His Tesoro (Empire of Royals, #1)

by Emilia Rossi

“You might have guessed that he’s not very expressive. But he’s a fair Don. He rewards people who are loyal to him.” The unsaid words hung in the air—what happened to those who weren’t loyal.

“Matteo is thirty-eight,” Romeo continued. “Old fucker.” Angelo snorted. “And how old are you?” Romeo flipped him off. “Thirty-seven,” he answered begrudgingly, and I couldn’t help but laugh. Romeo just winked at me again.

I felt a burst of sympathy for my new husband. No wonder he was so serious. He’d been responsible for all of New York for so long.

The age gap didn’t bother me, but it was probably another reason Matteo wasn’t interested in me. I was young and naïve… why would he want to spend any time around me?

“Not much to tell. I’m not very exciting.” “On the contrary, I expect you’re about to bring no end of excitement into our lives,”

Angelo snorted and crossed his arms. Warmth settled in my stomach at their playful banter. Maybe I wouldn’t have a loving husband, but there was already more kindness in these small interactions than I’d ever gotten at home.

He quickly looked away, dismissing me, and my heart broke a little.

She nodded as she chewed on her lower lip. I wanted to snap at her to cut it out. What did she have to look so nervous about?

The apartment was plenty big, but it had never felt as small as it did in this moment. Sofiya might be a tiny slip of a girl, but her presence filled the space.

“Your bedroom is that way.” The furthest one from my bedroom.

“I told you this wasn’t going to be a real marriage,” I snapped. She blinked slowly before giving a small nod. “Of course. Sorry.” A thousand irritated retorts were on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them, turned on my heel, and headed out of the apartment. There was a strange, unsettled feeling in my chest as I walked past Angelo and got back on the elevator. I rubbed it absentmindedly as the elevator doors opened to the lower floor that housed my office.

It took me three attempts to tie my tie this morning. And it was definitely not because my thoughts were consumed by my new bride. She was way too young. And way too fucking beautiful.

I might be a bastard for leaving her alone right after we arrived, but she wasn’t anything to me, really. Just a stranger. A roommate. But that didn’t explain the urgency I felt to get out of my room and find her.

I strode out of my bedroom while adjusting my cufflinks but came to an abrupt stop when I saw Sofiya standing at the kitchen island. Fucking standing.

She was writing something down on a piece of paper, completely oblivious to me. That didn’t sit well with me, either. Why wasn’t she more aware of her surroundings?

Why was she playing dumb? I rounded the kitchen island and that was when I saw it. The walker in front of her. How she was leaning all her weight on the counter. Shit. My insistence that I didn’t need to know anything about my bride before our marriage seemed idiotic now.

“Is something wrong?” Sofiya asked. She had to tilt her head up to meet my gaze. “You’re in the way,” I snapped, my anger at her quickly transforming into embarrassed irritation towards myself. “You might live here now, but that doesn’t mean it’s your home to do with as you please.” Her lips parted and she quickly looked around the massive penthouse apartment, as if trying to figure out whose way she was in.

“You want me to stay in my room?” she finally got out. “Yes, fine,” I said, needing this conversation to be over. She averted her gaze and gave me a little nod before moving her hands to her walker.

And every second I spent with my little wife, the more I got drawn in. I had made the mistake of trusting people in the past, and it had cost me everything. I wouldn’t do it again.

At the top of the page, it said “Sofiya’s Famous Cinnamon Rolls,” and it looked like she had been checking off the ingredients she needed. Something stirred in my chest. A sharp pain that felt almost like… regret.

I didn’t know how long I could live like this. Mila was always the brave one, the one who fought back. Without her by my side, I felt myself wilting.

My eyes burned with unshed tears until I finally gave into them, letting them drip down my cheeks. It wasn’t like there was anyone here to judge me for crying. I wondered if my new husband would scream at me if he saw my tears, like my father always had.

I wrapped my arms around my pillow and let my eyes drift shut. Maybe my dreams would carry me to a better life.

I should have asked more questions this morning. Was I allowed to leave my room to get food? Matteo hadn’t specified, which, in my experience, meant no. Would he hit me if I disobeyed? My stomach lurched at the thought.

Based on what I’d seen and my conversations with his men, Matteo didn’t seem violent, but even I could hear how naïve that sounded. He was the Don. He had surely murdered and tortured people. Just because he was attractive didn’t mean anything. Monsters hid behind pretty faces.

