The house was too quiet at night.
I sat on the edge of the bed, clad in silk and lies, my heartbeat ringing more loudly than the ticking of the old clock on the other side of the room.
The shadows moved on the walls, tall and gaunt like silent sentinel, sleep would not come
Maybe it was the stillness or maybe it was the man who'd been in the room at the end of the hall, the one that I'd have to kill.
Dante Moretti.
Even his name had been a knife, slicing and cold
This time I slid on the robe Maria had left out for me and padded barefoot across the marble floors, the chill jolting my nerves. Every creak of the wood, every rustle of wind against the windows reminded me, I wasn't just a bride, I was an intruder into a lion's den.
But if I were to finish this mission, I didn't have charm and concealed knives enough.
I needed information.
The corridor ran long and vacant, lit with pale gold sconces, faces of men in crisp suits and empty eyes adorned the walls Dante's forbears, likely, All of them seemed to have corpses interred beneath floorboards.
I passed by his study, the door was shut firmly, then drifted deeper into the west wing, That was when I saw it, the only doorway that contained a keypad and a heavy lock.
That was it the one place I was forbidden.
I reached out, fingertips brushing against cold metal handle, Locked, naturally, no noise resounded from within, but my instincts tingled, there has to be something important in back of these doors.
"What are you doing?"
I froze.
A gravelly, fiery voice rasped through the quiet, I slowly turned to watch a guard stand at the far end of the corridor, gun at his side, eyes tight with suspicion.
My heart skipped.
"I lost my way," I said quietly, hugging the robe closer to me. I sounded sleepy, innocent.
"This is a maze." I stated trying to dismiss the situation casually
The guard still didn't move, "You can't be here on this side of the house after hours."
"I didn't know," I lied, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear, "My fault."
He looked for a fraction of a second longer, and I let the robe fall far enough to reveal the curve of my collarbone, He turned away.
"She should have stayed in her room."
I nodded, racing heart, and headed back in the direction of the east wing, only when I closed the door behind me into my bedroom did I exhale,
"Damn, that was close, too close.".
I would not make the same mistake twice. I would come back the next time with a plan.
The sun in the morning was too strong for one who had so many secrets to keep.
Maria brought breakfast to my room a plate of fruits, bread, and coffee and told me that Mr. Moretti asked to speak with me in the garden after lunch, her tone was warm, but I knew she was watching me.
Everyone within this household was.
The moment I walked into the garden, Dante was already there, sitting under the pergola with a book in one hand and a glass of wine in the other, the picture would've been serene if not for the manner in which he regarded me.
As if he could see right through my flesh.
"You're early," he remarked, not even getting up.
"I didn't want to leave you waiting."
He closed the book. "Say something, Isabella."
Here it comes.
"Do you have a tendency to prowl at night?"
I kept my smooth expression, but inside I was rigid, "I couldn't sleep, New place."
His mouth curled into some type of smile, but it didn't make it to his eyes.
"Is that all it was?"
"What else would it be?"
He leaned back, elbows resting on the arms of his chair, gaze lingering on me in a way that felt both dangerous and deliberate.
"There are parts of this house that are not meant for you," he said quietly, "You'll find that boundaries, when crossed, come with consequences."
I faked a poor laugh, "You actually believe I'd be dumb enough to break into rooms my first week here?"
"Me, I believe a woman who's been married in against her will may have. motives," he replied, stirring his wine, "And secrets."
He was near enough right, the edge of fright tickling up my throat, but I forced it below a well-rehearsed grin.
"If I did have secrets," I said, taking a step forward, "you'd already know them, wouldn't you?"
He stood slowly, towering over me, "Don't try to play games with me, Isabella."
His voice dropped low, his tone gruff with something that was not quite anger but it was not desire either
"I don't have time for liars."
"I don't lie."
"Everyone lies."
He stepped closer, close enough to scent his dark spice cologne danger, I did not step back.
We stared at each other for a moment too long. His jaw flexed my breath caught, then he turned and walked away, as if I had not just balanced on a knife's edge.
Leave the west wing," he told me without looking around, "Or I'll put you in this garden for good until you are compliant."
I didn't sleep that night either.
I sat on the bed, brushing my hair, rehashing every word, every glance. Every threat.
He suspected me, but he didn't suspect why.
Yet.
I opened the drawer beside me and retrieved the velvet pouch I'd stashed with me on my wedding night, Within was the necklace holding the hidden knife, the one disguised as a family heirloom, I turned it toward the light.
Soon, Dante Moretti.
Soon.
A knock at the door startled me.
Quickly, I hid the pouch and stood to answer it.
It wasn't Maria.
It was him.
Dante.
His tie was undone, the buttons on his shirt opened, and his eyes God, those eyes were blacker than the night behind him.
"Put something on," he said.
I blinked, "Why?"
"You're going with me."
"Where?"