Borrowed Bride: Chapter 5

The next few days are a whirlwind. As a girl used to her privacy and keeping to the shadows, I’m suddenly under the constant watchful eye of two guards who become my shadows at Marco’s request.

“No wife of mine walks around without protection,” he told me one morning while straightening his tie and looking impossibly smug. “Where you go, they go. Try to give them the slip, and I’ll lock you in here.”

His tone was clear, and I fully believe he will lock me up if I cause trouble. However, rather than taking his promise as a threat, I chose to take it as a challenge. What better way to learn the secrets of the Barrone family than to learn how to give them the slip?

So, I agreed to play along. He wasn’t kidding when he told me they would be everywhere. I tried to talk to them, but they were stoic and silent. It took me two days to learn their names: Anton and Ben. They moved when I moved, walked through the manor in circles without complaint when I was testing their reaction time, and even stood like knights outside of the room Marco prepared for me.

I hadn’t expected my own room but I am grateful. It reduces the risk of me giving in to such carnal temptations like I did my first night here.

There was something about how Marco spoke and the thrill of knowing my presence was going to throw the entire Mafia into turmoil that just turned me on so much. And Marco was right there. An attractive asshole. If I was trapped with him for now, putting his dick to use would entertain me.

In the first few days, I tried to ask questions, but Marco shut me down immediately. He dragged me into the corner of one room and fiercely scolded me, reminding me that part of our deal was to keep my nose out of Barrone business. He was rather scary when he was angry, but the stubbornness inside me just rose to the challenge once more.

I needed to know more. Once I knew how big the score could be from this asshole, I’d know exactly how to play him.

The only time I didn’t have Anton and Ben shadowing me was when Marco himself took over. He didn’t watch me with the intent of getting to know me, but I noticed whenever he entered the same room as me and stayed for a while, Anton and Ben would slip away and leave us to it. Marco wasn’t interested in engaging in conversation with me, but there did seem to be an understanding amongst his guards that no one could protect me better than him.

I tucked that note away for later and after nearly a week at the manor, swamped in more luxury than I knew what to do with, I changed tactics.

“Eat with me,” I say to the blonde maid who hurries through the dining room one early afternoon. She freezes in place, clutching the silver tray laden with cups between her hands.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t think I can.”

“Don’t call me ma’am,” I groan. “We look almost the same age. Please. I need someone to talk to who isn’t some old man under orders to watch me like I’m a porcelain doll.”

The woman glances over her shoulder to where Anton and Ben stand against the wall, framing a bay window that looks out onto the extensive gardens surrounding the manor.

“Don’t worry about them,” I assure her. “They won’t do anything. Please.” Stretching out a leg under the table, I nudge out one of the chairs opposite me. “Sit. Please.”

“I—I,” she stammers, and my heart skitters slightly in my chest.

Is she scared or just shy? I’m about to press her once more when Marco strides into the room. He doesn’t even acknowledge the girl, but he takes a cup from her tray as he passes and continues through the room, heading toward the white double doors at the far end.

“Darling?”

Marco stops in his tracks and turns to me immediately. There’s no affection in his eyes when we meet, but whenever he looks at me, I get the feeling all he’s thinking about is when we fucked. “What?”

“Can she eat lunch with me?” I nod toward the woman. “I don’t know your rules around servants but I want her to.”

Marco’s brow lifts as if finally noticing the shy woman standing there. As he looks at her, I notice something odd. The woman doesn’t cower from him or even bow her head like the majority of the guards do. In fact, she doesn’t seem scared of him at all.

“Whatever, I don’t care,” Marco says flatly. He steps away, then swivels back a second later. “Kiss me, darling.”

The way he repeats the pet name back at me almost sounds like a threat, but I rise to it easily. Standing, I lean across the table and grab him by the tie. For such a tall, broad man, there’s something so attractive about jerking him about by such a thin piece of fabric. He moves easily for me, and I suspect he’s trying to sell our romance to any eyes that might be watching, but it thrills me nonetheless.

We kiss slowly, eyes open the entire time, which makes the contact of our lips infinitely more intense. His tongue licks briefly into my mouth and then I bite his lower lip, holding on even as we part. There’s a flash of crimson over his lip before he swipes it away with his tongue and I release his tie.

