Page 46

46

I EXPECT PERFECTION

RORY

I stop walking at the sight of Matteo waiting for me at the arrivals gate. The rest of the Belles continue past me, none of them catching on to my immediate distress.

All of them—except for Elle. She slows, turning back to check on me, following my gaze to Matteo, who stands, waiting for me a couple hundred yards ahead. A quick scan shows he brought at least four men with him. I can make out the guys he has stationed around the perimeter.

Elle circles back to stand in front of me, cutting off my view of Matteo. I release my first full breath since laying eyes on my fiancé. What is he doing here? Concern draws both of her brows in. “Are you okay?”

It’s a severe shift in mood. I was flying high, coming back from Cincinnati. I skated a clean program and took the gold. The medal still hangs from my neck. Karina insisted we wear them off the plane. Proof I’ve earned my spot to compete at Nationals, the last leg before Olympic team selection.

My vision blurs and I blink a few times to clear it, keeping my eyes on Elle’s face until she comes back into focus. I haven’t confided in her… not about my family and definitely not about Matteo.

Not because I don’t trust her—I do. I would give anything to confide in her, but telling her the truth only puts her in danger. And if Elle ever got hurt because of me…

“Everything’s fine.” I try my best to mean it, but my voice is an octave too high and my eyes are tight. She gives me a little nod, seeing too much… “Is he your new bodyguard?” Her eyes dart in Matteo’s direction without turning around.

“Something like that…” I mutter before repositioning the strap of my backpack slung over my shoulder before taking a step forward, resuming our procession.

“You’re late,” Is Matteo’s only greeting when we’re close enough to be within earshot.

“Like we can control when the plane lands.” Elle’s laugh is light as she attempts to lift the tense mood with humor.

Matteo’s cold, dead gaze slides her way. Sizing her up. I don’t like it.

I loop my arm through his, drawing his attention back to me. “We should get going.”

“Yes, we should.” He gives a tiny, almost imperceptible nod and one of his guys steps forward out of the crowd to take my bags. Matteo turns and strides for the door.

“I’ll be fine.” I mouth to Elle with a little cringe and hurry after my fiancé, since he’s not waiting for me.

When we slide into the back of the town car, I immediately feel underdressed in my hoodie and leggings. It’s the first time I notice Matteo’s wearing a tux. He sits opposite me, scrolling through his phone as the car pulls out into traffic. “Did you have an event tonight?”

“ We have an event tonight.” He doesn’t look up from his phone, gesturing absently to a black garment bag hanging behind him.

“Wait, what?” I ask, confused. It’s seven p.m. I just got off a flight after two grueling days of competition. I am in no mood to go to a party.

“The police commissioner Marc Robbins’ fundraiser, is tonight. We’re going.”He finally glances up to look at me.

I blink back at him. “I don’t—Where’s my father? Or Niko? I want to go home. I’m… tired.” My words are careful and I speak them slowly, not trying to set Matteo off.After our last encounter, I don’t think it would take much.

His mouth tilts up in a small smile. He would be handsome if it weren’t for those empty eyes of his. “Since we’re getting married next weekend, your father agreed it would be best if I assumed control of your security until then. You’ll be staying with me. We’ll go home together after the party tonight.” He eyes me over his phone.

A wave of dizziness washes through me at his words—processing them. Next weekend?

Gathering myself, I sit up a little straighter. My mind goes to the cash I have stashed away in my bedroom bookshelf. “But… I’ll need my stuff,” I stutter out, “I have to go home and pack.”

Matteo sighs, his patience wearing thin with my questions. “There’s no need. It’s already done.”

I swallow hard, nodding before trying again. “But, surely there may be a few things I should still?—”

He slams the phone down and I jump. “You will have everything you need. There is no need to return to the Kostalov compound. You belong to me now.”

I shrink back in my seat, feeling trapped, an overwhelming need for space arising.

He smiles. This time, he looks like he’s truly taking pleasure in the discomfort he’s causing. “You will accompany me to this fundraiser tonight. As my fiancé and soon-to-be wife, it is your duty. You will smile, you will laugh at my jokes and you keep your pretty little mouth shut unless told otherwise. Am I being clear, Aurora?”

Tears well up in the backs of my eyes, but I don’t dare let them fall. Silently, I agree, avoiding his gaze. If I don’t go back to the mansion, I won’t have access to any of my money.

Seven days.

In seven days, I’m expected to marry this jackass. Panic stirs and I have half a mind to throw open the door and tuck and roll onto the highway. I have to get away— Run .

But how?

The entire ride to the fancy hotel where the fundraiser is being held, I work on the problem.

When we arrive, Matteo’s guards open the door for us and he hands one of them the garment bag. “You can change upstairs.” I nod, absently climbing out of the car, but he stops me.

His icy hand wraps around my upper arm and I stop, turning my head slowly to face him. “I expect perfection, Aurora,” he warns. “I will accept nothing less.”

It’s no surprise the dress Matteo picked out for me to wear tonight is gold. The shiny fabric is actually pretty, unlike the last dress that was a little gaudy in my opinion. My only issue with this dress is it’s short.

Indecently so.

I spend most of the night uncomfortably tugging at the hem to keep it from sliding up my thigh.Which it does just about every time I move.

Matteo drags me from table to table. I meet so many businessmen and contacts I can’t possibly remember all of their names, their faces blurring together after so many hours.

I vaguely remember eating dinner. I’m dead on my feet by the time I bump into Cole DeLuca close to midnight. The party wound down ages ago, but Matteo insisted on staying to schmooze a few more associates. My cheeks hurt from the fake smile I’ve had plastered on my face all night. When my shoulder catches the Italian Capo as I pass by him, I wobble, unsteady in the high heels Matteo brought me—half a size too small.

