~ANASTASIA~
ROME, ITALY
I sit in the car in silence with Dante, who's engrossed in an endless stream of files since we arrived in Italy, acting as if I'm invisible. Not that I care, anyway. The last thing I want is to have a conversation with him. It's a relief we didn't even celebrate the wedding. A quick courthouse ceremony was done, and my father wasted no time sending me away with Dante. I look out the window, scanning the strange city that will soon become my home. Moscow has been my home and I rarely travelled out. My mind travel to my fashion business and I frown. I have left my business in Moscow and have come here where I have no idea how things run here. Papa has suggested that I should talk to Dante about letting me continue my business here in Italy.
I glance at Dante and frown, there's no way a man like him will let me run my business. It wasn't even easy to get my father to agree into letting me own a business. Made men like Dante will definitely not want their wife to work but I am not going to let that happen. There's no way I will stay home all day and play the role of a housewife. That would be sickening.
After a while, we arrive in front of a penthouse. The driver parks, and Dante steps out without hesitation. I look around, my palms growing sweaty with nerves. I grip the edge of the seat and let out a long sigh. Slowly, I reach for the door and step out of the car. I see Dante standing in front of the elevator with someone I don't recognize. Narrowing my eyes, I wonder who this person is. Probably his consigliere. Rolling my eyes, I walk over to them.
"Don't you think you should try harder with this new title of yours?" I say to Dante with a frown.
Silence.
I frown at Dante's attitude, noticing the man beside him shaking his head, seemingly pitying me. I roll my eyes again and straighten my dress. How am I going to handle this situation? I might end up losing it. No, I will end up losing it.
The elevator doors open, and they step inside. Are they actually going to leave me here? I stand still, arms crossed. The door start to close, but a hand stops it, and it opens again. Dante's partner, who had held the door, stares at me.
"Are you waiting for someone?" I ask sarcastically.
"Please come in, Anastasia," he says, his expression neutral. I roll my eyes and slowly walk into the elevator. Dante still doesn't glance at me, standing with his hands in his pockets. I stand beside him, feeling frustrated.
"I would have been better off marrying some old man. At least he wouldn't leave me standing in front of an elevator in an unfamiliar place."
"You chose to stand there," Dante finally speaks.
I scoff in disbelief. "You're an asshole."
"I'm the asshole you'll be stuck with for a long time, Anastasia."
"I hate you. I hate everyone." Tears well up in my eyes despite my efforts to hold them back.
"Your father did what any sensible mafia don would do," he says, only increasing my irritation. What kind of sensible mafia boss sells out their daughter? Tears continue to stream down my cheeks, and I no longer care if it makes me look weak. Who am I even trying to be strong for?
"The things the mafia does never seem sensible to me."
"You are my wife now, whether you like it or not. This isn't what you're used to. This is my territory, and things are done my way here. It will only be easy for you if you accept your fate."
"I will never accept such a fate."
He says nothing more as the elevator doors open on the top floor. They step out while I remain inside, dreading whatever awaits me. How will I survive living with this ice-cold man in a country where I am a stranger? If only Mila was here with me.
Dante's partner walks back to me, hands in his pockets. "You'll get used to things soon, Anastasia," he says, offering me a smile.
I step out of the elevator and approach him. Dante is now sitting with his legs crossed on the sofa.
"You must be close to him. You're the only one who followed him to his apartment," I point out.
He grins. "My name is Marco. I'm Dante's right-hand man." He walks away from me to join Dante.
Oh, so he's really the consigliere.
Just before I take another step, someone else walks over to us and, without sparing me a glance, strides directly to Dante. I take a good look at him, noticing a slight resemblance to Dante.
"Where the hell did you leave your phone, Romero?" Dante growls at him.
"Calm down, brother. You just got married; you should be happy," he replies, a hint of mockery in his voice.
Brother? My so-called husband has a brother? Now that I think of it, I realize I actually know nothing about this man. I know he's a mafia boss lording over Rome and that he's known for preventing wars from breaking out, but that's all I know, and it's only because Damien told me the day before we left for Italy.
I walk over to them with a frown on my face and sit across from Dante, my arms folded. Romero finally turns to acknowledge me.
"So, this is the redhead," he says with a grin. "I hope you're prepared for what's ahead, sister-in-law. My brother is a real pain in the ass."
Dante rolls his eyes at him.
"How is the situation now, Marco?" Dante asks.
"We're in control now, boss," Marco replies, referring to whatever they're discussing.
"Okay, good," Dante says.
I sit silently, watching them. It's my first time in this strange land and house, and my so-called husband chooses to talk about business while I just sit here and watch them?
Just then, a man enters, carrying my suitcases. I quickly stand up and walk over to him.
"Thank you. I'll take them from here," I say to him.
"Sit down, Anastasia," Dante growls from where he's sitting. I turn to him with a frown.
