Page 43 of Brutal Union
"You already did," she says, but there's forgiveness in it. Understanding. "You're already gone, aren't you? You belong to him now."
The truth of it settles into my bones like lead. Yes, I belong to Marco Rosetti. The question is whether I'll survive it better than Mom survived belonging to Father.
"I need to understand," Alice says as I continue brushing her hair, our reflections caught in the vanity mirror across from the bed. "Help me understand how you can choose this."
My hands still for a moment. How do I explain that Marco's violence feels like protection while Father's felt like imprisonment? That his control comes with care while Father's came with cruelty? That a pang of wetness strikes even now, remembering his pleased groan when I swallowed him down?
"When he took me," I start slowly, "I thought my life was over. Thought I'd become another mafia wife, dead-eyed and decorated. But he… he sees me. Not just as property or a prize, but as a person."
"Stockholm syndrome is a thing, Val."
"I know. God, I know. I've questioned everything I feel, wondered if it's real or just survival." I section off another piece of her hair. "But when those Irish soldiers came for me, when I had the chance to leave with them or later with Sarah, I chose to stay. Not because I had to. Because I wanted to."
Alice is quiet for a long moment, processing. In the distance, I hear a door slam, male voices raised in anger before going abruptly silent. Someone didn't give the right answer to Marco's questions.
She squeezes my hand. "You don't look terrified. You look… alive. More alive than I've seen you since Mom died."
The observation hits deep. She's right. For eleven years, I've been going through motions, surviving rather than living. Until Marco stole me from that altar and inadvertently woke me up.
"He makes me feel real," I admit. "Like I matter beyond my last name or my body. He asks my opinion, listens when I speak, trusts me with his family." I think of Ana's birth, of being needed for my skills rather than my bloodline. "I delivered his sister-in-law's baby yesterday."
"What?" Alice's eyes widen.
"She went into labor, breech position. I handled it." Pride creeps into my voice. "His family trusts me now. I'm not just Marco's wife to them. I'm Valentina."
"You sound happy," Alice observes, wonder in her voice. "Despite everything, you sound actually happy."
The realization crashes over me. I am. Somehow, in this gilded cage with my dangerous husband, I've found something I never had in Father's house: myself. Even if that self is darker now, stained with his violence, hungry for things good girls shouldn't want.
I leave Alice's room feeling raw, exposed, like she's peeled back layers I didn't know existed. The hallway stretches before me, morning light painting patterns on expensive wallpaper. I can hear sounds from below. Something heavy being dragged, water running, the efficient noise of cleanup. My knees throb as I walk, bruises from marble floors that I press on deliberately, remembering the power of making him lose control.
I need to find Marco's driver, get back to the penthouse, process everything my sister just made me admit.
Instead, I nearly collide with Alessandro escorting a disheveled blonde toward the stairs.
"I can't believe you're doing this," the woman hisses, her designer dress wrinkled, hair a mess, makeup smeared. She looks exactly like what she is: a morning-after mistake. "You said you'd call!"
"I said you'd call me," Alex corrects with that smile that probably melts panties at fifty yards. "Subtle difference, sweetheart."
"You're an asshole." She jerks away from his guiding hand. "I thought last night meant something."
"It meant we both had a good time. Repeatedly, if memory serves." His tone is light, casual, like he's discussing breakfast options. "But dawn has a way of ending all fairy tales."
He straightens his cuffs, and I notice blood under one fingernail. Not his, not hers. Something from whatever business he handled before his evening entertainment.
The woman's palm cracks across his face anyway, the sound echoing through the hallway. Alex doesn't flinch, just touches his cheek with an amused expression. "Feel better?"
She storms off without another word, heels clicking angry staccato on marble stairs. Alex watches her go, then turns to find me frozen in the hallway.
"Sister-in-law!" His delight seems genuine despite the red handprint on his face. "Enjoying the morning entertainment?"
"That was cruel," I say, though part of me understands it. The honesty of monsters.
"It would have cruel to pretend,” he corrects. There's something sharp in his smile now, dangerous like all Rosetti men. "Besides, she was using me too. They use me for the thrill of danger, for the story of fucking a Rosetti." He moves closer,and I smell expensive cologne mixed with perfume that isn't his, gunpowder underneath it all. "Fair trade in my book."
"That's a lonely way to live."
His laugh is sharp. "Says the woman who married my brother at gunpoint.
