“Don’t fight me,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “Your daddy owes me everything — and the lives of men like him usually end real fast. I could let you walk right now... but then I’d have to deal with Ben instead. You choose.”
His grip loosened slightly — just enough to give her a choice that wasn’t one. Mary didn’t answer, but her silence was its own surrender.
The drive that followed was long, silent, and filled with shadows.
Eventually, the city fell away, replaced by winding hills, tall iron gates, and roads lined with pines that felt more like sentinels than trees. When the car finally rolled to a stop in front of a sprawling estate, her breath hitched.
It didn’t look like a house. It looked like a fortress — all glass and stone, pristine and cold, with no sign of life inside or out.
He opened the door for her like a gentleman. She didn’t thank him.
The moment she stepped inside, cool air kissed her skin, laced with sandalwood and something darker. The place was silent. Too silent.
“Welcome to your new home,” William said, voice unreadable as he brushed past her, leading the way down the corridor.
She followed — because what else could she do?
The sound of a kettle hissing drew her attention. Around the corner, in a sunlit kitchen with floor-to-ceiling windows, stood a man who didn’t look like he belonged anywhere near someone like William.
His shirt was an open-collared blue linen, his pants casual, barefoot like he’d just come back from vacation. His skin was sun-kissed, his smile easy and warm.
“Ah, there you are,” he said, turning toward them. His voice was smooth, with just a hint of something European — French maybe. Or Italian.
Mary blinked.
He didn’t feel dangerous.
“Neil,” William said curtly.
Neil held out a teacup to her. “Chamomile. Helps with shock. You’ve had a rough day.”
She hesitated, then took it. Her fingers trembled, but the warmth grounded her.
“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.
Neil gave her a small, sympathetic smile and leaned against the counter. “I knew your father. Years ago. Back when Millefiore and Vongola didn’t draw quite so thick a line in the sand.”
Mary glanced between him and William. “You’re Vongola?”
Neil nodded. “Born into it.”
“You’re friends,” she said, surprised. “Even with the clans—”
Neil shrugged. “William and I don’t care about old grudges. We’ve bled for each other more than once. That runs deeper than banners.”
William said nothing, but the silence was its own confirmation.
Mary studied Neil, trying to reconcile his easy manner with everything she’d learned in the last few days. “Did you like my father?”
Neil’s smile faltered. “I respected him. That’s not always the same thing. He was sharp. Knew how to survive. But he made enemies fast and didn’t always think about who paid the price for his mistakes.”
He paused, then added more gently, “William’s not as bad as he seems. Cold, yeah. Ruthless, when he has to be. But there’s a line he won’t cross. You’re safer here than you think.”
That felt like a lie. Or maybe just a different flavor of truth.
Before she could answer, William stepped into the kitchen.
His presence shifted the room instantly — like a sudden drop in temperature.
“That’s enough,” he said.
Neil didn’t flinch. He just gave her a small, apologetic smile and mouthed the word sorry before stepping around William and disappearing through the hallway.
Mary’s heart thudded hard in her chest.
She didn’t want to be alone with him.
Too late.
William moved closer, slow and deliberate, every step controlled. He didn’t touch her, but she felt the heat of him anyway.
“I want to be clear,” he said. “From this moment forward, you follow three rules.”
Her spine stiffened.
“One: complete obedience. No exceptions.”
Mary’s jaw clenched, but she said nothing.
“Two,” he continued, “you sleep in my bed.”
Her head snapped up. “What?”
“You heard me.”
A hundred responses collided in her mouth, but only one made it out. “Don’t you want to marry for love? Go on a date, feel something real?”
He scoffed, the sound low and sharp. “I don’t have time for emotional indulgence. Love is a luxury for men who can afford to be distracted.”
“And you?” she asked, unable to stop herself. “You think I’ll just accept this? Be okay with being… what, your prisoner bride?”
He stared at her, unmoved. “You’ll be fine with it.”
Her nails bit into her palms. She swallowed the heat rising in her throat, trying not to scream, trying not to cry.
“And the third rule?” she asked, voice tight.