhood bedroom, these weren't my simple cotton sheets. Then memory crashed back with devastating clarity.
I'm married. I'm Mrs. Vito Romano.
Vito sat in his wheelchair beside the bed, fully dressed in another perfectly tailored suit, reading what appeared to be the Wall Street Journal with the same focused attention most people reserved for their morning coffee.
He looked up when he sensed my movement, those dark sunglasses already in place despite the early hour.
"Good morning," he said, his voice carrying that familiar note of controlled authority. "I trust you slept well?"
"Well enough," I replied carefully, pulling the sheet higher around my chest. The silk robe had twisted during the night, leaving me feeling exposed under his hidden gaze.
"Excellent. You'll need to be well-rested for today." He folded the newspaper with precise movements and set it aside. "Get dressed. Something appropriate for a formal ceremony."
"A ceremony?" My stomach clenched with sudden anxiety. "What kind of ceremony?"
"An initiation, you might say. Now that you're a Romano wife, you need to be officially inducted into the family business."
The way he said business made my blood run cold. This wasn't about his legitimate real estate empire or corporate holdings. This was about the other Romano family business—the kind that operated in shadows and sealed agreements with blood rather than handshakes.
"Today you'll take your oath of loyalty to the organization," he continued with terrifying casualness. "You'll swear allegiance to the family, promise to keep our secrets, and pledge never to betray us."
Never to betray us. The words echoed in my head like a death knell.
"And if someone breaks that oath?" I asked, though I wasn't sure I wanted to hear the answer.
Vito's expression darkened, and when he spoke, his voice carried the weight of absolute finality. "Betrayal is met with death, Isabella. Always. Without exception."
He leaned forward slightly, and I could feel the intensity of his attention even through those dark lenses. "The ceremony will include graphic details of what happens to those who break their word to us. You'll see photographs, hear testimonies, witness evidence of what we do to traitors."
My mouth went dry. "What kind of evidence?"
"The kind that ensures no one ever forgets the cost of deception." His smile was cold enough to freeze blood. "Bodies found in the river with their tongues cut out. Families who disappeared overnight because someone thought they could lie to us and live to tell about it."
Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God.
The room started to spin around me. Every breath felt like I was drowning, every heartbeat like a countdown to my own execution.
Because I was lying to them. Every moment of every day, I was living the biggest deception possible—pretending to be Isabella when I was actually Sophia. Pretending to be the bride they'd contracted for when I was just the desperate replacement no one was supposed to know about.
They're going to find out. Somehow, someday, they're going to discover the truth, and then...
The images Vito was painting in my mind became vivid and horrifying. My body floating in the Hudson River. My father and Alfonso paying the price for my deception. Maria looking satisfied as my betrayal was finally revealed.
"You've gone pale," Vito observed with what sounded like satisfaction. "Having second thoughts about joining our family?"
Yes. Yes, absolutely yes.
But what choice did I have? I was already married to him, already trapped in this web of lies and obligations. There was no backing out now, no escape route that wouldn't end in disaster for everyone I cared about.
"No second thoughts," I managed to say, though my voice came out as barely a whisper. "I understand the... gravity of the situation."
"Good." He wheeled closer to the bed, close enough that I could feel the force of his personality like a physical weight. "Because once you take that oath, Isabella, there's no going back. You'll be bound to this family by blood and honor until the day you die."
Or until the day they find out who I really am and kill me for it.
The thought made me want to vomit, but I forced myself to nod. "I understand."
"Excellent." He turned his wheelchair toward the door, then paused. "Oh, and Isabella? Wear something black. It's traditional for initiation ceremonies."
Black. Like mourning clothes. How appropriate.
As the door closed behind him, I sat in that enormous bed surrounded by silk and luxury, and wondered if I was getting dressed for a ceremony or for my own funeral.
Either way, I had no choice but to play my part perfectly.
Because in the Romano family, the penalty for bad acting was death.