Page 3 of In His Name

And the most terrifying thought of all creeps in, unwelcome but persistent: What if this is all there is? What if Dante is right, and acceptance is the only peace I'll ever know again?

CHAPTER 2

Dante

The boardroom feels oppressive today, the air too thick, the lights too bright. I've been away from Hannah for six hours and seventeen minutes, and the separation gnaws at me, a physical discomfort that grows with each passing moment. These meetings—once the lifeblood of my empire, now tedious interruptions to my true purpose—drag on endlessly. Vincent delivers the quarterly reports, numbers and projections that once would have commanded my full attention. Now they wash over me like white noise while my mind remains in the east wing of the mansion, with Hannah. Is she reading the book I selected? Is she wearing the blue dress I laid out? Is she thinking of me, missing me, counting the minutes until my return as I count the minutes away from her?

"...which brings us to the Milano situation," Vincent says, his voice penetrating my thoughts. "As you know, we lost that contract after the third rescheduled meeting. They've taken their business to the Costello family."

Around the table, my executives shift uncomfortably. The Costello family—our primary competitors, less powerful but growing stronger with each opportunity we miss. My distraction is costing us, but I find it difficult to care. Money, power, territory—these were once my obsessions. Now they pale in comparison to the possession of one girl with haunted hazel eyes and skin that bruises like a peach.

"The board is concerned," Vincent continues, choosing his words carefully, aware of the dangerous ground he treads. "Our market position has slipped seven percent in the last quarter alone. Clients are beginning to question our reliability, our focus."

"The board serves at my pleasure," I remind him, an edge entering my voice. "Their concerns are noted. Move on."

Vincent exchanges glances with Marco, seated to his right. Some unspoken communication passes between them, a shared concern they think I don't notice. I notice everything. My heightened awareness—a survival skill honed over decades in this business—has only sharpened with my fixation on Hannah. Every detail, every nuance, every microexpression is cataloged and analyzed.

"There's one more issue to address," Vincent says after a moment, tension evident in the set of his shoulders. "The consortium meeting next week. Your presence is…expected."

"I'll be there," I say dismissively, checking my watch. Six hours and twenty-two minutes away from Hannah now. Too long. "Is that all?"

"Not quite, sir." Vincent clears his throat. "The consortium has requested that you bring your wife. For the dinner portion. There's been…talk."

My attention snaps fully to Vincent for the first time today. "Talk? What kind of talk?"

The room temperature seems to drop several degrees. The other executives—six men who've been with me for years, who understand the danger signs—collectively tense, fight-or-flight instincts activating.

"Nothing substantial," Vincent attempts to backpedal, sensing the shift in my mood. "Curiosity, mainly. You've been married nearly a year now, and no one in our circles has met Mrs. Severino. It's…unusual."

"My private life is not the consortium's concern," I say, each word precise, controlled. The rage builds slowly, a pressure behind my eyes, a tightening in my chest. "Hannah's exposure to the outside world is carefully managed. For her protection."

"Of course, sir." Vincent nods quickly. "I explained that your protectiveness is understandable, given her youth and…the circumstances."

My fingers tighten on the armrests of my chair. "What circumstances, exactly, did you feel needed explaining, Vincent?"

The temperature drops another few degrees. Vincent's face pales slightly. "Nothing specific, sir. Just that Mrs. Severino is young, new to our world, still adjusting?—"

"Gennaro Ricci asked if she's a prisoner."

The new voice belongs to Antonio Ferraro, the oldest member of my executive team. In his seventies now, he's been with me since the beginning, which grants him liberties others don't enjoy. Or shouldn't enjoy, as he may be about to discover.

"Excuse me?" My voice is dangerously soft.

Antonio meets my gaze steadily, either brave or foolish. Perhaps both. "Ricci. At the Martinez funeral last month. He asked if your wife is actually a prisoner. Said there are rumors that she was acquired…unconventionally. That she's kept locked away because she's unwilling, not because she's being protected."

The rage crystallizes, transforms from pressure to sharpness, from heat to ice. "And what did you tell him, Antonio?"

"I told him to mind his own fucking business," Antonio replies, a hint of his old defiance showing through. "But the rumors persist. The consortium dinner is an opportunity to put them to rest. To show that Mrs. Severino is exactly what you say she is—your willing wife, not a captive."

Willing.The word echoes in my mind, bringing with it images of Hannah—her initial resistance, her gradual submission, the moments of surrender that grow more frequent but still aren't complete. Is she willing? Does it matter? She's mine, regardless of willingness. Mine to protect, to possess.Mine.

"These rumors," I say, each word dropped into the silence like a stone into still water, "where do they originate?"

Antonio shrugs, apparently oblivious to the danger he's in. "Hard to say. Probably that business with the Brightley family. Questions about how a debt was suddenly forgiven, how a daughter disappeared at the same time you acquired a young wife. People talk, Dante. You know this business runs on information, on weakness, on vulnerability. Right now, they think they've identified yours."

"Hannah is not a weakness," I say, the words coming out sharper than intended. "She is mine. My wife. My?—"

"And that's the kind of talk that feeds the rumors," Antonio interrupts, waving a dismissive hand. "Possession. Like she's property instead of a person. It makes people wonder what kind of relationship you really have with this girl. If she's some kind of sex slave rather than a?—"

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