Mafia's Surrogate Bride Chapter 73

Damian's POV

"She doesn't belong in our world!" Adriana burst out. "She's ruining everything! You were supposed to marry me, we were supposed to be together, and instead you're playing house with some orphan slut who—"

The second slap was harder than the first. This time, Adriana's head snapped to the side and blood appeared at the corner of her mouth.

"That is enough," Antonio said, rising from his chair with slow, terrible dignity. "You have disgraced yourself, your family, and everything I taught you about honor."

He turned to me, his expression grave but respectful. "Damian, I owe you an apology. And I owe this young woman—Aria—both an apology and whatever protection my family can provide."

"That's appreciated, nonno. But I believe I have the protection matter well in hand."

"Nevertheless, I would like to meet her properly. To apologize in person for my granddaughter's unconscionable behavior." He glanced at Adriana with barely concealed disgust. "I would like to invite both of you to dinner tomorrow evening. Adriana will apologize formally, and we will discuss how to ensure such incidents never happen again."

I inclined my head graciously. "I'll extend the invitation."

I returned home near midnight to find the estate wrapped in silence.

I climbed the marble staircase to the master suite, my footsteps echoing softly in the quiet house. When I pushed open the bedroom door, I found Aria asleep.

The lamp on the nightstand cast a soft golden glow across her features, highlighting the delicate curve of her cheekbone and the thick fringe of her eyelashes. She looked young, innocent, utterly defenseless.

Mine.

The possessive thought struck with such force.

I moved to the dresser, loosening my tie as I watched her sleeping form. She stirred slightly, a soft sound escaping her lips that went straight to places I had no business letting her affect.

I shed my jacket and shirt, hanging them with automatic precision. Tomorrow's dinner at the Montrosso estate would be crucial—not just for the family alliance, but for Aria's position in this world. Antonio's invitation represented acceptance, protection, a shield against anyone else who might be foolish enough to threaten her.

I should tell her what I've done, I thought, watching the steady rise and fall of her breathing. She deserves to know that I orchestrated Adriana's humiliation, that every move tonight was calculated to protect her.

But pride held me back. I wanted Adriana's apology to come without prompting, without Aria knowing I'd forced it. I wanted her to see for herself that justice had been served, that actions had consequences in my world.

Turning off the lamp, I slipped into bed beside her, careful not to disturb her sleep. But even in the darkness, I couldn't stop myself from studying her profile, memorizing the way moonlight caught the curve of her lips.

When I woke the next morning, pale sunlight was streaming through the heavy curtains, and Aria's side of the bed was already empty. The faint indentation in her pillow and the lingering warmth of the sheets were the only evidence that she'd been there at all.

I found myself surprisingly disappointed by her absence.

After a quick shower and putting on one of my usual business suits, I made my way downstairs, following the sound of soft laughter emanating from the kitchen. Aria was perched on one of the breakfast stools, her hair loose around her shoulders, wearing a simple silk robe that somehow made her look both elegant and touchable. She was gesturing animatedly with a piece of toast, telling some story that had Jennifer beaming with maternal pride.

"And then Sister Catherine said the most important ingredient in any recipe is love," Aria was saying, her voice lighter than I'd heard it in weeks. "But Sister Margaret insisted it was patience. They argued about it for twenty minutes while the bread burned in the oven."

Jennifer laughed warmly. "I suppose they were both right, in their own way. Though I've always believed the secret ingredient is knowing who you're cooking for."

"That's beautiful," Aria said softly. "I never really had anyone to cook for before Jessica got sick. And after that, well, hospital food doesn't leave much room for creativity."

The casual intimacy of the conversation struck something unexpected in my chest. When had she become this comfortable with Jennifer? When had my housekeeper started looking at her with such obvious affection?

When had this become a home instead of just a house?

I cleared my throat, and both women looked up, Jennifer with her usual professional warmth and Aria with something that might have been wariness flickering in her amber eyes.

"Good morning, Mr. Cavalieri," Jennifer said seamlessly. "I was just telling Miss Aria about the herb garden. She's expressed interest in learning to cook properly."

