Chapter 39

Natalie POV

It was almost eight in the evening when we finally pulled up the driveway to Tristan’s mansion, a magnificent three-story brownstone building with white columns supporting the porch, white window frames, and old crooked trees on the front lawn. Tristan parked in one of the double garages on the left.

He got out and opened the door for me. My stomach hollowed with nerves. This was my home now, and soon I’d meet the children I’d raise. Tristan’s hand found its place on my lower back again as he led me toward the magnificent white front door.

Someone from his staff had gathered my belongings in the morning and brought them to the house.

I released a shaky breath when Tristan put the key in the lock. His eyes cut to me. “This is your home.”

I gave him a shaky smile, knowing he meant it. Yet judging by the way he’d handled everything so far, his rules would be the only ones he’d want followed within those walls. I’d have to fight for every bit of power and freedom—he wouldn’t hand over either freely.

He opened the door and motioned for me to get inside. I did, trying to figure out what I was smelling as I scanned the white and grey granite floor. High-pitched barking almost gave me a heart attack, and a small ball of reddish-brown fluff stormed through the hall and latched itself onto Tristan’s trouser leg. Growling, the small dog started to tug at the fabric. I blinked then bit my lip, stifling laughter. It was too ridiculous a sight not to be amusing.

“Fuck!” Tristan snarled. “Sybil, didn’t I tell you to keep the goddamn dog locked away?”
My smile died. He bent down and tried to grab the dog’s neck, but the tiny thing snapped its teeth and bit his finger. Fury flickered across his face, and he finally managed to grab the dog and lifted it into the air. The dog squeaked once then fell silent and hung in Tristan’s grasp. My husband looked as if he considered putting it down with his gun or strangling it with his strong hands.

I touched his arm, terrified for the helpless animal. “Don’t hurt it.” Tristan’s eyes snapped to mine, still with the same anger in them, and I dropped my hand but stood my ground.

Steps rang out and a tall dark-haired woman in her early fifties came running then stopped abruptly and cursed in Italian, looking to the floor. She’d stepped in dog poo, which explained what I’d smelled. Her black flats were now covered with it.

“That’s it,” Tristan growled. “Tomorrow this thing is gone.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Moretti. I went into its room to clean and it slipped out. I tried catching it all day, but it’s too fast. And Daniele hid from me again. I don’t know—” She glanced my way and fell silent.

Tristan ignored her and walked away. I followed hesitantly into a magnificent living room with herringbone parquet, then watched as my husband opened the terrace door and dropped the dog outside before closing the door. The dog peered in through the glass.
“You can’t do that,” I said, horrified.
Sybil gave me a look that conveyed I should keep my mouth shut.

Tristan, however, ignored my comment altogether.

“Clean the dog shit,” Tristan ordered Sybil as he moved to a liquor cabinet, poured himself a drink, and sank down on the cognac-colored leather sofa. I couldn’t tear my eyes from the small dog sitting in the November cold with its nose pressed to the window. Sybil scurried away to follow her master’s command.
I stood in the middle of the living room, not sure what to do. One thing was for sure: I wouldn’t let that dog freeze to death outside. Tristan was the master of this house, in our society’s eyes—my master.

I walked over to the terrace door.
“Don’t.”

The word, without being said loudly, held absolute authority. Tristan was used to giving orders in every area of his life and expected unwavering obedience.
I didn’t look his way. If I saw his sharp eyes and powerful face, I might lose my courage. That wasn’t going to happen. This was the beginning of a new life, and if I let him trample all over me, I’d be doomed.

“Natalie , don’t.” Warning rang in his voice. Or what? He pushed off of the sofa when I opened the door and picked up the shivering ball of fluff. The dog remained quiet as I pressed it to my chest. I could feel matted fur from months of neglect.

Tristan towered over me, barring my way. I tipped my head up to meet his furious gaze. “That thing stays outside.” His eyes were harsh, but I didn’t look away. “I gave you an order.”
An order? “It seems I’m as badly trained as your dog.” Mother’s warning words about insolence rang in my head. It was too late, not that I would have taken anything back.

Tristan’s face flashed with surprise then anger. “Set it back down. I won’t allow you to bring it inside.”

Allow. Order. I was his wife, not his slave. But again, he was Underboss and probably didn’t understand the difference. “If the dog isn’t allowed inside, then I’ll stay outside with it. We can keep each other warm.” I turned to walk over to one of the lounge chairs, but Tristan’s arm shot out, stopping me.

I flinched. Father never hit me. Mother did it twice. It wasn’t firsthand experience that had me wince, but I had seen men hit women and children. My uncles, in particular, were of the violent sort. It happens often in our circles.

Tristan frowned and his fingers gently closed around my elbow. I regarded him curiously. “That flinch was unnecessary, and I don’t want it to happen again, all right?”
“You don’t want me to react that way or I won’t have a reason to react that way?”

A ghost of a smile crossed Tristan’s face before the stern look was back. He leaned down so we were at eye level. “You won’t ever have reason to.”

“You sure?” I said it more to annoy him than anything else, but my words were softened by a tiny smile.
“Absolutely.”

“Good.”

His expression conveyed confusion. Was I that much of an enigma to him? “Now put the dog down.”

My smile widened. “No.”

He looked incredulous. Releasing my elbow, he cupped my chin between his thumb and forefinger and brought our faces even closer. This time I didn’t flinch, and I could see that it pleased him.

“I gave you an order. I’m your husband and my word is law.”

“I know. And if you insist that the dog stays outside, I will too.”

Tristan narrowed his eyes. His breath held the hint of the spicy liquor, and I felt the crazy urge to taste it on his lips. “Do you really think I believe you’ll spend the night in the cold for a dog?”
I stared back stubbornly.
He barked out a laugh. “I think you might actually do it. Your parents didn’t mention your stubborn streak when they bartered you away.”
“They were too eager to marry me off to the cruellest Underboss of the Famiglia,” I muttered.

“The cruellest Underboss, hmm? That’s what they call me?”

“They did, and other people do too.”

Why??