"And why should I?" I challenge him. Who does he think he is to order me around? Does he think I want to sit here and listen to them talk business after a long, tiring journey?
"He will take your suitcases to our room, so get back here," he growls again, louder this time.
I frown harder. Did he just say 'our room'? I had completely forgotten that I would be sharing a room with this man. I suddenly feel nervous and look away.
"Do... Do we have to stay in the same room?"
Romero bursts into laughter, drawing everyone's attention. Dante glares at him, and he stops laughing, grinning at me instead.
"Who else would you share a room with if not your husband, sister-in-law?" Romero asks, still grinning.
"Shut the fuck up, Romero," Dante growls.
"Sit down, Anastasia," Dante instructs me again, and I get the feeling he might drag me over if I don't comply. I sigh and return to the sofa while the man takes the suitcases upstairs.
"Romero, I need you to set up the meeting with Luca and Matteo next week," Dante says. Romero nods in acknowledgment.
"Sure, but I'll say it again, it's pointless, Dante," Romero replies. He then turns to me, walking closer and shaking his head. "Are you sure you can handle it?"
If he's talking about this whole marriage situation, I don't even have an answer.
He smiles before walking away with Marco. I watch them leave, then turn to Dante. He stands up and looks at me.
"Aren't you coming?"
I don't move. "I said I'm not sharing a room with you."
He sighs and walks closer, leaning down and placing his hands on the sides of the sofa, trapping me with his gaze. My eyes widen at how close he is, and I shift uncomfortably in my seat.
"We are married now, Anastasia. It's only right we share a room."
I swallow hard. And then what? The very sight of him irritates me so much that I can't imagine sharing a bed with him. And what if... what if he wants sex? Shit.
"I won't touch you, Anastasia," he says, as if reading my mind. "I like my encounters to be mutual." His eyes scan my body, and he grins. "That can come later."
In your dreams, you asshole.
He smirks, seeming to read my thoughts again. He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. I pull my head away and frown.
He grins and steps back just as two young girls and a woman approach us. I look at them in confusion.
Dante turns to them, "This is Anastasia, my wife." Then, to me, he says, "I'll leave you to get acquainted with the staff." He walks away.
"Hello, my name is Beatrice. I clean the house with Chiara," one of the girls says, smiling at me. Beatrice looks around 18. I smile back at her.
"I am Chiara," the other girl says, looking a bit nervous. I offer her a reassuring smile, which she returns more warmly.
My eyes move to the last woman, who stares at me with a frown. She seems to be around my age, maybe a bit younger or older. "Your name?" I ask, curious about her cold demeanor.
"Cecilia. I'm Dante's chef," she says curtly, then looks away.
I stare at her, sensing some hostility. Why would she dislike me when we've just met? "Nice to meet you all. You don't have to feel nervous or cautious because of me. Please, be comfortable around me."
Beatrice scratches her neck. "Alright, Mistress. Please come with us; we'll show you around the house."
"Yes, we'll give you a tour, Mistress," Chiara adds.
I shake my head. "Call me Anastasia, please."
They both nod.
I don't have the energy to explore the house right now, and besides, I'm not in the mood for a tour. What I need is a cold coffee to clear my head. I turn to Cecilia. "Where can I make coffee? Can you take me there?"
"I thought you said we could show you around later?" she asks, her tone challenging.
I pause, unsure how to respond. What's her problem? I figured she'd be the best to ask since she's the chef.
"My job isn't to show you around; it's to cook. I'll get you the coffee," she says and starts to leave. I quickly stop her.
"I prefer to make my own coffee. The girls can show me the way. You can go."
Without another word, Cecilia walks away. It's clear she has an issue with me, but I don't have the energy to figure out why.
"Ignore her, Mis... Anastasia," Beatrice quickly corrects herself. "Cecilia has been working for Mr. Saviano longer than most of the staff here, so she's kind of the head servant. I guess she's just not used to having new people around."
I glance at the door Cecilia disappeared through, feeling there's more to her attitude than Beatrice suggests.
"You can make coffee in the wet kitchen, Mistress," Chiara says.
I smile at her. "Please, call me Anastasia. And yes, please, show me the way."
Chiara and Beatrice lead the way, and I follow. "How old are you two?" I ask.
"I'm 17," Beatrice answers.
"I'm 18," Chiara adds.
I narrow my eyes in concern. "Shouldn't you both be in school?"
"We've been working for Mr. Saviano for almost four years now," Chiara replies.
My eyes widen. "What? That's awful."
Beatrice quickly shakes her head. "No, no, it's not like that. Mr. Saviano actually saved Chiara and me. We would have been sold off to a whorehouse if not for his intervention."
Oh. I nod, feeling a mix of relief and confusion. That doesn't change the fact that Dante is a selfish bastard who didn't mind marrying a complete stranger to suit his needs. As we walk through the house, I look around, wondering what will become of me now.
XOXO