It was late when we arrived at the Esposito mansion. It hadn’t occurred to me until we were climbing up the spiral staircase that we were heading to Lucien’s room. Duran and Iris were already in bed and the house was completely quiet. The only illumination came from the moonlight reflecting off the snow outside.
Lucien’s room was along the hall that ran the other direction from my old room. He carried two of our bags in one hand, insisting as usual to do things for himself instead of leaving it for the servants, and held my hand with the other. His fingers felt rough and comforting in mine, the palms warm around my cold hand.
We arrived at what was clearly the master suite. Unlike the other rooms, this one had double doors with gold embellishment over the painted wood. Lucien unlocked it and ushered me through, flipping the deadbolt behind him. Then he turned on the light and I was in his room, the place where my elusive husband had slept alone for the last several years. It felt incredibly intimate.
The floor was made of polished dark wood and the walls were a soft cream. The enormous bed was made up in white with several thick pillows and a fur throw across the end. Across from the bed was a pair of couches with a circular marble table adorned with a vase of a dozen white roses. The four enormous windows looked out over the woods and the side garden.
I was expecting something dark and dispirit, befitting a bachelor, but this was warm and clean. Lucien crossed the room and set the bags down by the closet door and began taking his coat off. I released a sigh and sat down on the edge of the bed to remove my shoes.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
I nodded. “It isn’t what I expected, but I do love it.”
“I had it renovated while we were gone,” he said, removing his vest and unfastening his shirt. Each button he undid revealed a little more of his broad, tattooed chest. “I thought you might like something a little more appropriate for a woman.”
Warmth blossomed in my chest. “Thank you.”
“You’ll be here more than I am,” he said, shrugging. “I know you probably know this already, but I’m usually very busy. And when I become capo, I’ll be busier still. You’ll likely not see me most days until later in the evening.”
I hesitated. “Perhaps we could talk more about it?”
He stepped out of his pants and crossed to me in his boxers. “I don’t know what there is to talk about.”
“Perhaps we could compromise?” I looked up at him towering over me.
“I have my work and my duty to the outfit,” he said.
“I know. I just—”
“Let’s continue this discussion tomorrow,” he said. “I’m tired and I want to fuck my wife before we sleep.”
He stripped me and we fell into the bed, sinking into the plush comforter. I sighed, almost contented in what we had. Yes, I did love him, and no, I didn’t know if he would ever truly return that feeling. But this was good, this felt warm and safe, like something that could last.
He pushed my legs open and sheathed himself. For a moment, an expression of pure bliss and satisfaction crossed his face, shattering the ice, and then it was gone.
“It’s good to be back,” he murmured.
I heartily disagreed, but I kept quiet, tracing the tattoo on his chest. The hanged bird rippled as he drove into me in lazy strokes. He fucked me in silence for a while, seeming to understand that I wasn’t in the mood to do anything more than lie beneath him. When he finished, he kissed my mouth and rolled from my body to lie beside me in our bed.
“You’re not happy to be home,” he said quietly.
Tears threatened to spill over. I blinked rapidly and looked up at the ceiling. “Russia felt like a new world. Here…there’s just bad memories and uncertainty. I hate it.”
He gathered me against his body, pressing his chest to my back. “I will kill Romano and I’ll build you a world you want to live in. It will be beautiful, just like Russia, like Viktor’s mansion.”
“That’s what you do, isn’t it?” I murmured. “You just reshape the world in the image you want.”
“Yes. I do.”
“Is that what you did with your father?”
Ever since our car ride to the opera, I’d had the question in the back of my mind, but it wasn’t fully formed. Now, the words rolled from my tongue in a burst of recklessness. He had lied to me in the car, I could tell, and I didn’t like it. Lucien was so meticulous, so calculated, there was no way he hadn’t looked into who had killed his father. He knew what had happened, but he was protecting someone.
“What does that mean, Olivia?” His voice was stiff.
I flipped over to face him. He was propped up on his elbow, his eyes fixed on me.
“You lied,” I said quietly. “When I asked you what happened to your father, you lied. It’s like, you didn’t like what happened, so you’re just trying to force a narrative that you agree with.”