Chapter 8: Dangerous Deception: Chapter 8

“You make me feel like a prisoner.”

The words escape me before I can stop them, and silence falls at the breakfast table. For the past two weeks that I’ve been living with Raffaele, things have been an adjustment, to say the least. I miss my father, but he’s always busy when I call. Marie has been caught up at work so she hasn’t been able to visit, and settling into a new home as a married woman isn’t at all like I thought it would be.

Everywhere I go, there’s a guard following me. He’s like a shadow that only vanishes when I have to use the bathroom, but I can’t stay in there forever. As soon as I leave, he’s right back looking over my shoulder. Logically, I know it’s his job and my father had similar guards, but none of them were ever attached to me as Levi currently is. At this point, I feel like I know him better than I know myself.

“Really?” Raffaele finally speaks up from the other end of the table after wolfing down his plate of eggs. “Prisoners feast like this?” He indicates the breakfast spread before us which is filled with pancakes, muffins, eggs, bacon, toast, cereal, and so much fruit that I’m really spoilt for choice.

“Not exactly,” I mutter, narrowing my eyes. “But that’s not my point. The food is great, my compliments as always to the chef. But I can’t do anything here.”

Raffaele watches me over his coffee cup. “You can’t? Your art supplies were brought here and set up in the conservatory. There’s a pool for you to swim in, an in-house gym. A movie room. A library. There’s even a games room. Are you really stuck on things to do?”

“There’s no privacy,” I snap. “Everywhere I go, Levi is there watching like I hawk. I can’t do anything without having to include him, and I don’t expect you to understand how difficult it is to paint with someone hanging around you like a fly.” I glance at Levi who stands, expressionless, by the door. “No offense.”

He doesn’t reply.

“He’s keeping you safe,” Raffaele replies.

“I can’t sleep alone. Can’t eat alone. Can’t do anything alone except use the bathroom, and even then, I get people knocking on the door if I’m taking too long!”

Raffaele drinks deeply, then sets down his cup. “You’ll find plenty of privacy under my desk.” He smirks.

“You’re disgusting.” There’s no way this is the same man who blew my mind on our wedding night. Carlos had never gone down on me before, and I wasn’t going to stroke Raffaele’s ego by telling him that it was my first time receiving oral.

“Am I?” Raffaele’s eyes widen a fraction. “Look. You’re safe here, fed and looked after. You have access to everything you could possibly want, and yet you have a problem with this because you can’t be alone?”

“Exactly!” I throw my hands up. “Finally, you’re getting it. I feel like a prisoner.”

Raffaele’s smile fades and he returns to the tablet beside his plate. “Welcome to married life.”

My frustration swells in my chest like my head is going to explode, so I slam my hands down on the table and shove my chair back. Cutlery and plates all jump from the impact, but Raffaele doesn’t even look up.

“You’re insufferable,” I snap, storming away.

No wonder he’s been single all this time. I can’t imagine anyone willingly entering this kind of life with a man like that. The guilt I carry for kissing him, and the sex, is a suffocating weight. I’m ashamed of myself for giving in to my lust and allowing that man to come near me knowing what he’s done. I only want some alone time to process, but I’m denied that.

My frustration takes me to the in-house gym, but after dressing for a workout, I head outside and run around the massive garden surrounding the estate.

The warm May sun bakes down from above, the sky a gorgeous blue with birds dancing about in the wind. The ground beneath me is dry, and there’s nothing between me, my pounding heart, and the sharp sting of fresh air as I sprint as fast and as far as I can. Every pound of my feet against the ground is a note of frustration at my situation, my father’s silence, my confusion over my feelings, my guilt about Carlos, and my irritation that I can’t leave here to continue my passions. I haven’t visited the hospital since before the wedding, and given how precious time is with those children, part of me fears they won’t be there when I get a chance to return.

I spent months watching my mother waste away in that place. I watched doctors and nurses of all kinds do everything they could to help her, but in the end, her illness was too powerful and I watched her die right in front of me. I’ll never forget the doctor who stayed with me while waiting for my father, or how she complimented my terrible drawings. While I can’t say I ever recovered from the loss of my mother, it did help fuel my passion for art. What started as a desire to feel close to my mother by recreating her work turned into a chance for me to spread joy through the hospital and light up all the little faces harboring a pain I know so well.

The pain of waiting to see if they will get better. I’ve poured my heart into brightening up those rooms, holding charity auctions to raise money for treatment, and donating to help pay for the bills of children who suffer similar symptoms that my mother had. My father used to tell me that my mother had passed from cancer, and while I learned that was partly true when I turned eighteen and got access to her records, other complicated symptoms hindered her cancer treatment.

Raising money is all I can do to stop that from happening to someone else.

But now I’m stuck here in a good little wife bubble, and it’s infuriating.

I run until my lungs burn, and when I finally come to a stop, panting heavily and sweating profusely, Levi is in my peripheral vision in the same state.

Of course.

He followed me all the way out here because I can’t shake him.

This is insane!

