Page 30 of Unholy Union
“Bring me a drink in my office.”
“Yes, Mr. Valente.”
I watch as the mousy woman scurries off and Cato disappears up the curving staircase as quickly as he’s appeared. I start after him, itching to give him a piece of my mind. If he thinks he’ll be able to keep me trapped in his family’s house all day while he gets to come and go as he pleases and then retreat into his office every night?—
“Excuse me, Mrs. Valente, but Mr. Valente is not allowing any visitors right now.”
I stumble to a stop outside his office doors. A staff member has stepped in my direct path just as the door to Cato’s office slams shut. It takes me half a second to process what he’s said.
“But he’s home. I just saw him go inside?—”
“I’m afraid he’s asked not to be disturbed,” he interrupts in a sharp, condescending tone. “But if you’d like to pass a message?—”
“Pass a message? To my husband? If this is my home now, then I get to go in whatever room I want!”
“The Valentes have strict rules about who is allowed where on the property. May I suggest you head downstairs to the dining room? Your dinner is ready.”
My jaw drops open, eyes widening. I’m on the verge of telling the guy he doesn’t get to decide when or where or what I eat, but then I realize it’s useless.
At least right now.
He’s clearly following orders. They all are, bustling around like robots in their crisp, pinstriped uniforms.
But I draw the line later that night when the clock strikes eleven p.m. and I’m told Mr. Valente would like me to turn into “our bedchamber”.
“I’m not sleeping in his room…orhis bed!”
The staff member disappears from the den where I’ve taken refuge. I’ve grabbed a throw blanket and curled up on the sofa opposite the door.
Being under the Valente roof feels threatening at any hour, but none worse than at night. If I’m forced to be here, I want my back against the wall and the door within view at all times.
I’m not even sure if the other Valente men have turned up.
Cassian has been nowhere to be found and neither has the Don of the family himself. Not that I’m complaining. I’d prefer if every Valente alive stayed as far from me as possible.
I’m settling under the throw blanket when the door flies open and reveals Cato standing in the doorway. I spring up on the sofa, startled by his abrupt appearance. He clutches a slim brass skeleton key that he’s used to unlock the door to the den.
The shock hasn’t left my face when his lights up with a taunting grin.
“There’s my little wife,” he says. “I was wondering where she disappeared off to.”
I blink out of my surprised stupor, narrowing my eyes. “This is my home too now, isn’t it? Aren’t I allowed to wander freely? Or is that against the rules?”
“It’s eleven.”
“So?”
“So, something tells me you’re not up late doing anything productive.”
“Does it matter what I’m doing?” I retort, swinging my legs over the side of the sofa and standing up. “You didn’t seem to care during the day.”
“It’s time for bed.”
I lift my chin in defiance. “I’m a grown woman. I don’t need you to tell me when it’s bedtime.”
“Is that so?” Cato asks slowly. His dark gaze leaves mine and glides over the sofa, where the blanket’s curled in a heap and the throw pillow I’d planned to sleep on lays. “Because it sure looks like my wife planned on spending the night in the den.”
“So what if she did?”
