Chapter 6 Chapter 6
It had been two weeks. Two weeks of feeling like a caged bird in this oversized mansion with its golden chandeliers and silk curtains, its endless halls and polished floors. Two weeks of hearing whispers about "Mr. Moretti's business" and seeing no sign of the devil himself. At first, I had felt relieved—who wouldn’t be after dealing with the brooding man who had turned my life upside down? But now, I was angry.
No. Angry wasn’t the word. I was livid.
I slammed the book I wasn’t reading shut and stared out the massive window in my room. I could see the sprawling gardens below, so perfectly trimmed it felt almost criminal to look at them. Somewhere out there, my sister was in some fancy London school, and I wasn’t even allowed to call her.
The door opened slightly, and a maid peeked her head in.
“Mrs. Moretti,” she said softly. “Would you like tea brought up?”
Mrs. Moretti. The title still felt like poison on my tongue.
“No, thank you,” I replied, managing a tight smile.
She nodded and disappeared, leaving me to stew in my own frustration.
By the time I heard the roar of engines pulling up outside, I was pacing my room like a lunatic. I darted to the window and spotted him stepping out of a sleek black car, his tall, commanding figure impossible to miss. Even from here, I could feel the energy he carried. He wore a black tailored suit, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to show a hint of his toned chest, and his silver-grey eyes scanned the property like he owned the world.
I clenched my fists.
He did own the world—my world now, too.
I didn’t even wait for him to settle in. The moment I heard footsteps down the hall, I marched out, my heart pounding.
When I reached his office, the door was slightly ajar. Alaric stood behind his massive oak desk, his hands in his pockets, speaking to one of his men. His presence filled the room, radiating authority and danger.
I didn’t care.
“Where the hell have you been?” I demanded, pushing the door open.
Both men turned to me, and the air seemed to shift. The other man looked startled, his eyes darting to Alaric, who raised a single brow.
“Leave us,” Alaric said, his voice low and commanding.
The man scrambled out, leaving me alone with the storm brewing in Alaric’s eyes. He didn’t say anything at first, just stared at me with that unreadable expression, like he was trying to decide whether I was worth his time.
I folded my arms. “Do you realize how insane this situation is? You’ve locked me up in this house like some kind of prisoner. I can’t talk to Anna, I can’t go anywhere, I can’t even—”
“You seem perfectly capable of talking now,” he cut in, his tone dangerously calm.
“Don’t you dare interrupt me!” I snapped, taking a step closer. “You promised to take care of my sister, and now I can’t even check on her? Do you know how insane that is?”
His eyes narrowed, and I could feel the tension crackling between us. “You forget your place, Vanessa.”
“My place?” I laughed bitterly. “What is my place, Alaric? To sit in this giant, empty house and wait for you to decide what to do with me? To be your little puppet? Because if that’s what you think, you’re out of your goddamn mind.”
I hadn’t realized I’d moved closer to his desk until I was practically leaning over it, glaring at him.
Alaric’s lips twitched—whether it was annoyance or amusement, I couldn’t tell. Slowly, he rounded the desk, his movements precise and deliberate.
“You have no idea what you’re playing with,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.
I didn’t back down, even though every instinct in my body screamed at me to. “And you have no idea how much I don’t care.”
In an instant, he was in front of me, his hand shooting out to grab my chin. His touch was firm but not painful, his long fingers cradling my jaw as he tilted my head up to meet his eyes.
“Your mouth is going to get you into trouble,” he said softly, but his tone was anything but gentle.
My breath hitched. His silver-grey eyes bore into mine, sharp and piercing, like they could strip away every layer of defense I had.
“And what are you going to do about it?” I challenged, my voice barely above a whisper.
The corner of his mouth twitched again, this time definitely in amusement. “Careful, Vanessa. I’m not a man who gives second chances.”
My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might burst. His proximity was overwhelming, his scent—a mix of woodsy cologne and something darker, more primal—making my head spin. I hated how my body reacted to him, how my skin burned under his touch, how my lips parted on their own as if inviting him to—
No. I wasn’t going to let him win.
I yanked my chin out of his grip, taking a step back to put some distance between us. “You don’t scare me,” I lied, my voice shaking slightly.
His eyes darkened, and I could have sworn I saw a flicker of something—desire? Amusement?—before his expression hardened again.
“You should be scared,” he said simply, his voice like ice.
I shook my head, letting out a bitter laugh. “Of what? Of you? Please. I’ve faced worse things in my life than some arrogant mafia lord who thinks the world revolves around him.”
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might actually lose his composure. But then he took a step back, his lips curling into a cold, dangerous smile.
“You want freedom?” he asked, his tone mocking. “Fine. Go ahead. But don’t come crying to me when you realize the world outside these walls is far crueler than I am.”
I stared at him, my chest heaving with anger and something I couldn’t quite name.
“I’m not crying to anyone,” I said. “Especially not to you.”
For a moment, neither of us said anything. The air between us was thick, charged with tension that was as infuriating as it was intoxicating.
Finally, he turned away, walking back to his desk. “You’re dismissed,” he said, his tone dismissive.
My hands clenched into fists. “I’m not one of your little henchmen, Alaric. You don’t get to dismiss me.”
He looked at me over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. “No, you’re not one of my henchmen. You’re my wife. And if you want to survive in this world, I suggest you start acting like it.”
I opened my mouth to retort, but no words came out. Instead, I turned on my heel and stormed out of the room, my cheeks burning with anger and something I refused to acknowledge.
As I made my way back to my room, I couldn’t shake the feeling of his hand on my chin, the intensity of his gaze, the way my heart had raced like it was trying to escape my chest.
I hated him.
I hated the way he made me feel.
And I hated that, deep down, a part of me didn’t want to stop feeling it.