HIS MAFIA BRIDE

Chapter 3 – Sharing a Room

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the silence.

It wasn’t the soft, warm silence of my old room back home, where Uncle Ron’s radio sometimes hummed through the walls, or where the kettle whistled faintly from the kitchen. No. This silence was heavy, almost pressing down on me.

The room I was in was big—too big for me. The ceiling arched high, with carved molding that curled into flowers I didn’t recognize. Pale light spilled through tall windows covered in heavy curtains. Everything smelled faintly of polish and dust, like the furniture hadn’t been touched until yesterday.

I sat up slowly, clutching the sheet. The bed was soft, layered with satin covers, but it didn’t feel like mine. Nothing here felt like mine.

A knock came at the door, gentle, almost hesitant. I froze.

The door opened anyway, and in came a woman holding neatly folded clothes in her arms. She was older, her back a little bent, hair pinned in a simple bun streaked with silver. Her face was kind, the kind of face that reminded me of my school librarian—lined from years of work, but softened by warmth.

“Good morning, miss,” she said. Her voice was rough but gentle, like stones smoothed by water.

I blinked at her, not sure what to say. No one had spoken to me with that kind of gentleness since I’d been brought here.

She set the clothes down on a chair. A soft cream blouse, a dark skirt, simple but fine. Nothing like the bright dresses from my childhood, or even the plain jeans I wore at school.

“Breakfast is at nine,” she said, smoothing the fabric as though it mattered. “The master doesn’t like lateness.”

The master. My throat tightened. She meant Dante Valenti.

The woman turned to me then, really looked at me. Her eyes were brown, soft, and for a moment I saw something there—pity maybe, or worry.

“I’m Marta,” she added. “If you need anything, you ask me. Understand?”

I nodded quickly, because her kindness was like water in a desert, and I didn’t want to lose it.

She smiled faintly, a tired kind of smile, and left me alone with the clothes.

I dressed slowly, my hands trembling as I buttoned the blouse. The skirt brushed against my legs in a way that made me feel like I was wearing someone else’s skin. I kept hearing Marta’s words. The master doesn’t like lateness.

So I hurried.

The dining hall was larger than the music room at my school. The long table stretched so far it seemed like it could fit twenty people. But only three seats were set: one at the head, two on the sides.

Dante sat at the head, a newspaper folded in front of him. His hair was streaked with gray, but his posture was sharp, unyielding. His presence filled the room even though he barely moved.

Adrian was already there too, on his father’s right side. He didn’t look at me when I walked in. His eyes stayed fixed on his plate, his jaw tight, his whole body wound like a spring.

I hesitated in the doorway, clutching my hands together.

“Sit,” Dante said without looking up. His voice was calm but carried weight, like steel wrapped in velvet.

I walked to the chair opposite Adrian and lowered myself carefully. The plate in front of me gleamed, the silverware lined perfectly. Food had already been served—eggs, toast, fruit—but my stomach was a tight knot.

For a moment, no one spoke. The only sound was the clink of Dante’s knife against his plate. I could feel Adrian’s silence like a wall. He didn’t even glance my way.

Finally, Dante set down his knife and leaned back slightly. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, settled on me.

“Liana,” he said, and my name sounded strange in his mouth. “You are in this house now. This means you will live by our rules. Do you understand?”

I swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“Good.”

His gaze shifted to Adrian. Something flickered in his expression, something that made the air heavier.

“From today,” Dante said slowly, “you will share a room with Adrian.”

The words hit me like a stone. I blinked at him, then at Adrian, who finally moved. His head snapped toward his father, his knuckles whitening around his fork.

“What?” Adrian’s voice was low but sharp.

Dante didn’t flinch. “You heard me.”

“That’s not necessary.” Adrian’s jaw tightened. His eyes flicked toward me for the first time, cold and cutting, like I wasn’t a person but a problem. “She doesn’t belong here. Why should she—”

“Because I said so.” Dante’s tone cut him off, calm but final. “She is to be your wife. She must learn her place. And you will teach her.”

Adrian’s lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment I thought he might argue, might explode, but then his eyes dropped back to his plate. His shoulders were tense, but he said nothing.

My pulse raced. Share a room? With him? The idea made my skin crawl, but I couldn’t speak, couldn’t even protest. My throat felt locked.

The silence stretched on, heavier and heavier. Finally, Dante picked up his knife again and resumed eating, as if the matter was closed.

Adrian cut into his food with sharp, angry movements. He didn’t look at me once.

And me? I sat frozen, staring at the untouched fruit on my plate, wondering how my life had twisted into this.

The door to Adrian’s room opened with a long creak that made me flinch.

It was bigger than the one I had been given, but darker somehow. Heavy curtains blocked most of the light, leaving the space in a constant shadow. The bed was wide, the sheets smooth and neat. A desk stood near the window, papers stacked in sharp piles. Everything smelled faintly of leather and cologne, sharp and cold.

