Page 7 of In His Name

He holds me close like a lover would, and I fall asleep against his chest.

Almost as if I feel safe.

CHAPTER 4

Dante

The marriage contract sits before me, thirty-seven pages of precisely worded legal language that transforms possession into legitimacy. My lawyers were thorough, if somewhat confused by my specific requirements. They're accustomed to prenuptial agreements designed to protect assets in case of divorce, not contracts that make divorce effectively impossible. I flip through the document one final time, ensuring every detail aligns with my vision. Hannah's status as my wife is clearly defined, her obligations meticulously outlined, the consequences of attempting to leave the marriage explicitly stated. Nothing is left to interpretation or chance. When she signs this—and she will sign it—the last formality will be complete. She will be mine not just in body, not just in my private reality, but in the eyes of the law. Another layer of possession, another barrier against separation.

The lead attorney, Preston, clears his throat uncomfortably. "Mr. Severino, while we've drafted this according to yourspecifications, I must advise you that several clauses may be difficult to enforce in court. Particularly those regarding Mrs. Severino's…restricted movement and communication."

I look up from the document, fixing him with a stare that has made stronger men falter. "Your concern is noted. The enforceability in traditional courts is secondary. What matters is that both parties understand the agreement."

"Of course, sir," Preston says quickly, recognizing the dangerous territory he's approaching. "It's just that, legally speaking, contracts signed under duress?—"

"Is there any indication of duress?" I interrupt, my voice remaining calm while my patience thins. "Will there be physical evidence of coercion? Witnesses to improper pressure? Or will there simply be a wife signing an agreement presented by her husband, observed by reputable legal professionals such as yourself?"

Preston swallows visibly. "Understood, sir. We've included the notary as requested. She's waiting in the anteroom."

"Excellent." I close the contract, sliding it into the leather portfolio prepared for this purpose. "You've done well, Preston. Your firm's annual retainer will reflect my satisfaction."

Relief crosses his features, quickly masked by professional composure. "Thank you, Mr. Severino. Will there be anything else?"

"No. You're dismissed. Send in the notary on your way out."

As Preston leaves, I straighten the portfolio on my desk, aligning it perfectly with the edges of the blotter. This moment has been months in planning—the culmination of the process that began with Hannah's acquisition, continued with her physical claiming, and now concludes with legal formalization. Each step necessary, each building on the foundation of the last to create an inescapable reality.

Some might question why I bother with legal documentation when Hannah is already effectively mine, her body marked with my name, her movements controlled, her existence defined by my will. Those people fail to understand that it isn't enough that I know she belongs to me. The world must know it too. Every possible avenue of escape must be closed, every potential challenge to my ownership preemptively addressed.

The notary enters—a middle-aged woman with an air of efficient professionalism. She keeps her eyes appropriately lowered, aware of who I am, what I represent. "Mr. Severino, I understand you have documents requiring notarization?"

"Yes. My wife will be joining us shortly to sign our marriage contract. Your role is to witness her signature and confirm her identity using the documentation I'll provide."

The notary nods, setting her case on the edge of my desk and removing her stamps and ledger. "Of course, sir. Standard procedure."

Nothing about this is standard, but her discretion is commendable. I press the intercom button. "Bring Hannah to my office."

While we wait, I observe the notary preparing her materials, her movements mechanical, practiced. She's been chosen carefully—not part of my regular organization but someone with connections to it, someone who understands the consequences of indiscretion. She won't ask questions about Hannah's demeanor, won't notice if the signature seems hesitant, won't remember anything unusual about this transaction after she leaves.

The door opens, and Marco escorts Hannah inside. She's wearing the outfit I selected for this occasion—a cream-colored dress that suggests bridal innocence while remaining appropriately formal for a legal proceeding. Her hair falls in soft waves around her shoulders, her only jewelry the locket thatmarks her as my property and the tattooed ring visible on her finger.

"Thank you, Marco. Wait outside," I instruct, rising to guide Hannah to the chair positioned beside mine. Her steps are smooth, controlled, her expression carefully neutral—the mask she's perfected during her time with me. But I note the slight tension in her shoulders, the barely perceptible acceleration of her pulse visible at her throat. She's nervous, uncertain. Good. Significant moments should carry weight, should be felt deeply.

"Hannah," I say, taking her hand once she's seated. "This is Ms. Kelley. She's here to witness an important document we'll be signing today."

Hannah glances at the notary, then back to me, wariness evident in her eyes despite her efforts to conceal it. "What document?" she asks, her voice soft but steady.

I open the portfolio, revealing the contract's title page: "Marriage Agreement and Covenant Between Dante Alessandro Severino and Hannah Marie Brightley-Severino." Her eyes widen slightly as she reads it, understanding dawning.

"This contract," I explain, "formalizes our marriage in all legal aspects. It defines our rights and responsibilities to each other, establishes the parameters of our relationship, and ensures that our union is recognized in all relevant jurisdictions."

"But we're already..." she begins, stopping herself before completing the thought. Smart girl—she's learned to consider her words carefully, especially in front of witnesses.

"Married in the eyes of God, yes," I complete for her, the fiction smooth and practiced. "But this addresses the civil requirements, the legal protections. It's important that our relationship be properly documented."

I turn to the notary. "Ms. Kelley, if you could verify Mrs. Severino's identity? I have her documentation here." I slide afolder across the desk—Hannah's original ID from before her acquisition, along with the new documentation created under my direction that lists her married name.

The notary compares the photo ID to Hannah's face, making a note in her ledger. "Identity confirmed," she says, professionally detached. "I'll need both parties to sign in my presence after reviewing the document."

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