This was my life—to be hated and forgotten—and I just had to accept it.

Romeo hummed as he crossed his arms. “Pretty little thing must be getting lonely. Maybe I should go over and keep her company.” I was out of my seat before I realized what I was doing, my hand moving towards the gun I kept hidden under my jacket. Romeo laughed as he raised his hands in surrender. “Fuck, Matteo. Feeling a little possessive?”

The thought of any man being around her made me murderous, and I couldn’t understand why.

Angelo shifted uncomfortably, putting me on high alert. “She’s been in her room,” he said. “So?” I barked. Angelo was hiding something, and it was pissing me off. “I mean, she hasn’t left her room, Boss. This whole time.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” I snarled. That strange feeling in my chest kicked up again. I resisted the temptation to rub it. What the fuck was she doing in there?

I glanced over at the kitchen as if Sofiya would be there, sweetly smiling as she tucked her hair behind her ear or pulled cinnamon rolls out of the oven. I would never admit it to anyone, but they were one of my favorite foods. But the apartment was quiet.

When there wasn’t an immediate answer, I strode in to find my wife curled up under the covers, facing away from me. That weird twinge in my chest started again. Maybe I needed to see the doctor to make sure I wasn’t having a heart attack.

“I was sleeping. Sorry,” she added in a whisper. Her hands twisted in the covers. “Why are you sorry?” I took a few steps towards the bed. “You seem angry.”

“Have you eaten?” She bit her lip, eyes briefly meeting mine before she looked away again. I clenched my jaw to stop myself from demanding she keep her eyes on me.

“You ate a candy bar?” She’d holed up in her room all day and night with a single candy bar? To my horror, her bottom lip started trembling and her eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do or what the rules are. I can do better. Just tell me what to do.”

I ran my hand down my face. Should I call someone? My sister would know what to do. But calling someone else right now would be to admit I’d been defeated by this girl.

I sat down on the edge of the bed and put my hand on her shoulder. She stiffened, and my mood soured even further. I removed my hand. “Will you tell me what I did wrong?” she asked softly. I furrowed my brow. “Nothing. But you need to eat. Come on.”

“What’s wrong?” For once, I wished I knew how to speak… gently or some shit like that.

“Could you get my wheelchair?” Her wheelchair was in the corner of the room. It would be easy for me to get it for her, but for some reason, I found myself leaning down and picking her up. Her front was plastered to my chest, and her arms flew around my neck, her legs cradling my hips.

“I can really just use my chair,” she said. Her breath ghosted against my neck, causing me to tighten my hold. When was the last time I’d been this close to someone?

“Am I hurting you?” I asked, voice low. “No.” “Okay, then.” I walked out of the room, taking her straight to the kitchen. I hesitated before setting her down on the island. The thought of letting her go seemed unacceptable.

“I will order something. What do you want?” “I’m not picky.” I fixed my gaze on her. “You will tell me what you want.”

She tucked a curl of her hair behind her ear, and I followed the movement.

“Why haven’t you eaten anything?” I asked, crossing my arms. “I didn’t know if I was allowed to,” she whispered. “Why wouldn’t you be allowed to?” “You said I should stay in my room, so I just wasn’t sure…” My brain whirred as I tried to understand what she was saying. When had I told her she couldn’t leave the room? The only conversation we’d had was yesterday morning… Shit. Fuck.

“Look at me.” There, my voice sounded soft enough. To my confusion, she didn’t do what I said. When was the last time someone had defied me? I gripped her chin with my thumb and forefinger and tilted her face up. Her skin was so fucking soft.

“This is your house now. You can use whatever room you want. And if you want to cook or make cinnamon rolls, you can.”

The urge to comfort her overcame me. I dropped my hands and stepped back to prevent myself from doing something ridiculous.

“No.” Then I decided to push her a bit to see what response I would get. “You should obey me.” Irritation flashed over her face, and this time, I couldn’t stop my amused expression. I found I didn’t mind a bit of fire in my new bride. I brought my hand to my face to hide my smile, but the slight widening of her eyes told me she caught it.

“Oh, um, I have something called hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos.” She dug her fingers into her thighs. I had to physically stop myself from replacing her hands with my own.

Her voice had quieted until it was almost a whisper, her cheeks turning bright red. In our world, image was power, so it wasn’t surprising that she carried shame. But I found I didn’t care much that this made her vulnerable. Did it really matter when I was here to protect her?