Choke on the Fish.

Choke on the Fish.
Alice’s Point of View

I finished my bath and slipped into the silk nightdress, its pale lavender fabric gliding over my skin, stopping mid-thigh. I draped a matching silk robe over it, tying it loosely, and stepped out of the room, my bare feet cool against the hardwood floor. 

Calla wasn’t outside the door this time.

Good.

It gave me the illusion of freedom, even if just for a second.

With my memory leading the way, I managed to navigate the long corridors, turning through gilded halls and passing intimidating portraits of dead men with cold eyes. 

Eventually, I found myself at the mouth of the dining room.

The table stretched long and wide, a dark oak masterpiece set with gold-rimmed plates and polished silverware. A chandelier of crystals hovered above, casting a soft glow over everything—everything except the man at the head of the table.

Tiberio.

He wore a black long-sleeve shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing strong, veined forearms inked in dark tattoos. 

Even sitting, he looked dangerous. Focused. Like a man used to being feared.

For a second, I considered turning around and running back to my room to lock the door and pretend I didn’t exist. But what good would that do? He owned the locks, the doors, and everything behind them. He’d find me, break the door down, and drag me back. 

I inhaled and moved forward. 

My heels clicked softly against the marble floor as I made my way to the table, which was already laid with silver domes and steaming plates of food, and an array of desserts too pretty to eat.

Tiberio’s gaze flicked up for a fleeting second, those brown-blue eyes catching the light before he looked away, dismissing me with an arrogance that made my blood boil. 

Not even a nod, not a gesture to pull out my chair—nothing but his cold indifference. Arrogant beast, I thought.

I pulled the chair out myself and sat down, deliberately letting the wood scrape loudly against the marble. Petty, but satisfying.

For a moment, I didn’t touch anything. I just stared at the food. 

The air was rich with aromas—garlic, herbs, butter—but one scent sliced through the rest, sharp and briny, turning my stomach

Salmon. 

My nose twitched, a warning of the allergic reaction that could swell my throat and leave me gasping. I’d learned that lesson the hard way years ago, and the memory made me cautious. 

I selected my food with care—slices of roasted chicken, a spoonful of risotto, a few leaves of arugula—avoiding anything that might hide traces of fish. If I went into anaphylactic shock, Tiberio wouldn’t care. He’d probably watch me choke with that same cold stare, unbothered by my suffering.

We ate in silence, the clink of our cutlery against the plates the only sound, a brittle rhythm that underscored the tension between us. 

My fork scraped against the china, each bite tasting like ash under his invisible scrutiny. I kept my eyes on my plate, refusing to give him the satisfaction of my attention, but I could feel his presence, heavy and oppressive, like a storm waiting to break.

Then his voice cut through the quiet like a blade.

“I have some rules for you.”

I froze mid-bite, fingers tightening around my fork. I didn’t look at him, but I could feel his gaze like heat against my temple.

“When you’re with Silas, you’ll keep at least four feet between you.”

I blinked.

The absurdity of his command triggered something in me, and I burst into a loud, mocking laugh, the sound echoing off the high ceilings. 

The look on his face was priceless. His jaw locked, and his narrowed as he watched me, but I couldn’t stop. 

The idea of him dictating my proximity to his brother, like I was a child or a pet, was so ridiculous it bordered on comedic. 

My laughter died down.

I shook my head, and leaned back in my chair, popping a slice of apple into my mouth.

“You’d have been a better comedian than a don, Tiberio,” I said, a sly smirk tugging at my lips.

His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking beneath his stubble, and before I could brace myself, his fist slammed down on the table. The impact rattled the plates, the candelabras wobbling, and I flinched, my heart lurching into my throat.

His eyes burned through me.

“You think this is funny?” He growled, voice low, tight with rage.

I lifted my chin, trying to hold my ground. 

“You keep me locked up like a possession you’re too bored to touch or kill, and now you want to control the air I breathe around your brother? Pathetic.”

I scoffed out loud.

“You’re in my world now, and you’ll follow my rules, or I’ll carve them into your skin so you never forget.”

My smirk faltered, but the fire in my chest roared back, fueled by the pain of his control, and the sheer audacity of him. 

I leaned forward, meeting his glare, my voice sharp and reckless. 

“You can scream and slam all you want, Tiberio, but I’m not your damn puppet. You don’t get to own me, no matter how many rules you bark. I’d rather choke on that fish over there than bow to you.”

His eyes darkened, a storm brewing in their depths, and in a flash, he surged from his chair, rounding the table with predatory speed. Before I could move, his hands seized mine, yanking them from the table with a force that made me yelp in pain. 

His grip was bruising, his fingers crushing my wrists as he pulled me close, his face inches from mine. The scent of his cologne—grapes, whiskey, and danger—flooded my senses, and I hated how it made my pulse race, even now. 

“You think you’re clever, bellissima?” He hissed, his voice a deadly whisper, his breath hot against my cheek. 

“You think you can mock me and walk away? I own every breath you take, every step you make. Defy me again, and I’ll break you so thoroughly you’ll beg for my mercy, and I won’t give it.”

His words hit me like a blow, shaking me to my core. 

I wanted to fight back, to spit in his face, but the raw power in his grip, the darkness in his eyes, held me frozen. Just when I thought I’d scored a point, he proved, again, that he was the master of this twisted game.

He released my hands with a shove, making me stumble back into the chair, my wrists throbbing. His glare burned into me, a silent vow of consequences, before he turned and stormed out, his footsteps echoing like gunshots in the vast room. 

The door slammed behind him, the sound reverberating through my bones.

I sat there, my hands trembling, my heart pounding. I’d thought I’d won, that my laughter had bruised his ego, but Tiberio had turned it around.

My defiance felt hollow now, a fleeting spark snuffed out by his storm. Yet, deep inside, a stubborn ember still burned, whispering that I’d find a way to break free—no matter how many times he tried to break me.