Liliana didn't know what to do with herself. Marcello had barely said two words to her before he'd stalked off, and Angelo had hardly stuck around for much longer.

Angelo had looked scared; scared of the consequences of making a move on his mafioso brother's wife. Good, he should be scared. Fear was exactly what kept Liliana frozen in place in the lounge for longer than it should have, before she had the good sense to go looking for Marcello. She realised how incriminating it had seemed, sat so close to Angelo with his hand in her hair. But she hadn't done anything. In fact, she had tried to stop Angelo's advances.

Her stomach clenched into a knot so tight, she was convinced it would never come undone. She knew it was guilt that had her feeling like this. She didn't owe Marcello anything; he was her husband in name only and she hardly expected him to stay faithful to her. She had no way of knowing what it was he was doing while he worked behind closed doors, after all. But she hadn't even entertained the thought of being with any man since their wedding, least of all Angelo. Still, she knew that guilt was what she was feeling.

She had quite readily assumed the worst of the marriage and how horrible her separation from her family would be, but she had not once dared to think she would face these kinds of marital issues. She should have known ever since the beginning that Angelo would bring trouble. Her first instinct had been to distrust him and yet his company had seemed so tempting when given little else to choose from.

Liliana was slow to search the house, her feet heavy as if bags of sand had been strapped to them. Each step in search of Marcello had dread eating away at her. What little food Liliana had eaten today turned in her stomach.

Every rumour she had ever heard about the D'Onofrio's - the tales of violence and revenge - streamed endlessly through her head.

Marcello had not returned to his room, nor the guest room Liliana knew he had stormed into that first night back. He was not in the kitchen, the dining room, or the home gym. There was little other areas of the house she had been shown, and she was at a loss of where he could be.

She couldn't allow Marcello to believe this betrayal. She would surely be punished in ways so horribly beyond her imagination.

Liliana collapsed onto his bed, burying her face into the pillow she had been using as tears threatened to fall. She would certainly never be allowed to leave the house now. She would forever be trapped here, alone.

The bedroom door opened and then slammed shut. Liliana flinched away from the side, rolling to see her husband standing there, back stiff with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his trousers. Through the thin material she could see they were clenched into fists.

"I went looking for you," she said hoarsely, wincing at the sound of her own voice.

"Of course." He didn't believe her. Why would he when he thought she was nothing more than a cheating wife?

"Nothing happened, and nothing was going to-"

"I only came to tell you that we will be dining out tomorrow," he uttered harshly, cutting off her explanation. "A family function we cannot miss."

Liliana bit her lip, holding back her own anger. Now was not the time to push him further - not when she had no way of knowing how he would react. All the bravado she'd had the last time they saw each other was suddenly non-existent. Now, all she felt was the overwhelming urge to cry.

"Okay," she said through gritted teeth. "Are we going to talk about it?"

"Have you eaten anything this evening?" He asked, ignoring her completely, staring down his nose at her as if she wasn't worth the concern.

Ass-hole.

"No."

"Eat something before bed."

"Marc-" Her voice was cut off by the slamming of the bedroom door, his abrupt departure leaving Liliana simmering.

She should have been more forceful, she should have made him listen to her. Now he was gone once again, still believing the worst in her. She had never been made to feel so small before, and out of spite she wanted to defy his command, but there was an ache of hunger in her stomach. There was no use being spiteful if the only person it harmed was herself.

After she had taken a minute to compose herself, and until she was certain she wouldn't burst into tears at any slight provocation, Liliana left the privacy of the bedroom. She would grab something quick to eat and then run herself a bath - anything to relax after everything that had just happened. She only prayed she wouldn't run into Angelo.

She blamed him almost entirely. Regardless of whether he was attracted to her or had genuine feelings, she was his brothers wife. He couldn't act on those urges. Especially when she had shown no sign of welcoming them.

Because of him, her mafioso husband was furious with her. Because of him, she was terrified of what Marcello would do.

Bags were sitting in the foyer as she passed; expensive Louis Vuitton luggage that she didn't recognise. She eyed them warily, for a moment worrying that Marcello may very well kick her out of the house - which would have been fine if she'd had anywhere else to go. She didn't even know if her father was here in America, or if travelled to Italy with the rest of the family. Not that she would want to live with him any more than she did Marcello.

When she entered the kitchen, it was a member of staff she didn't recognise stood over the stove singing to herself as she cooked the evening meal. Liliana had yet to meet the cook, though she was made aware the D'Onofrio's had one on her second night here when she, Giovanni, and Angelo shared an awkward meal in the dining room. It had been completely silent and entirely too tense, and Liliana had eaten as much she could stomach - which wasn't a lot - as fast as possible before excusing herself.

"Signora D'Onofrio," the cook greeted, immediately knowing who she was without the need for introductions, just like Lucetta on her first morning here. "Are you wishing to dine in here this evening?"

"That sounds great," she sighed in relief, offering a friendly smile. The cook, a taller woman a good few years older than her, with skin a rich bronze, beamed back. She was clearly far more fluent at English than Lucetta, but still spoke with a heavy Italian accent. Were all the household staff Italian?

Liliana felt pleased knowing she wouldn't have to speak in English all of the time.

"Is someone visiting? I saw bags out by the doors?"

"Signor D'Onofrio. He just returned this past hour. I suspect he'll be here for a few days before jetting off again."

"Does he visit it often?" Liliana asked with a frown.

"Not usually no," the cook said, turning back to the pan she was stirring slowly. "He's in the lounge currently I think, if you're wanting to talk to him."

