THE MAFIA WIFE EXCHANGE

Chapter Two : Empty House, Empty Hearts

Rose's POV

I got into the black car waiting at the steps of the chapel. It was not an ordinary car—it was a sleek, stretched black limousine, the kind that gleamed beneath the yellow lights of the estate as if it had been carved out of the blackness of midnight. Two guards stepped in close, taking seats behind us as the driver shut the door with a quiet, deliberate snap that somehow sounded final.

Nikolai slid in next to me, still in his wedding finery, his tie loose around his neck. He smelled vaguely of cologne and gunpowder—crisp and clean, yet dangerous. He smiled as he rested a firm hand on my thigh, his thumb tracing lazy circles through the satin of my gown.

"Relax," he said with ease, his voice low, the kind of voice that could both calm and command.

My hands were trembling in my lap until he invited them to clasp his. His handshake was tight, warm. Too realistic. My heart could not catch up with what was happening. A few hours ago, I was just my father's daughter. Now, I was somebody's wife.

He looked at me again, his lips curving into a faint smile. "Did you enjoy yourself today?"

I blushed, trying not to show how nervous I was. "I mean… I certainly didn't expect being married, but hey, it isn't so bad."

"Yeah, sure," he muttered.

His eyes roamed, drifting towards the dark windows. Streetlights painted faint gold lines on his face as we drove through the middle of Moscow. I wanted to say something else—to keep the fragile conversation alive—but his silence pressed against the air between us like frost.

The driver turned down a secluded avenue lined with tall, black-iron fences and lampposts that shone like embers. I caught glimpses through the window of enormous estates, each one grander than the last. The limousine slid past massive gates, guards saluting as they saw the Volkov crest on the hood.

We made a gradual, curving turn around a circular fountain, water glittering under the moon. I caught my breath when the mansion came into view.

If I'd thought I'd lived in a large house, I was miserably mistaken.

The Volkov estate stretched across what appeared to be acres of land. The house itself stood tall and foreboding, white with sleek black roofs that gleamed under the night sky. Massive marble pillars stood on either side of the entrance, and two curving staircases arched like wings to ornately carved double doors. Chandelier light spilled through the tall windows, reflecting off the glossy black stone driveway. It looked less like a house and more like a palace designed to intimidate and awe.

The car came to a smooth stop. My heart racing in my chest, the driver opened the door for me. The night air was cold and crisp with a hint of pine and rain.

Nikolai stepped out first, adjusting his cufflinks before looking back at me. In the warm lights for a moment, I could have sworn I detected a flash of warmth in his face. Even pride, maybe. But it was gone in an instant.

Inside, the mansion was even more breathtaking—high ceilings with gold chandeliers, marble floors that gleamed like mirrors, walls lined with Renaissance artwork and ornate vases. The kind of house that could swallow someone whole.

Nikolai wasn't shy about calling out. "Mara!"

There was a maid in front of him in a moment, head bowed, black and white uniform. "Yes, sir?"

He waved at me without glancing in my direction. "Take her to her room. Settle her in."

I blinked. "I thought—" I broke off, my voice quiet. "I thought we'd… perhaps speak first?"

He turned then, and at last looked at me. There was something sharp in his eyes now, something cold that had not been there before.

"Why would we do that?" His tone was amiable but brutally dismissive. "I'm too busy to be getting to know you." He shrugged on his jacket, heading past me toward the long hall. "I have all my life to do that now, don't I?"

He inclined his head curtly to two guards, and they followed him silently, their heavy boots echoing down the hall. I stood frozen in the center of the great hall, attempting to process what had just occurred.

That was not the same man who had smiled at me at the altar. That was not the man who had kissed me gently in the midst of a din of applause and fireworks.

My chest tightened in pain.

What was wrong with me?

Was he already angry with me?

The maid tugged gently on my sleeve. "Miss, this way, please."

I turned, my voice barely above a whisper. "Will he—will he come later?"

She hesitated. "He will be with you tonight."

My stomach dropped. I knew precisely what she meant.

I'd been raised to understand my duties as a wife, but that didn't make the prospect any less terrifying. I wasn't naive; I knew perfectly well what occurred between a man and his wife. But to be alone in a room with a man who could not even look me in the eyes was like venturing into a black, frozen ocean without understanding how to swim.

The maid led me through endless-seeming corridors until we reached a double-door suite. The room itself was huge—ivory-painted walls, plush Persian rugs on the floors. A canopy bed dominated the center of the room, its silk sheets crisply folded. Candles burning softly in the corners projected golden shadows onto the furniture.

I was silent as the maid helped me out of my gown and into a white slip dress of sheer material. My skin responded to the chill of the air.

"Do you need anything else, miss?" she whispered.

I shook my head. "No, thank you."

When she left, the door's closing sound echoed through the empty room like a promise. Or a warning.

I sat on the edge of the bed, running my fingers along the silk sheets. They were cold against my skin. The wall clock quietly ticked away, each second louder than the last.

Minutes passed. Then an hour. The house was quiet—too quiet. Somewhere in the distance, I heard a door close and muted voices travel down the hall, but none of them came to my room.

He did not come.

I told myself it was for the better. That possibly he was busy. That possibly tomorrow will be different.

But as the night progressed and the candles burned low, the quiet of that house began to suffocate me. I walked over to the window and looked out over the gardens below—large, perfectly manicured, lifeless. Everything here was beautiful but empty.

Just like my marriage.

I placed my hand on the cold glass, my reflection staring back at me—a bride without a groom, a wife without a husband.

Was this what it would feel like?

Days turning into months, months into years, all of it waiting for a man who had already decided I wasn't worth his time?

I faced the bed again and collapsed, pulling my knees up to my chest. The silk sheets rustled under me as I let out a long, weary breath.

This house was too large for a single heart.