Vera
I didn't exactly expect anyone in this leech of a family to show a shred of civility. So, when my charming new husband kicked me out of our room, I wasn't shocked. Annoyed? Absolutely. Mostly because all my belongings were now locked inside with that asshole.
Now I was wandering this massive, unfriendly mansion with nothing but my temper and my knife. I don't trust the Morettis. They are brutes and savages, all of them. It wouldn't surprise me if someone tried to jump me in one of these dark hallways. But if they think I'm anything like their obedient, domesticated women, they're delusional.
I ran a hand down to the knife strapped against my thigh, the one I'd hidden for moments exactly like this. If anyone here thinks they can mess with me, I'll gladly prove them wrong.
Moretti's mansion was massive, to say the least. The Volkov estate wasn't any less imposing, but the Moretti home… it was different. It didn't just show wealth, it showed identity. Every wall, every carved archway, every stone step screamed the history of their bloodline. This place wasn't built to impress. It was built to declare power.
The walls were a warm ivory stone, the kind that never felt modern but always felt expensive. Dark wooden floors stretched beneath my feet, polished to a shine. Antique consoles displayed marble sculptures, and the air carried a faint scent of old books and the stronger aroma of wine. It stung to admit it, even if it is just in my own head, but the Moretti mansion was far more impressive than the Volkov estate. Not that I will ever say it out loud.
It was impossible to decide where to sleep. Every few minutes, the thought of running away clawed at me, but I couldn't… not until I finished what I came here to do. If I failed, they wouldn't let me live long enough to regret it.
Clutching the skirt of my wedding dress, I wandered the mansion until my feet throbbed. The place was massive, a maze of endless hallways and silent rooms. After more than an hour, I finally stumbled upon a large set of heavy double doors. I pushed them open with both hands and froze.
It was a study, but it looked more like a private library stolen from a fairytale. Shelves climbed all the way up to a soaring ceiling, packed with books in rich, dark bindings. The few walls without shelves held enormous paintings, each one framed in gold. A grand desk sat in the center, polished to a shine. And on the far side, a stone fireplace crackled softly, filling the room with a warm glow.
I wasn't a reader by any means, but standing here… it made me want to be one. The room felt strangely safe, like the walls themselves were shielding me from the chaos of this house. So, I decided to spend what was left of the night there. I shut the doors behind me and curled up on the couch. It was stiff and narrow, but exhaustion made even that feel tolerable. Sleep came quickly.
I didn't wake until around ten. Every muscle in my back protested, and my head throbbed from the terrible sleep and the awful couch. Still, I forced myself up. I needed to get back to my new husband's room, change out of this damned wedding dress, take a shower, and pretend to be human again.
The hallways were bright now, sunlight pouring in through the enormous windows. Servants moved around the space, dusting, sweeping, pretending not to stare while their eyes followed me anyway. Heat crawled up my neck. Embarrassment burned in my cheeks.
All because Ettore kicked me out.
I clenched my fists. I wanted nothing more than to strangle him for throwing me out like trash and humiliating me in front of an entire household of strangers.
When I slipped back into the room, relief hit me hard. The door wasn't locked, and Ettore was nowhere in sight. Good. I stepped inside and immediately locked the door behind me, letting out a frustrated groan before heading straight for the bathroom. I needed to pee desperately.
After freshening up, brushing my teeth, showering, trying to scrub the exhaustion off my skin, I stood staring at the pile of dresses I'd been sent here with. Every single one of them screamed Volkov tradition or Moretti-approved modesty. Absolutely not.
I chose what suited me: a black dress that ended just above my knees. Deep back, deep neckline, sleeveless. The kind of dress the Morettis would hate.
I'd been warned about their obsession with modesty.
I didn't care.
Once I was ready with the black dress clinging just right, light makeup, blow-dried hair, minimal jewelry, and that unfortunate, oversized diamond wedding ring weighing down my finger, I headed for the door. But just as I reached for the handle, my phone rang.
Mama.
The name on the screen hit me harder than I expected. A sudden heaviness settled in my chest, thick and suffocating. I hadn't even been gone a full day, yet the sound of her name alone made me ache. God, I missed her.
"Mama," I whispered, pressing the phone tight against my ear.
She didn't answer right away. I heard her breathing… shaky, uneven. She was crying and trying so hard to hide it from me. After a long pause, she finally spoke. "My baby," she whispered back. "How are you?"
"Not so good without you," I admitted, my voice trembling. "But I'm surviving. It's just the beginning, though."
"I know this is hard for you. I'm so sorry you were dragged into this mess."
"It's okay, Mama. I can handle it. You know I'm tough, right? You made me tough. I can do this."
"I know you can, my love. But still… I'm your mother." Her voice cracked. "I'm scared for you."