Cole reaches out, offering his arm to help steady me. His dark eyes slide from me to his consigliere behind me. “Your fiancé is tired, Matteo. You should take her home. Call it a night.” The young Italian Capo smiles kindly down at me and I’m grateful, but I still eye him with caution. The man is not known for his kindness.

He’s unsettling. Power and influence rolls off of him in waves. The type of man who enters a room and everyone notices.

Matteo quickly agrees, “Yes, Signore DeLuca. Of course.” He bows his head slightly in deference and offers me his arm; the picture of a gentleman.

With only a few seconds’ hesitation, I accept it, which elicits a frown from Matteo. He nods goodbye to his capo while guiding me gently toward the exit.

“Oh, and congratulations on the gold, Miss Kostalova,” DeLuca calls out from behind us. And I know he isn’t talking about the dress. “Quite the accomplishment.”

I swing my gaze toward his, meeting his dark eyes. “Thank you,” I breathe. And I mean it. I have no idea how he knows about it, but Cole DeLuca is the only one to mention my competition in Cincinnati all night.

At Matteo’s urging, I bid DeLuca farewell and we make our way out to the waiting car.

I’m grateful for the silent ride home, utterly exhausted after the long day—and even longer night. We pull up to the unfamiliar dark Victorian located far outside of the city. I follow Matteo out of the car, and up the stairs, and through a very large and overly ornate foyer. I only assume I’m supposed to follow him since he hasn’t actually said anything to me since we left the venue, and he hasn’t directed me elsewhere.

When we reach what must be his study, Matteo closes the door behind us. The silence I’d previously felt refuge in, feels dangerous all of a sudden.

I wait awkwardly by the door, teetering slightly on my heels. Eyes watching Matteo as he paces the length of the office. Normally, I would have slipped them off by now, choosing to ride barefoot in the car. But Matteo strikes me as someone who prefers propriety in all aspects of life.

After several long, drawn out minutes, he stops behind his desk, gripping the back of a leather armchair. His gaze, when it lands on me, is volatile. I straighten up under the weight of it. The anger in his eyes awakens my fight or flight.

“You embarrassed me tonight.”

I shift uncomfortably on my heels, confused. I’d done everything he asked. “I thought it went well…” He cuts me off with a shake of his head.

“A wife’s duty is to her husband. To make him happy. Serve him. But you—” a maniacal look enters his eye, and he resumes his pacing. I move in tandem to keep the distance between us. Matteo’s words and movements grow increasingly angrier as he carries on. “—You,” he shakes a finger at me, “embarrassed me in front of my Capo.”

I’m shaking my head at him, unsure what to say to avoid what I think is coming.

I see the moment his dark mania settles into cold absolution. “As a result, you will be punished.” He states the words simply, taking a calm and measured step toward me. “Consider this a learning experience, Aurora.”

Dread fills me and instinctively I look for an exit, a means of escape, but there is none. Matteo’s standing between me and the only door. The fact he is calm only makes him that much scarier. He isn’t threatening me from a place of rage like my father always did—unable to control his own temper.

Matteo is making a choice.

He comes for me and I can’t help but back away. He smiles, delight and satisfaction in his eyes at the fear he’s caused.

I slap him when he gets too close.

It’s the wrong thing to do, but I don’t care. He can’t make me regret it, not even when he slaps me back. Twice as hard. And not even when he let loose a sharp punch to my ribs, taking my breath from me. A second punch takes me down to my knees.

He’s strategic with his hits. Clinical even. Hitting… kicking… where no one will ever see. My stomach, back and legs are all fair game.But he avoids my face… my arms.

It’s over quickly and I don’t cry, despite the searing pain in my ribs. I don’t.

He’s sadistic enough to offer me his hand to help me off the floor. I consider refusing it, but he’d probably punish me for that, too. Reluctantly, I take it and he pulls me up.

He mistakes my shaking hands for fear and strokes my hair almost lovingly, like I’m a naughty puppy who’s misbehaved. But I’m not afraid; I’m angry. Angry at him for what he just did. Angry at myself for letting him.

“Now off to bed. We have a long week ahead. As discussed, the rehearsal dinner is on Friday.” It’s a little glimpse into what life will be like as his wife.

“I shouldn’t be here. We aren’t married yet—It isn’t right.” Suddenly I’m nervous for a whole new reason.

“The contracts have been signed. I already own you,” Matteo urges impatiently, leading me out of the study and toward the grand stairwell at the front of the house.“The wedding is merely a formality. Not to mention, given your father’s abysmal situation and lack of his own security, you’re far safer here.”

Somehow I doubt that.

I don’t have a response. Too busy taking in Matteo’s “security.” And it is extensive. Armed soldiers stand guard throughout the house, and even more are outside. I can see them patrolling through the windows. He has all the exits covered. My hope of escape dims.

“That being said,” Matteo continues, “I have assured your father everything will be above board.” He straightens his tie. “I will not touch you until the bedding ceremony on our wedding night.” I wince, briefly recalling the Italian tradition of displaying bloody sheets for all to see as proof of the bride’s purity and consummation of the marriage. Bloody sheets we won’t have…

His phone rings, and he answers it. His eyes widen before darkening as he listens to the deep rumble of someone on the other end.He replies sharply in rapid Italian.

“Your room is upstairs, the last door on the left. Sal can show you if needed. I have business to attend to.” He points out a nearby guard, who I’m assuming is Sal, before stalking back to his study, screaming into the phone before disappearing with a door slam.

I stand lost on the marble tiles of the grand foyer, too aware of the guard’s interest on my over exposed legs.

Seven days. I look around the dark house.

I have seven days to escape this fate.