Ettore
When I walked down to the dining table the next morning, my whole family was waiting for us for breakfast… almost the entire family. One person was missing, the one whose absence I felt the most, even after months of his being gone… Gone forever.
The moment I reached the bottom of the stairs, my eyes went straight to that one specific empty seat among all the filled ones. That seat was always left untouched, regardless of whether it was for the meal or the occasion. No one dared sit there, because it belonged to him. To Mateo.
As I stepped into the room, every head turned toward me. My parents, my grandfather, my siblings… they all looked at me, and then their gazes shifted, searching for that viper of a woman they expected to see at my side. That shadow I was forced to make my… wife.
Vera Volkov.
"Buongiorno, Ragazzo Mio. Where is Vera?" My grandfather asked, his gaze searching for that woman.
"Buongiorno, Nonno," I muttered as I took the seat beside my father. I pulled my chair forward and watched one of the servants place my usual morning espresso in front of me.
My eyes drifted to my Nonno at the head of the table. On his right sat my mother, on his left sat my father. I sat beside my father, and the chair next to my mother was empty: It was Mateo's seat. She never lets anyone sit there, and none of us ever tries. It has always belonged to him.
Beside the empty chair sat Leo, my youngest brother, and next to him was my younger sister, Livia. The chair on my other side, where she should have been, remained vacant. Next to that sat my other brother, Mirko.
I exhaled slowly, silently hoping Nonno wouldn't ask about her. But he kept staring at me, waiting. I knew he expected an answer.
"I don't know," I finally muttered with a shrug.
Nonno scowled. "What do you mean you don't know? Tore, she is your wife now. You should know where she is. It is her first day in this house. She should be with you."
My jaw clenched. I had a problem with what he said, but out of respect, I couldn't show my anger or disappointment. Nonno already knew how much I despised that woman. In fact, everyone at the table, except him and my father, hated the idea of bringing a Volkov into our family through marriage. But they were the head of the family, and if they believed something was right, the rest of us had no choice but to follow.
"The Volkov will not keep the peace unless we tie them to us with their own blood. Volkov's daughter is the leverage we need. Marriage is the one tradition they value above all else. Once she is part of this family, their savagery will be forced to quiet." Those were my Nonno's words on the day he decided my fate… on the day he sentenced me to marry Vera Volkov.
The truth is, I don't know because I haven't seen her since last night, since I kicked her out of my room. Am I sorry I did that? No. Do I feel guilty for throwing her out of my room into a new house, a new environment, an enemy's territory? Still no. She could vanish from this world, and I wouldn't blink. If I had authority, I would've kicked her out of the Moretti mansion altogether.
I never wanted to breathe the same air as a Volkov, let alone be chained to one. I've always lived by one rule: an eye for an eye. But my Nonno and my father clearly had other plans.
I don't know much about Vera, except that she is exactly what I expected: vile, disrespectful, hard-headed, sharp-tongued, and impossible to handle. No one should expect anything better from a Volkov.
I remember the moment I told her to get out of my room. She frowned, then said, "Oh no, but what will I do without you in this foreign mansion, mi amore?" Her poorly spoken Italian was painful to hear, and the sarcasm dripping from her voice was even worse. I ignored it. I had no desire to spar with her. I just wanted her to go so I could finally breathe.
But she didn't move. Instead, she rolled her eyes, stepped closer, and glared right into mine, full of challenge. "You think you can treat me like this? Then you're sadly mistaken. I'm not going anywhere. As unfortunate as it is, I'm your wife now, and this room is just as mine as yours. So, if you have an issue with me being here, you can leave. I'm not going anywhere, and you can't make me. Do you hear me?"
While she tried to get on my face, I remained still, hands clasped behind my back. She's small, much shorter than me, and I had to lower my gaze to look at her. She rose on her toes, trying to match my height, trying to challenge me, but she failed miserably. The sight made my jaw tighten with the hatred burning in my chest.
Looking at her was enough to drag me back to the image of my brother – cold, pale, gone. My fingers curled into a fist behind my back. In my mind, I saw her celebrating his death, savoring the destruction her family caused. Rage twisted inside me. For one reckless moment, I imagined sending her lifeless body back to the Volkov estate the way they returned Mateo to us – letting them know I'd taken what they took from me.
But I can't. Not yet.
So, I have other plans. Plans that don't require killing her. Plans that will break her slowly, thoroughly, until she begs for the one mercy I will never give. For now, all I wanted was to get her out of my room. I didn't want to look at her face a second longer. The day had already been a disaster, and I refused to let it get worse. She needed to understand something very clearly: I am not a man who shows mercy simply because someone is a woman. Gender never mattered to me. I hate and love with the same precision.
I exhaled slowly, already bored with her pathetic attempt at intimidation. "I am serious, woman. Get out of this room," I said flatly, "Or I swear I'll make you."
She narrowed her eyes before releasing a sharp, mocking snicker. "Then make me… because I'm not leaving otherwise." She rolled her eyes as if the situation bored her.
I ground my teeth so hard my jaw ached. I didn't want to touch her. God knows I didn't want to put my hands on her. My nostrils flared as I forced the words through clenched teeth. "Get. Out."
Instead of listening, she stepped closer.
Her scent hit me first. It was sweet, warm, something floral with a hint of spice. Annoyingly pleasant. I locked my gaze onto her green eyes. I had never seen her up this close before – Hell! I had never seen her at all until today. The Volkov guard their women like secrets, tucked away from the world. Only at the wedding had I seen Vera and her mother, faces hidden behind polite smiles.
She was… pretty. It irritated me how easily I had to admit that. Pretty, in a way, that made my rage pulse hotter, because all I could think about was how badly I had wanted to snap her neck throughout the entire ceremony.
She was smaller than I expected… slight, almost delicate. Big eyes. A narrow nose. Rosy lips that seemed made for taunting. Her chestnut-blond hair fell in long, loose waves around her shoulders. She hadn't tied it up for the wedding, and only now was I noticing how it framed her face.
Too bad beauty meant nothing to me. Not when it came wrapped in Volkov blood.
She lifted her chin and pushed closer – well, tried to. "Make. Me." She broke the words apart in a low whisper, a smirk curling like she thought she had won something.
That smirk vanished the moment I acted.
"Fine," I muttered, and my hand closed around her arm. She gasped sharply and was startled by my move, but I didn't stop. She had asked for this, demanded it. I had been more than patient – God knows I couldn't be anything more than this with her.
She twisted, trying to yank free, but I only tightened my grip. Her hiss of pain reached me, but it changed nothing. I didn't care. I would never care.
I dragged her toward the door, every step punctuated by her futile attempts to pull away. I yanked it open, shoved her across the threshold, and released her. A satisfying thud of her stumbling back, and then the look on her face. Scowling, furious, and humiliated.
My own smirk came easily.
She bared her teeth, ready to lunge at me, but I shut the door in her face before she could take a step.
"FUCK YOU!" she screamed, punctuated by a kick that rattled the wood.
And then… silence. Blessed, perfect silence.
I didn't hear a sound from her for the rest of the night.