Adrian stood near the desk, arms crossed. His eyes tracked me like I was an intruder.

“This isn’t my idea,” I said quickly, hugging my arms.

He gave a dry laugh, short and without humor. “Good. At least you understand that.”

I shifted nervously, looking at the bed. “Where am I supposed to—”

“Not there.” His voice snapped like a whip. He pointed toward a smaller couch in the corner, long enough to lie on but not meant for comfort. “That’s yours.”

I stared at it. My chest sank, but I nodded. It was useless to argue.

“Don’t touch anything that isn’t yours,” he added, voice low and sharp. “Don’t wander. Don’t speak unless spoken to. Do you understand me?”

I bit my lip. “Yes.”

His gaze lingered on me for a long moment, piercing, before he turned back to his desk. “Good. Stay out of my way.”

That was the start of our arrangement.

Hours passed like days.

I sat on the couch, knees drawn up, while Adrian moved around the room like I wasn’t there. Sometimes he scribbled notes, sometimes he answered calls in a clipped voice I couldn’t follow. He never once looked at me, not even when Marta slipped in quietly with a tray of lunch.

Marta was the only one who acknowledged me. She set the tray on a small side table, gave me a look that was both soft and sad, and whispered, “Eat, child.”

I whispered back, “Thank you.”

She gave me a faint smile, then left before Adrian could say a word.

When I tried to nibble at the bread, I felt Adrian’s eyes flicker my way for a second. Cold, assessing. Like he was reminding me I was a stranger here. I dropped my gaze and forced myself to chew in silence.

The walls of the room felt like they were closing in. I thought of my music school, of my friends, of the cafe where I used to practice. The normal life that had been stolen overnight.

Now, even my voice felt trapped inside me.

It was later in the afternoon when it happened.

I had slipped out to the hallway for a moment, Marta’s words in my head—stretch your legs, don’t let the fear eat you alive. The corridor was empty, quiet except for the ticking of a distant clock.

When I came back, I forgot to knock.

I pushed open the door, and froze.

Adrian wasn’t alone.

A woman leaned against the desk, her long hair spilling over one shoulder. Her dress was tight, red like spilled wine. She was close to him, too close, her lips brushing his jaw as her hand rested on his chest.

He didn’t push her away. His head was bent toward hers, and when he kissed her, it was fierce, hungry, as though I wasn’t even in his world.

My breath caught. I stepped back, but the door betrayed me with a creak.

Adrian’s head snapped up. His eyes locked on me, blazing.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” His voice thundered, so loud it made my chest shake.

The woman turned slowly, her lips curling into a smirk when she saw me. She didn’t look embarrassed. She looked amused.

“I—I’m sorry,” I stammered, gripping the doorframe. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Didn’t mean to what?” Adrian snapped, stepping toward me. His hands were fists at his sides. “Spy? Interrupt? This isn’t your place. This will never be your place.”

The woman laughed softly, a sound like silk tearing. “Oh, Adrian. She’s just a child. Don’t scare her.”

His jaw clenched, his glare still burning into me. “Get out.”

I swallowed hard, my face hot with shame. I turned and fled, heart pounding, his voice echoing in my ears.

I didn’t stop until I found Marta in the hallway, carrying a stack of folded linens. My eyes burned, but I forced the tears back.

She took one look at me and set the linens down. “What happened?”

I shook my head. “Nothing. I just—”

Her hands, rough from years of work, cupped my shoulders. “Listen to me, child. In this house, you will be tested. They will push you, break you, try to shape you into something you are not. But you must not let them see your spirit crack. Do you hear?”

I nodded weakly.

She smoothed my hair like a mother might. “You are stronger than you think.”

Her words were soft, but they pressed into me, warm against the cold walls of this house.

I went back to the room after seeing Marta in the hallway. Her words still echoed in me, warm but heavy.

When I stepped inside, the air smelled faintly of perfume. Selena’s perfume. But the desk was empty now. Adrian was gone.

I let out a shaky breath I didn’t know I was holding. My chest still burned from the way he had looked at me, the way she had laughed. I pressed my face into the pillow on the small couch, clutching it like it could hold me together.

This couch was mine now. My corner. My cage.

The door creaked open again. I sat up fast.

Dante Valenti stood in the doorway. His presence filled the room like smoke. He didn’t glance at me, not at first. His eyes swept across the space, sharp and searching.

“Where is Adrian?” His voice was low, controlled.

I gripped the pillow tighter. “I… I don’t know,” I said quickly. My voice sounded small in the wide room.

Dante’s eyes cut to me, piercing, waiting. The silence pressed hard on my chest.

“He was with…” My tongue stumbled, but the words slipped out before I could stop them. “…Selena.”

The air shifted. Dante’s gaze hardened, the calm mask cracking just enough to show something sharp beneath.

My stomach dropped.

That was the moment I realized I had just made a mistake.