Back at the manor, I shake Levi by going for a shower to wash off the sweat from my run. Once I’m done, I leave the shower running and dress quickly, then call my father for the tenth time this week.

This time, he actually answers.

“Papà! About time. I was getting worried.”

“What is it, Adelina?” His sharp tone is a surprise.

“I’ve been trying to call you all week and you haven’t been picking up.”

“I’m sorry,” he sighs. “Work is stressful.”

“Isn’t Raffaele’s money helping?”

“Oh, it is!” His tone lifts. “It’s just a lot more work than I expected, that’s all.”

“That’s good.”

“Is that all?” my father asks.

“No, I mean… I just hate it here, Papà. I can’t do anything that I love. I can’t go to the hospital. I can’t even paint. I feel like I’m being suffocated.” Staring out the window, I gaze up at two birds engaged in a dance out in the vast blue sky. “I need to get out of here.”

“Careful,” my father warns. “This is your life now, Adelina. This is your responsibility. You have to make this work. For me.”

“I’m trying, but I⁠—”

“No, Adelina. I don’t want to hear it. You need to be a good wife to Raffaele because we can’t afford to upset him. It’s just an adjustment for you, okay? You’ll get used to it.”

“Papà…”

“I have to go. Remember, just go with it.”

He hangs up before I can say anything else, and I’m left in the warmth of the shower room with the water pouring freely behind me.

Go with it.

What kind of advice is that? I did this for him. I did this to save him, but nowhere did it say I would have to give up my life or anything I enjoyed. No one told me I would be under twenty-four, seven surveillance and that all the things I had passion for would be brought to a halt.

Anger simmers hot underneath my skin as I blow dry my hair and storm out of the shower room. Levi is right there, watching me as always, and despite yelling at him to piss off, he just doesn’t. He remains with me all afternoon until I retire to the art room hoping my anger will be excellent fuel for my art.

Spoiler, it isn’t.

I need to get out of here. I need to be able to breathe.

With my back to Levi, I contact Marie on my phone and check in with her. She texts me about her day and delves into info on a cute guy she met at the hot dog stand, then tells me she needs to let her hair down.

Now that’s the kind of news I need.

I text her back my desire for the same and ask when she’s free, but just as her reply comes through, a hand reaches over my shoulder and snatches my phone away.

“Levi?”

“You can’t leave without permission,” Levi says. “So I can’t allow this to continue until you have that permission.”

“What the hell? Were you reading over my shoulder?” I snap, then I spot another phone in his opposite hand. “Wait a second, did you clone my phone?”

“Like I said⁠—”

“What the hell? Give me my phone back, you asshole!” I yell, lunging for the device. Levi is faster than me and he keeps it high out of reach. “Levi!”

“Like I said,” he repeats. “You need permission.”

My anger boils over and in a fit of rage-born frustration, I snatch up the canvas I was working on and launch it at Levi. As he ducks to avoid it, I storm out of the art room and stomp all the way to Raffaele’s office where I barge in without knocking.

“I’m not your prisoner!” I yell, heat exploding from my head and washing down my arms and legs. “You can’t keep me here!”

Raffaele calmly puts his phone down. “You’re not a prisoner.”

“Then why is Levi telling me I can’t leave without permission, huh? Why does he even know what’s on my text messages?”

“One, Levi is doing his job. He has a clone of your phone because, in case you forgot, you have come into my family, but that doesn’t mean I trust you. So I will keep an eye on you.”

Tears of frustration spring into my eyes. “That’s so messed up.”

“It’s necessary to keep myself safe,” Raffaele replies. “It’s not spying. He merely makes sure you’re not up to anything dangerous. And yes, you need my permission to leave.”

“So I am a freaking prisoner! This is bull crap. This is complete and utter bull crap!”

“Wake up, Adelina,” Raffaele snaps slightly. “Look around you. You are my wife now and I have a lot of enemies. One slip up and you could end up in the wrong hands, and countless people would use my wife against me. So yes, I need to know what you are up to and where you are. And I will decide whether it’s safe enough for you to go out.”

“I hate this,” I yell. “And I hate you! I’m not some pawn to be moved about your board, okay? I’m a person! I have a life. I have stuff to do that doesn’t just stop because you put a ring on my finger.”

“Maybe you should have told your father that when he made this deal,” Raffaele says coolly. “But as it stands, there are no stipulations I must uphold, so I will do what I think is best, which is to keep you safe. You might not believe me, but I don’t want something to happen to you.”

“Bull crap,” I spit, hurriedly wiping away the tears of frustration that escape without my permission. “You don’t care about that. If anything, you would just leave me to die like all the other people who have died under your care. I bet you’d even relish the excuse to kill a few more, huh?”

Raffaele’s face tightens suddenly. “I don’t know why you’d think⁠—”

A sharp trill from the phone on his desk cuts him off and he sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Think what you want,” he says as he picks up the phone.” But at the end of the day, you belong to me and you are a representation and extension of me. So you will do what I say and you’ll like it. Understand?”