"Has she?" I moved to the coffee machine, aware of Aria watching my every movement with careful attention. "That's... domestic."

"I thought it might be useful," Aria said, her tone carefully neutral. "Since I'll be here for a while."

For a while. As if this arrangement had an expiration date. As if she was planning her exit strategy already.

I poured my coffee and settled into the chair across from her at the small breakfast table, noting how she immediately straightened, her relaxed posture shifting into something more guarded.

"Sleep well?" I asked, taking a sip of the perfectly prepared espresso.

"Yes, thank you." Her response was polite, measured. Nothing like the warm, animated woman I'd observed moments before.

Jennifer placed a plate of perfectly prepared eggs Benedict in front of me, along with fresh fruit and pastries that looked like they belonged in a five-star hotel. "I'll leave you two to enjoy breakfast," she said diplomatically, though I caught the meaningful look she shot Aria before retreating to give us privacy.

We ate in silence for several minutes, the quiet filled with the soft clink of silverware against china and the distant sounds of the estate coming to life around us.

"We need to discuss tomorrow evening," I said finally, setting down my coffee cup with deliberate precision.

"Tomorrow evening?"

"We've been invited to dinner at the Montrosso estate. It's... important that we attend."

"I'm not going," she said flatly.

The absolute certainty in her voice caught me off guard. I'd expected reluctance, perhaps some negotiation, but not this immediate, uncompromising refusal.

"You misunderstand," I said carefully. "This isn't a request."

"And I'm not a puppet," she shot back.

"The Montrosso family aren't business associates. They're allies. And this dinner isn't a performance—it's an obligation."

"Your obligation." She pushed back from the table, her chair scraping against the marble floor. "What possible obligation could I have to people who..." She stopped herself, but the unfinished sentence hung in the air between us.

"You have an obligation," I said, my voice growing colder as her defiance sparked my own temper, "because you're part of my household now. Because my reputation affects you whether you like it or not."

"Do I?" Aria stood abruptly, "Because I don't remember that being specified in our contract. Show me the clause that requires me to socialize with dangerous people."

The challenge in her voice was unmistakable, and it triggered every dominant instinct I possessed. I rose to my full height, using my superior size to emphasize the power imbalance between us.

"You're questioning the terms of our arrangement?"

"I'm questioning why you think you can order me around like some..." She gestured helplessly, searching for words. "Like some possession!"

"Because that's exactly what you are."

The words came out harsher than I'd intended.

Aria's face went white, then flushed with anger so intense I could practically feel the heat radiating from her skin.

"No," she said quietly. "I am not your possession. I am not your property. And I am not going to that dinner."

She turned to leave, but I moved faster, my hand closing around her wrist before she could take more than a step.

"Let go of me."

Before I could respond, my phone rang.

Antonio Montrosso's name appeared on the screen.

I answered immediately, putting the call on speaker with one hand while maintaining my grip on Aria's wrist with the other.

"Damian," Antonio's cultured voice filled the kitchen, carrying undertones of satisfaction and barely controlled fury. "I wanted to inform you that Adriana has confessed to everything. Her involvement in Miss Rossi's ordeal, her complete disregard for family honor, her shameful behavior."

"Tomorrow's dinner will proceed as planned. And Adriana will offer Miss Rossi a personal apology for her unconscionable actions. It's the least she can do after bringing such dishonor to our family."

The call ended with a sharp click, leaving us in silence that felt thick enough to cut.

She turned toward the door again, and this time I didn't try to stop her. But my voice followed her, carrying an edge of command that made her freeze mid-step.

"You will be at that dinner tomorrow."

She turned slowly, and the look she gave me could have melted steel. When she spoke, her voice was deadly quiet.

"I am not one of your soldiers, Damian. And you are not my commanding officer." She paused, letting the words sink in. "I said I'm not going, and I meant it."

"This isn't a discussion. It's not a negotiation." I moved toward her, backing her against the kitchen island until she had nowhere to retreat. "I'm not asking for your opinion or your consent. I'm telling you what's going to happen."

My hand shot out, gripping her chin and forcing her to maintain eye contact.