The First Night
The mansion was too quiet for a wedding night. Katrina sat on the edge of a bed bigger than her old apartment, still in the simple white dress she'd worn to the courthouse. No cake. No dancing. No husband. The east wing. That's where Alexandra had put her. "You'll sleep in the east wing. I'll sleep in the west." He'd said it like he was assigning hotel rooms, then disappeared down the hall. She pressed her palms into the silk duvet. Mrs. Alexandra Vega. A new name. A new cage. A knock. Her shoulders locked — Matteo used to knock like that right before his fist found her ribs. But it was Alexandra. Jacket off, tie loosened. He stayed in the doorway. "We leave at ten tomorrow," he said. "My parents expect us for New Year's dinner. First of January. It's tradition." "Meet the parents already?" "It's not a meeting. It's an inspection. My mother won't decide if she likes you. She'll decide if you're useful." Useful. Like a tool. Like Matteo called her when he needed someone to scream at after he lost at cards. "Do I dress to be useful?" Katrina's voice was flat. "Wear blue," Alexandra said. "She hates blue. If you're going to be weighed, don't help her hold the scale." He left. The door clicked. Katrina lay back and stared at the ceiling. Three years with Matteo had taught her what men wanted: obedience, silence, a body that didn't bruise where people could see. She'd given him all three until Mitchell — her only friend left — filed the divorce papers for her. She couldn't even do that herself. Matteo would have killed her if she tried. Mitchell paid the lawyer. Mitchell got her out. And now she was here. Traded from one man's debt to another man's revenge. She thought of Michael, briefly. Matteo's brother. The one who lived in his head and didn't care about money, cars, wives, any of it. He'd watched Matteo hit her once and just walked away. Not my problem, he'd said. I live in an alone mind. Men. They were all variations of the same disease. Across the mansion, in the west wing, Alexandra stood at his window. Light on in the east wing. His investigator's report was on his desk: Matteo Rivera. 3 years. Multiple assaults. Divorce filed by Mitchell Lang, not the wife. Victim hospitalized twice. Current whereabouts: gambling debts, $400k. Alexandra wasn't thinking about her. He was thinking about the fact that a man like that still breathed air while she slept two hallways away. His phone buzzed. Mother: She's coming to dinner? Good. The guest room is ready. You'll stay the night. We have much to discuss. Stay the night. One guest room. One bed. His mother's way of forcing "intimacy." Alexandra exhaled slowly. In the east wing, Katrina's phone lit up. Forwarded message from Alexandra: Pack a bag. She read it twice. They had to stay over for the night.