“Have a nice lunch,” Marco says, and then he’s gone.

“See?” I turn back to the woman and puff out my cheeks. “It’s as easy as that.”

“Okay.” The woman still seems hesitant as she sets the tray down on the table and slides into the chair I pushed out for her. “Thank you.”

“What’s your name?”

“Tara.”

“I’m Gianna.”

“I know,” Tara replies, clasping her thin hands together. “I-I mean, they told us who you were the night Marco brought you home.”

“I bet that was an amazing meeting,” I chuckle, popping a grape into my mouth. “What did they tell you about me?”

“Nothing,” Tara replies immediately. “Well—they said there was nothing to tell because no one knew you.”

“Did they tell you to keep an eye on me?”

Tara shakes her head, but the flush that creeps up her cheeks tells me otherwise.

“Don’t worry,” I assure her. “I might not know the exact rules of this game, but I’ve played plenty in my time. This is just a richer version.” My attention drops to the fruit and cheese plate in front of me. With a quick twist of the vine, I pull some of the grapes free and pass them over to Tara.

“I shouldn’t,” she says, shaking her head.

“Why?” I ask sharply. “Is there some weird rule where the help can’t share food with the wife?”

“No, not at all!” Tara says quickly. “I’m allergic.”

“Oh.” A wave of foolishness washes over me and I retract the grapes. “I’m sorry. Like I said, I don’t know the exact rules.”

“There’s no rules like that here,” Tara says with a wide smile. It makes her narrow face light up. She’s rather beautiful underneath all that shyness.

“Are you sure?” I glance pointedly at the black and white maid outfit she’s wearing.

“Yes. It’s a quiet job, really. It pays well. And I get the weekend off like any other job,” Tara explains. “This is just the uniform, like the guards’ suits.”

I glance back at Anton and Ben who still haven’t moved from their statue positions. “Oh. What’s um …” I point at Anton. “The pin on their suit. What is that?”

Each guard wears a pin on their lapel but when I asked Anton about it, he glared at me.

“It’s the family crest,” Tara explains. “Everyone under Barrone employ has that pin, see?” Tara lifts the white frill of her shirt collar to show the same pin attached to her dress. “It’s a symbol of what family you’re loyal to. Every family has a different sigil and a different pin. You can only receive a pin from the don, which in this case is Marco. Each pin also has a secret symbol visible under certain conditions that only the don knows so that fakes can’t be made.”

“Wow.” My brow lifts. “That’s way more intense than I expected.”

“People try so hard to be sneaky,” Tara says. “Loyalty is very important to these people.”

“So I’ve noticed. And business-wise⁠—”

Anton suddenly loudly and abruptly clears his throat, making Tara flinch.

“I don’t know anything about business,” Tara says hurriedly, and the relaxation that was creeping onto her features vanishes immediately. “I’m just a maid.”

“No one is just anything,” I reply softly, ignoring Anton. “Plus, now you’re my friend.”

“Really?” My heart squeezes at the way Tara’s face lights up.

“Of course! You’re the first person I’ve had a real conversation with.”

“It must be so strange coming here like you did,” Tara says, and her head tilts. “What were you doing before you met Marco?”

“I was⁠—”

Tara is so sweet that it suddenly feels strange to lie to her. Like I’m doing something awful by deceiving her after she was so nice to me. Our conversation almost made me forget I’m playing a role.

“I was working as a pretzel vendor,” I lie smoothly. “I worked, I would take the cart back to the distributor and either go home or go to clubs. A simple life, really. You know how it is, just doing what you can to make sure the bills are paid. Marco stopped to buy a pretzel and, well, the rest is history as they say.”

“How romantic,” Tara sighs wistfully as if we’re not talking about Marco, the asshole. “Don’t you have anyone out there that you miss, though? Family or something?”

I know she’s just asking regular questions, but my defenses dart up anyway, and I shake my head, smiling tightly. “Nope. Nothing.”

“That’s a shame,” Tara sighs, seemingly blind to my abruptness. “Well, you have us now. I hope you will love it here.”

Tara spends the rest of lunch with me until someone comes looking for her to take her back to her duties. It feels nice to have a friend, though, and she fills my thoughts as I resume my exploration of the manor. I’ve run into very few staff. In fact, this place is either really empty or it’s just too big, and I keep missing the rest of the employees.