"Don't be. I got this," I tried to reassure her, though fear curled tight in my own chest. I was worried. Terrified, even, about what was coming next. I was in enemy territory, and I had secrets… secrets I wasn't supposed to spill. Secrets that could get me killed, or something worse. I swallowed hard, pushing the thought away.
"You have to be careful, my child. The Moretti family can be very… dangerous."
"It's okay, Mama," I breathed, forcing confidence I didn't feel. "So can I."
I ended the call quickly. It wasn't safe to speak with my family for too long. It was my very first day here, and I didn't want to attract any trouble. I needed to study this miserable family before I did, or planned, anything. After the brief call with my mother, I decided to go downstairs. I was starving. I hadn't eaten anything all day yesterday, and I wanted some food, coffee, and an aspirin for my headache. As I made my way down, a voice drifted towards me:
"Ah no, no, figlio mio! Non può essere… oggi non puoi venire a lavoro." I furrowed my brow. That had to be the grandfather, the head of the family. But since he was speaking Italian, I had no idea what he was saying.
"Nonno, ti prego… che dovrei fare qui a casa? Non ho mai preso un giorno libero e non posso farlo nemmeno adesso, solo perché mi hai combinato quel matrimonio con quella stronza." I froze when I heard Ettore's voice. He spoke Italian with such fluency, it caught me off guard. I knew he was Italian, of course, but hearing him speak so effortlessly like this was still… weird.
"Tore, she is your wife now. Like it or not, she is your family. You must speak of her respectfully. I said what I said—you will stay back. You just got married, stay home with your wife," the grandfather said, his voice heavy with authority.
I twisted my lips in distaste. I wanted to march up to him and beg him to make his grandson disappear. I didn't want to spend a second with him. I didn't want him around!
"Nonno…"
"Enough, Ettore. I have said what I have said."
That shut Ettore up. I couldn't help the smirk that tugged at my lips. It felt satisfying to see Ettore put in his place. For a brief, mischievous moment, I wondered if I should tell his grandfather about what his lovely grandson had gotten up to last night—but that thought evaporated when the grandfather spoke again.
"And what did you plan for your honeymoon? Where would you like to take her?"
My stomach dropped, and in the heat of the moment, words slipped out before I could stop them.
"What?!" My voice had carried farther than I intended. Damn it. I cursed myself silently. After a tense moment, figures emerged from somewhere, all looking at me at the bottom of the stairs. I swallowed hard. There was the grandfather, Ettore's father, a very displeased Ettore, and the youngest brother, clearly amused, all watching me.
My gaze landed on my jerk of a new husband. He was scanning me from head to toe, silently judging my choice of clothes. His jaw was clenched, and I could feel his disapproval burning.
"Ah, cara nuora, you took your time waking up. It's okay, it's okay. You'll learn," the grandfather said with a saccharine smile. I hated him. Acting all sweet and caring while running a family of savages and brutes. I forced my anger down and stood silently.
His eyes lingered on my clothes. He let out a soft chuckle. "Ah… vestito nero," he muttered, before adding, "Never mind." I frowned, confused, and honestly, I didn't care.
"What honeymoon? Sorry, there won't be any. I married that…" My gaze slid to Ettore, who was glaring at me… jaw tight, eyes narrowed, visibly displeased by the tone I dared to use with his Nonno. "…grandson of yours, and that's enough," I finished, unbothered. He was Ettore's grandfather, not mine.
"Watch your tone," Ettore snapped, voice low and stern, ready to bite, but Nonno lifted a hand without even looking at him. Ettore fell silent instantly, though his glare stayed sharp enough to cut. Ettore's father and brother were drilling holes through me, too, equally displeased, but nowhere near as lethal as Ettore's stare.
Nonno, meanwhile… smiled.
A soft, patient, deceptively warm smile that didn't reach his eyes. He was clearly not pleased, yet he held himself with the relaxed confidence of a man who didn't need to raise his voice to exert power. With his hands clasped behind his back, he stepped slightly forward and pinned me beneath his gaze… calm, steady, dominant.
"Cara nuora," he said gently, "…that is not something for you to decide."
My scowl deepened. He continued in that same measured tone, turning briefly to glance at his grandson before addressing me again. "I know the two of you did not get married in the best circumstances," he said, his voice almost sympathetic… almost. "And I know, Vera," he added, shifting his gaze fully onto me, "...that you think of us as your enemy."
My spine stiffened. He wasn't wrong.
"But you are now a Moretti," he said, the softness in his voice sharpening beneath the surface, "and you must begin to see this family as your own."
I clenched my teeth so hard my jaw throbbed.
Nonno smiled again, controlled and final. "I have said what I have said. The two of you are going on your honeymoon. A small gift from me… to both of you."
His smile widened just slightly, sealing his command like a verdict.
Ettore and I turned to glare at each other.
Maybe the honeymoon is where I'll kill him.