She did. She had a lot to talk to him about actually.

"Thank you, I'll be back shortly for dinner."

***

"Why me?"

Sebastiano ignored her sudden appearance in the lounge. He was resting in an arm chair, his eyes hidden behind a slim pair of glasses as he read the thick book in his hands. She stayed in the doorway, her own eyes trained on the older man, lips pursed. It was a minute later, when he closed the book, that he finally turned his attention towards her.

"Liliana," he addressed softly. His hand waved towards the sofa. "Come sit down."

Liliana considered it with grim interest. She had hoped she would stay clear of this room for a little while longer. But of course Sebastiano had no idea of what transpired between her and one of his sons - the wrong son. When she was seated, she repeated her question.

With a heavy sigh, Sebastiano leant forward and placed his book on the coffee table. When he sat back, he fixed her with a heavy scrutiny.

"Your father owed me, and I wished to take something he cared about. To not claim what I was owed would force others to question my authority," he explained simply but Liliana wasn't happy with that answer.

"He owed you?" Liliana asked too sharply, feeling the blood drain from her face. "I was nothing more than something to settle a debt then?"

"You didn't know."

Liliana had to look away, biting her lip to hold back the sting of tears.

"He told me it was a mutual deal," she muttered bitterly. From her peripheral, Sebastiano nodded slowly, the lines in his forehead creasing.

"I shouldn't be surprised. He's more cowardly than I thought."

Pull yourself together, Liliana thought to herself firmly. She couldn't allow herself to fall apart like this in front of her father-in-law. Sebastiano didn't appear to be someone who suffered weakness.

"If this was just for the sake of settling a debt, why have me marry Marcello, your heir?" Liliana was surprised her voice remained steady. "Surely it would be better I marry Angelo or Giovanni?"

Amusement crept across his face. "You're no stranger to this life and the restrictions it brings, accustomed to never truly being alone and knowing when not to ask questions. Any ordinary girl wouldn't do, Mercello needs a woman intimately familiar with a business like ours if he is to continue to prosper and carry on the D'Onofrio name." He tilted his head and observed her. "There's more to this life than our work. Family is crucial."

Liliana's mouth tasted bitter and she had to swallow around the lump in her throat at the mention of children. Children. He expected her to have a child with Marcello; of course he did, that shouldn't be a surprise.

"I'm afraid you've chosen the wrong woman," she said, schooling her expression so he didn't see the panic welling up inside her. "I don't believe I'm all that suited to such a marriage, and I certainly don't appreciate these restrictions. I'm not sure how much longer I can remain trapped within this house." Trapped within this marriage, she added silently.

It hadn't even been more than two weeks, and already she was tired of being a D'Onofrio wife.

"Often when people are confined to one space, conflicts begin to arise," she drawled, forcing a vicious grin, one that promised Sebastiano of such conflicts. She shouldn't have been so bold, but to her relief - and annoyance - it seemed to only amuse him.

"Beautiful things are born through adversity, mio cara," he said smoothly, not a hint of worry in his tone. "Every marriage takes work. I have faith."

***

Marcello nearly threw the paperweight on his desk right at Angelo's head when he saw his youngest brother step into his office. He'd sobered up since earlier, but barely, only just enough to push down those violent urges.

"You have a lot of fucking nerve showing your face right now," he grunted, expression hardening. Angelo's face was flushed as he stomped closer, a snarl curling at his lips.

"Don't play the victim," Angelo spat. He leant forward against the desk, forearms bulging with tension. "What did you expect when you kept her locked up for so long and ignored her entirely?"

"I'm not playing anything, you're the one overstepping here, Angelo," Marcello said, surging to his feet. He wouldn't let Angelo look down at him in his own office, he wouldn't be forced to retreat. "She's my wife."

Angelo laughed, the sound shrill and cutting to his ears. Marcello's hands curled into fists at his side. "You sound like a child."

"And yet you're the one playing games with my marriage!"

"What marriage?" Angelo laughed again, sneering at him. "She's little more than your prisoner! You don't deserve her."

"That is not an excuse," Marcello hissed.

"It damn well is! How can you expect her to stay loyal to you when you keep her locked in this bloody house?" Angelo slammed his hands onto the wooden desk, the sound thunderous in the small room.

"That's for her own safety!"

"Don't act like you care Mercello, you're being selfish as always."

Mercello ripped his gaze away. He dragged a hand through his hair, gripping at the strands tightly as he held back a groan. "She's being threatened Angelo," he gritted out through clenched teeth.

"What?" Marcello saw his brother's fury dim only slightly.

"We've received anonymous threats against her safety. I won't risk her life. If that makes me seem cruel to you all then so be it. But if I see you with her like that again you can be sure I won't merely walk away. You know I'm not one to allow such disrespect, even if you are my brother."

Angelo scoffed and shook his head incredulously. "And yet you haven't said a word to me about these threats. Convenient."

"Believe it or not Angelo, there's a lot of things I don't tell you. You know what you need to know, and you know when I deem it necessary."

"Well maybe you should explain this to her. Because all you're doing at the moment is feeding her hatred for you," he snapped then pulled himself away suddenly, expression cooling. Turning his back on him, Angelo muttered over his shoulder, "Keep acting as you are for all I care, but don't blame me when she comes running into my arms."

The slam of Mercello's office door was loud, but Angelo's final words were almost deafening.





Just wanted to say I appreciate all of your comments guys! I may not reply to every comment but I definitely try to read them all.

Q. Is there anything you guys want to ask me?