But Tara is now on my list of friends, and she taught me a little about how things work.

It almost sounded like Tara has more freedom than I do.

“Gianna.” A hand grasps my arm, drawing me from my thoughts as I reach for the next door I’ve never been through. I glance up at Ben who briefly tightens his grip. “Marco has requested you stay out of the south wing.”

“Why?”

“It’s his orders. And … construction.”

“His orders?” I sneer. “What’s so important about the south wing?”

“Nothing,” Ben replies. “But please honor his wishes.”

“Fine.” I draw my hand away from the door and stride away with Anton and Ben on my tail.

Why doesn’t Marco want me in the south wing? I don’t believe for a second that it’s because of construction. This manor is massive but it’s not so huge that I’d miss the renovation of an entire wing.

I suddenly have a new plan, and it takes me until early evening to put it into action. Feigning tiredness, I retire to my bedroom and then send Anton away to fetch my dinner. While he’s away, I manage to persuade Ben to hurry away and find me some period products, making him turn pale as I explain in great detail the specifics of my emergency.

Men, for whatever reason, cower so quickly at the prospect of women’s troubles. If Marco was smarter, he’d have female guards.

With my guards distracted, I sneak through the manor and make it all the way back to the south wing without incident. The door isn’t locked.

“If he didn’t want me in here,” I murmur to myself as I slip into a dull room filled with musty air. “He should have locked the door.”

The room is filled with furniture but it’s all covered in dust sheets. The curtains are drawn shut with light sneaking in through a few gaps and streaking the opposite wall with the orange of the setting sun.

There’s no sign of renovation.

I walk from this room to the next, and the next. Each is the same. The air is thick, dust coats every surface, and all the gorgeous ornate furniture is hidden away under dust sheets. The walls are graced with large paintings much like the ones that hang in the entrance hall. Great depictions of cities across the world, castles and rivers, and then one that catches my eye.

It hangs above an unused fireplace, hidden under a thick layer of dust, but the image is clear.

It’s a family portrait. A man who resembles a younger Dante, a kindly woman smiling, and two children. A boy and a girl are wearing butterfly brooches that are similar to the charm Marco has on his wallet. That has to be Marco and his sister. My heart skips a beat.

Its importance suddenly becomes clear. Is it his last memory of her? It seems too sentimental for a man like Marco, though.

Is this his mother’s wing? Is that why it’s closed? Dante had revealed last night that both Marco’s mother and sister had passed. A nervous chill sweeps up my spine, and I glance over my shoulder, struck by the sensation that I suddenly really shouldn’t be here. If this place holds emotional importance to Marco, he may be extremely unforgiving to find me here.

I should turn back.

Instead, I press on, consequences be damned. The more I know about Marco, the easier he will be to manipulate.

My exploration takes me through several winding corridors and more abandoned rooms until I find a smaller corridor that’s not like the others. It’s tucked beside a fireplace and there’s no door that I can see. Light flickers at the other end, and like a moth to a flame, I follow it.

The light steadily gets brighter the closer I get, even as the narrow corridor presses in around me. My breath quickens, suddenly fearing the walls closing in and trapping me forever. Thankfully, when I stumble out into the light, I find myself in a stunning place.

I’m surrounded by hundreds of plants of all shapes, sizes, and colors. A multitude of floral scents attack my nose as I breathe in, and the gleaming light is the setting sun bouncing off the glass room.

Is this a … greenhouse? Why is there a hidden corridor leading to a greenhouse of all places?

Suddenly, deep laughter catches my attention and my heart punches up into my throat as a softer, more feminine laugh follows. Cautiously, I walk forward and peer around a leafy plant.

My heart stops dead in my chest.

Marco is here. He leans down low, embracing a woman in a chair who buries her face into his chest.

“Oh Marco,” she croaks softly, emotion flooding her voice. “I wish you didn’t have to leave me.”

What the fuck?

I need to get out of here.

I step back—and my ankle catches on the edge of a metal pail sitting just around the corner. The clatter of the metal is deafening as Marco and the woman fly apart.

Marco’s thunderous eyes land on me, and his face twists with fury as he charges toward me.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he roars, roughly grabbing my shoulders as terror surges up my throat. “You’re not supposed to be here. Ever!”