Bound To The Ruthless Mafia Heir; Claimed By His Brother

Chapter Five: Losing Focus

I groan, grabbing the pillow and shoving my head underneath as sunlight pours into the room. I don’t want to wake up.

Not yet.

Someone taps my arm, but I snuggle deeper into the covers. “Ten minutes,” I mumble. “Ten minutes, please.”

“My lady, you need to get up. Breakfast is ready… and your husband has asked that you join him.”

Husband? I scoff under my breath. Somebody must be playing a joke. I’m not married, and I don’t plan on getting shackled with a man any time soon. But the hand is insistent, yanking the covers away as I tug harder.

“Belinda.” A hushed, urgent whisper pulls me from the arms of sweet sleep. I crack one eye open, immediately shutting it again. “It’s too bright. Close the curtains, Maria.”

“You’ve overslept, miss. It’s your first day here. You want to make a good impression on your husband, no?”

Why is she still talking about a man I don’t–

I jolt out of bed with a horrified gasp, my back straight as steel. It comes flooding back like a terrible nightmare—Papa’s words, the shoddy marriage, Cassian Moretti’s frigid stare…and the scar running down his face. “No,” I moan, slapping my hands to my face.

It’s real. I’m indeed married.

I turn to Maria, and she sighs softly. “I know it takes a while to get adjusted to, my lady. But that’s why I’m here. I’ve brought your things–” she gestures to the large luggage and boxes by the door. Then she reaches into a hidden pocket in her dress, bringing out a scented envelope. “Your father asked me to give you.”

I stare at it for a moment, at the wax seal that bears our family’s crest. I shake my head as my throat closes with unshed tears, turning away. “ I don’t want it.”

“He means well, my lady.”

I scoff under my breath. Right. Because giving his only daughter away to a brute was a generous gesture. “Why are you calling me my lady?” I asked instead. Back at home, she called me “Miss.”

“Because you’re married now,” Maria says with a smile in her voice. Then she clears her throat. “You should hurry to the bathroom. I’ve run a hot bath for you. I’ll have a dress laid out when you’re done.”

I swing my legs off the bed without a complaint, dragging myself to the bathroom. The glass walls around the bathtub are fogged with steam, and I lower myself in, sighing at the warmth that seeps into my bones.

I can do this. I’ve been through way worse. When I turned nineteen, Papa sent me to the colder end of Europe. Russia. He wanted intel on the Bratva, and I was the only one he could trust. A pakhan almost made my cover, and I was thrown into a cold, freezing room, left to rot for two days.

I later drove a dagger through his chest after he confided his secrets to me—with his pants down and his manhood erect.

When the water turns cold, I slowly exit, leaving water droplets behind me.

I slow down, instinctively, as I pass the mirror. A memory flashes through my head—blond hair, my wandering fingers—

I shake my head sharply, shoving it away. It was a mistake. I was in a foreign place…and I let my guard down.

Never again.

Maria’s no longer in the room, but there’s a dress on the bed. A simple gown, with dull colors. Nothing I’d pick myself. But I know what she meant by it.

Keep your head down.

My husband made it clear last night. “You’re simply a placeholder. Know your place.”

The gown falls down my shoulders, stopping inches after my knees. The material is coarse and rough, but I smoothen my hands down, forcing myself to get used to it.

As if I have a choice.

I make my way down the stairs slowly, one careful step at a time, my fingers grazing the railing as voices drift in from somewhere deeper inside the house.

Maria.

I don’t recognize the second one, but it belongs to a woman.

I make my way down the hallway from last night, hoping to find the dining room on my own. I get lost quickly, making a turn into a room with two exit doors and then into another hallway.

“Crap,” I mutter under my breath.

Maybe I should’ve asked for a map when he asked me to sign the contract. Something to help me navigate this maze.

“Are you lost?”

I jump, hand flying to my chest, heart racing with a feeling that’s all too familiar. I turn.

Him. Rafael Moretti. He’s dressed simply—black t-shirt, sleeves hugging his arms, gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips.

There’s a sheepish smile on his face. “I’m sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I heard footsteps and thought you might’ve gotten turned around. Do you—”

He stops. His gaze settles, taking me in slowly. It tracks over my face and lingers on my dress.

My pulse races.

Something flickers across his face, but it’s gone almost as quickly as it appears.

His mouth tugs with a frown as his gaze lifts again. “Forgive me for saying this, Miss Rossi, but I don’t think that’s your color.”

“I—” I stop.

What should I say? That I know already? That I’m wearing the dress to look like the perfect wife? Submissive and meek?

“If it’s for my brother,” he continues. “I can assure you he doesn’t care what you wear. As long as you keep out of his sight, you’re good to go.”

What about you?

The question comes to my mind, unbidden.

“Thank you,” I mutter.

He waves his hand. “Me? I did nothing, Miss Rossi. You would’ve figured it out by yourself. But—” he takes a step closer. I hold my breath.

His voice lowers into a deep rasp. “If you ask me, I’d say green. It matches the color of your eyes. Warm green. Like the—” he stops, abruptly, glancing over my shoulder. His expression shutters. “Good morning, brother.”

I spin around, my breath catching in my throat and my heart slamming against my ribs.

It has to be a prank.

Cassian Moretti sits at the far end of the hallway. “I see you and my brother are getting along just fine, Mrs. Moretti.”