Chapter 5
“They state the marriage was never consummated. The church will accept that with a sufficiently large donation.”
He continued.
“There is also a deed to a townhouse in Back Bay and a trust under your name that will pay $50,000 each month for the remainder of your life.”
Naya stared at the folder.
The yellow paper appeared unnaturally bright against the dark desk.
“What happens to my father’s port access?”
“It remains mine.”
Dante rested against the chair.
“I will not kill him over the debt. The matter is settled.”
His eyes remained on her.
“You gave me 3 months. I am compensating you.”
He was allowing her to leave.
The realization did not bring uncomplicated freedom.
It formed a heavy knot of contradictory feeling inside her.
This was what she had wanted.
The folder was an exit.
Naya could take it, collect her belongings, and leave beneath the July sun as a wealthy and independent woman.
She would never again hear Dante’s voice lower when he lied or smell gunpowder on his clothing.
Naya looked at the folder and then at the man behind the desk.
Dante observed her carefully.
A muscle moved inside his jaw.
He expected her to seize the documents and run.
He was preparing to remain completely alone inside the enormous house.
Naya reached forward.
Her fingers touched the rough edge of the folder.
If she left, she would return to being Naya, the woman traded to resolve a shipping dispute.
She would be the fortunate victim who escaped with a financial settlement.
At gatherings in Back Bay, people would discuss her brief and tragic period as a mafia bride.
She would remain a victim who survived.
Naya examined the study.
She looked at the section of floor where she had held Dante’s shaking body during the night.
She looked at the man who had banished his oldest friend in an attempt to answer her anger.
Then she understood something frightening and cynical.
She did not want to be a victim who escaped.
She wanted to be the woman who broke the boss.
Beyond the estate gates, power was an illusion.
Men like her father exchanged women like gambling chips.
Inside the house, the structure had reversed.
Dante Russell, who frightened the entire city, was completely at her mercy.
He had placed the weapon inside her hand.
Now he was offering the door because he could not tolerate waiting for her to use it.
Naya lifted the folder.
Dante’s jaw tightened.
He looked toward the window.
“Silas will have a vehicle prepared within 1 hour.”
His voice remained controlled.
“You do not need to pack. Marion will send your possessions.”
Naya did not open the documents.
She held the folder above the heavy glass ashtray and tore it in half.
Paper ripping filled the quiet room.
Dante turned sharply.
His eyes widened.
Naya placed the halves together and tore them again.
She dropped the pieces of legal freedom and financial security into the ashtray.
“I’m not leaving.”
Dante looked from the ruined documents to her face.
“Naya, what are you doing?”
His composure began to fail.
“I am giving you an exit.”
He rose slightly from the chair.
“I cannot provide what you want. I cannot remove what I said.”
His voice became strained.
“I’m bleeding to death while attempting to repair something that cannot be repaired.”
Dante looked at the torn paper.
“Take the money and leave.”
“No.”
Naya placed both palms against the desk and leaned into his space.
Bergamot and residual fear surrounded him.
“You do not get to purchase an escape from your guilt.”
Her eyes remained on his.
“You bought me. You signed the documents.”
Naya’s voice hardened.
“I am your wife.”
“I don’t want a ghost inside my home.”
Dante’s voice was rough.
His eyes searched hers.
“You do not have a ghost.”
Naya did not move.
“You have a partner.”
Every trace of naïve romance had disappeared from her tone.
“You wanted an incubator and a compliant woman who would remain inside the east wing.”
She watched him swallow.
“That woman is dead. You killed her.”
Dante remained silent.
“Here are the new terms.”
Naya leaned closer.
“I am the lady of this house.”
Her voice was absolute.
“Silas reports to me on domestic matters. You do not patronize or lie to me.”
She continued before he could speak.
“If you have a problem with the Commission, you tell me, and we address it together.”
Naya held his gaze.
“If you experience another panic attack, you call me, and I will remain with you.”
Her voice dropped.
“You will never treat me like a transaction again.”
She moved closer across the desk.
“If you do, I will not leave.”
The threat became a whisper.
“I will remain here and make your life an absolute living hell.”
Naya did not blink.
“Do you understand?”
Dante stared.
The shock inside his eyes slowly changed.
It was not love.
The feeling was too injured and raw to be love.
It was respect—the profound respect he normally reserved for someone aiming a weapon at his head.
He was looking at an equal.
A woman forged inside the consequences of his own arrogance.
Dante did not smile or nod.
His eyes moved toward Naya’s hands against the desk.
Then he reached forward and placed his large palm over 1 of them.
Warmth entered her knuckles.
It was not romantic.
It was the seal on a new contract.
“I understand.”
His voice remained steady.
It did not drop an octave.
Naya looked at his hand.
She did not remove hers immediately.
The estate was silent around them.
The storm had passed and left a damaged but clear morning.
They stood among the remains of a false marriage and held the sharp, dangerous pieces of a real one.
“Good.”
Naya pulled her hand free and straightened.
Then she turned toward the door.
“I’m returning to the garden.”
She left the study without looking back.
May you like
“Do not interrupt me until dinner.”
Disclaimer: This story is fictional and created for entertainment purposes only. Any names, characters, places, or events are fictitious or used fictitiously. No real person or organization is intended to be portrayed.
