Page 63 of Coerced Wife

I take my clutch bag and walk with leaden feet to the door, everything inside me breaking apart and falling to pieces. Because Saverio deceived me. Again. Because inside, I’m bleeding for the man who tried to trick me by hiding the truth.

Life dealt him a cruel hand. Fate deprived him not only of the child he craved so badly but also of the only woman he wanted since he was fourteen. All because he couldn’t produce the heir that was expected of him.

All because he’s infertile.

“I’m sorry you had to find out like this,” Rachele says to my back. “If you’re going to marry him, you deserve to know the truth.”

I stop with my hand on the door handle. She’s not sorry about anything.

“He doesn’t love you, Anya.”

I turn on the threshold. Rachele is watching me with victory burning in her dark eyes. Telling me has nothing to do with paying me any favors. She just wants to make sure she’s still the invincible mafia princess, the most powerful woman when it comes to men’s hearts.

“I know he doesn’t love me,” I say in a level voice, meeting her gaze head-on. “Who says that’s what I want? Did you consider that maybeI’mthe one usinghim? You know nothing about the dynamic between Saverio and me.” My mother didn’t give me much, but if there’s one valuable lesson she taught me, it’s this. “The problem is that you’re not happy, Rachele, and you’d hate for anyone else to be.”

Her gaze flares, her large eyes widening slightly because I’m right.

I don’t even care enough about her to experience triumph. All I feel for her is pity.

As for the rest, desolation rips through me when I push the door open and walk through it. Every step I take is like walking on a bed of glowing red coals.

Saverio stands on the gallery, talking to Dante. His smile slips when he sees me.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, wrapping an arm around my waist.

I plaster a smile on my face. “Nothing.”

The way his eyes tighten in the corners says he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t push the issue.

I stand like a statue at his side while people file past in a steady row to prematurely congratulate us and to make mindless conversation.

A short while later, Luigi asks the DJ to kill the music. He makes an announcement, but everything is like white noise in my ears.

Saverio takes my hand and pushes a ring with a huge oval diamond over my finger. I can’t stop staring at the monstrosity that shines under the lights, the huge stone weighing down my hand. Saverio holds my gaze as he lifts my fingers to his lips and kisses the ring, something dark and deviant sparking in those eyes that resemble the color of an iced-over lake. Clapping follows and then cheers.

Lowering his head, he claims my lips in a kiss that lasts too long to be appropriate for the occasion. This time, wolf whistling sounds.

It all happens in a blur. The one moment I’m Anya Brennan, and in the next, I’m to become Ms. De Luca.

“Soon,” Saverio whispers in my ear, sealing that frightening promise with a tender kiss on my neck.

CHAPTER

SIXTEEN

Saverio

Finally, she wears my ring. It’s not one she chose herself, but she wears it all the same. Anyway, I’ve always believed the ring is a symbol of a man’s vow and commitment that he presents to his future wife and should therefore be selected by him. I only gave her the choice because she has so little freedom in everything else.

The ring is from Hart Diamonds, the trendiest store on Fifth Avenue. The four-carat diamond has a pure color and a flawless cut. It’s a token of my wealth and my power, of my ability to care for her and to protect her. It was the biggest and most expensive diamond ring of all the stores in the whole of New York City. I checked to be sure. I even contacted the jewelry chain head office in South Africa to see if they could source a bigger diamond, but the sales manager assured me the quality and size of the stone I bought were extremelyrare.

It sparkles on her finger where she sits next to me in the back of the car on our way home from the party, providing me with no small measure of satisfaction that I could give her a worthy ring. Rachele got engaged to me with her mother’s ring. It’s one that will stay in the family, one she’ll pass on to her daughter, should she have one. But this ring has never belonged to anyone. It’s nobody’s but Anya’s. It hasn’t been spoiled with another woman’s love, tears, or heartache, and I much prefer it like this.

My treasure leans her head against the backrest and closes her eyes. It’s been a long and stressful evening. I take her hand, frowning at how cold it feels, and cover it with mine to warm her skin.

When we arrive home, I lift her into my arms and carry her upstairs. In our bedroom, I help her to undress. She pulls on a pair of fluffy pajamas and crawls into bed without washing off her make-up or brushing her teeth. I fed her enough canapés and finger food at the club, so I pull the duvet up to her chin and leave her to sleep.

I change quickly, pulling on a tracksuit and a hoodie, and get my gun from the safe. When I walk from the dressing room, she’s breathing evenly.

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