Page 12 of His Tesoro

“What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?” I growled.

Sofiya gasped with a jolt, her eyes flying to mine. “Oh! Sorry, I didn’t see you.” Her round cheeks grew pink as I stared at her, unblinking. “Umm, good morning?” Her words came out as a question.

No, I refused to be swayed by her innocent act.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I seethed.

She chewed her lip, her cheeks growing redder. “I didn’t catch it. Sorry.”

Why was she playing dumb? I rounded the kitchen island and that was when I saw it. The walker in front of her. How she was leaning all her weight on the counter.

Shit.

My insistence that I didn’t need to know anything about my bride before our marriage seemed idiotic now. I had to check with Romeo to see if he’d gotten her medical records yet.

“Is something wrong?” Sofiya asked. She had to tilt her head up to meet my gaze.

“You’re in the way,” I snapped, my anger at her quickly transforming into embarrassed irritation towards myself. “You might live here now, but that doesn’t mean it’s your home to do with as you please.”

Her lips parted and she quickly looked around the massive penthouse apartment, as if trying to figure out whose way she was in.

“Do you… should I…” Her voice was a whisper as she stumbled over her words.

“Spit it out.” I didn’t want to have to look at her big, sad, blue eyes anymore.

“You want me to stay in my room?” she finally got out.

“Yes, fine,” I said, needing this conversation to be over.

She averted her gaze and gave me a little nod before moving her hands to her walker. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask her about her disability, but that would mean staying in her presence. And every second I spent with my little wife, the more I got drawn in. I had made the mistake of trusting people in the past, and it had cost me everything. I wouldn’t do it again.

Sofiya walked slowly back to her room, leaning heavily on the walker. I caught a hint of her scent as she walked past me—something sweet and floral. I looked down at the paper she’d been writing on. At the top of the page, it said “Sofiya’s Famous Cinnamon Rolls,” and it looked like she had been checking off the ingredients she needed.

Something stirred in my chest. A sharp pain that felt almost like… regret. I adjusted my sleeves and pushed the feeling away. I needed to get to the office. I found myself hoping that the Albanians would cause some shit today. Getting my hands dirty would get my mind off my wife.

I left the apartment, jerking my head at Angelo. “Make sure she doesn’t leave.”

He nodded, keeping his position by the door.

9

SOFIYA

Iclosed the bedroom door behind me, leaning heavily on my rollator to keep my balance. My hips were aching, and a weariness that had nothing to do with my disorder was settling into my bones. I didn’t know how long I could live like this. Mila was always the brave one, the one who fought back. Without her by my side, I felt myself wilting.

I curled up on the bed, haphazardly throwing a blanket over my body. My eyes burned with unshed tears until I finally gave into them, letting them drip down my cheeks. It wasn’t like there was anyone here to judge me for crying. I wondered if my new husband would scream at me if he saw my tears, like my father always had. I didn’t understand why I had to be born with such a freaking tender heart. I wished I could be cold and unfeeling… like Matteo.

I wrapped my arms around my pillow and let my eyes drift shut. Maybe my dreams would carry me to a better life.

The light in the room shifted as the sun set, turning gold, then pink, then blue. I hadn’t moved from my spot on the bed all day and didn’t have the energy to turn on a lamp.

I should have asked more questions this morning. Was I allowed to leave my room to get food? Matteo hadn’t specified, which, in my experience, meant no. Would he hit me if I disobeyed? My stomach lurched at the thought.

A few months ago, I had dared go downstairs after my father told me to stay in my room. I’d gotten my period but didn’t have any supplies, and Mila was out. My father caught me searching through my mother’s bathroom vanity and backhanded me across the face. I’d crumpled to the floor, hitting my hip hard enough to leave a nasty bruise. I’d had to crawl back to my room, holding back my screams of pain, as my father berated me for not obeying him. Something in me had broken that day as I lay in bed, blood soaking through the towel I’d stuffed in my underwear.

Based on what I’d seen and my conversations with his men, Matteo didn’t seem violent, but even I could hear how naïve that sounded. He was the Don. He had surely murdered and tortured people. Just because he was attractive didn’t mean anything. Monsters hid behind pretty faces.

Darkness enveloped the room and I stared unseeingly out the window. Hunger gnawed at my stomach, but I was too scared to venture out into the kitchen. I hadn’t heard anyone moving around the apartment all day, but I was sure Matteo had cameras. Was this all a test to see how obedient I was?

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