Chapter 11
1325 Words
Lavinia's POV.
‘What the hell?!’
At that very moment, I couldn’t move. I was completely frozen by shock and irritation.
What the hell was he thinking? Why was he naked in my room? Did he think I would fold upon seeing his exposed muscles and that arrogant confidence he wore like a crown? It was stupid. I had seen better.
Then a chuckle, one that scraped against my patience, echoed across the room. Goosebumps dotted my arms from sheer disgust, or maybe from how calm he sounded, like my anger amused him.
He met my glare with a smile that shouldn’t have existed on a man’s face after pulling a stunt like this. “Heh,” he said, lazy and low, “I thought you were tougher than this. One glance and you’re frozen in fear of my might—”
“Fear?” I cut in sharply, my voice slicing through his words. “Please. I’ve seen men die with more dignity than you’re showing right now. Put something on, or I’ll find a reason to shoot you and blame it on cultural differences.”
He only grinned wider, that infuriating half-smirk that seemed carved for provocation. “You wouldn’t dare. You’d miss me.”
I scoffed, crossing my arms. “The only thing I’d miss is the silence before you started speaking.”
For a moment, we just stared at each other, locked in a quiet standoff. His amusement didn’t fade, but beneath it, I caught a flicker of something else, challenge, maybe curiosity. He wanted to see how far I’d go.
I took a slow step forward, refusing to look away. “Get out,” I said calmly.
He didn’t move. Instead, he leaned back slightly against the edge of the dresser, unbothered. “You should get used to this. We’re married now, remember?”
“Marriage doesn’t make you welcome in my room,” I replied. “It just makes you inconvenient.”
His chuckle came again, softer this time, darker. “You’re in my house, Signora Marciano. Everything in it—including this room—is mine.”
I tilted my head, giving him the kind of smile that had made grown men rethink their life choices. “Careful with that word, mine. I’ve been known to break things that try to claim me.”
That made him laugh—an honest one this time, low and rough. Then, infuriatingly, he walked toward the adjoining bathroom, speaking over his shoulder. “Then I suppose we’ll find out which one of us breaks first.”
When he returned, fully dressed and annoyingly composed, I was already by the window, pretending he wasn’t there. The air between us was taut, heavy, almost electric.
He said, “Breakfast in the courtyard tomorrow morning. Grandma Gim wants to meet you.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Then eat for appearances,” he said simply. “In this house, appearances are everything.”
I glanced back at him and said nothing.
He only smiled again, that infuriating calm never leaving him, and left the room.
***
The courtyard smelled of roses. Marble columns rose high around a table that gleamed in the morning light. Every surface here screamed wealth, power, and control.
At the center of it sat a woman in gray silk, her hair white and her eyes sharp as polished steel. Grandma Gim Marciano.
“So this is the Ricci girl,” she said, her voice measured, not cruel, but assessing. “I was told you have a temper.”
“I was told you have a tongue sharper than your knives,” I said smoothly, taking the seat across from her. “We’ll see who draws blood first.”
Her lips curved slightly. “Good. At least you won’t bore me.”
Silvestro watched us both from his seat, silent but alert. The dynamic between them was obvious, he might have ruled the family, but this woman ruled him.
Breakfast was a performance. Every question Grandma Gim asked was a test, and every answer I gave was a blade wrapped in silk. She wanted to see if I could stand in her grandson’s world, if I was strong enough to survive him.
“I trust you’ll share a room,” she said finally, sipping her tea.
I nearly laughed. “That won’t be necessary.”
Her eyes flicked up, cold and amused. “It’s not a question, child. You’ll stay together. People will watch, and whispers are dangerous in this house.”
Silvestro added casually, “She’s right. We can’t have rumors.”
I shot him a look. “Of course not. I wouldn't want anyone thinking I married a man with boundaries.”
Grandma’s eyes twinkled at that. “Oh, you’ll fit right in.”
Later, when the table was cleared and the servants gone, I caught sight of Elena Marciano approaching. She looked flawless, poised, every inch the viper in lace.
She smiled too sweetly. “Welcome to the family, Lavinia. I hope you find your stay… tolerable.”
“I usually do,” I said, holding her gaze. “And you? How’s life in your cousin’s shadow?”
Her smile faltered for a heartbeat before she recovered, “You’ll learn soon that this house has rules.”
“Then I’ll enjoy breaking them.”
She left, her perfume lingering like a threat. I could feel Silvestro watching from a distance, his gaze unreadable.
By the time night fell, I’d already learned three things:
The Marciano family worshipped power more than loyalty.
Silvestro was even more dangerous when he was quiet.
Everyone underestimated me.
That would be their first mistake.
The council dinner was set for the evening, and apparently, it was my “official introduction” as La Signora Marciano. I didn’t need anyone to tell me what that really meant: the parade of men testing my limits.
In our shared room, I prepared slowly, methodically. I chose a black silk dress.
When Silvestro walked in, I didn’t turn.
“You’re late,” I said.
“I had business.”
“Of course you did.”
Dinner was politics disguised as civility. Every toast was a power play, every compliment a veiled warning. Silvestro and I sat side by side, presenting unity we didn’t feel. But I matched his energy, toast for toast, silence for silence.
I simply laid my eyes on the wall clock at the far end of the room, impatiently waiting for the useless gathering to end, completely ignoring everything and everyone around me.
The ticking of the clock filled the silence, rhythmic and sharp. The servants cleared the last of the dishes. I rose from my chair, ready to retreat to the only place that still felt remotely like mine.
That was when I noticed it—just a flicker at first.
A man at the end of the corridor, watching me.
He wasn’t dressed like a guest or a guard. He stood too still, eyes locked on me for a heartbeat too long before lowering his gaze and disappearing behind a marble pillar. The kind of movement trained to blend in but not well enough to escape my notice.
My pulse tightened.
Whoever he was, he didn’t belong to the Marciano staff I’d memorized that morning. And yet, he moved like someone who knew this house better than I did.
I turned slightly, scanning the table—Silvestro was still in conversation with one of his lieutenants, his expression unreadable. If he noticed the stranger, he gave no sign.
I exhaled softly and gathered my gloves from the table.
Let him play his game. I’d find out soon enough whose house this really was.
And if he sent someone to watch me, I’d make sure they reported back with a story he wouldn’t forget.
Someone in this house was already testing me.
And they’d learn very soon how fatal curiosity could be.
- Writer
