Chapter 3

The iron door creaked open with the grinding sound of metal against stone.

I pressed myself further into the corner, heart hammering as a tall shadow filled the doorway. Candlelight from the corridor behind him cast his silhouette in stark relief—broad shoulders, perfectly tailored suit, and an aura of controlled danger that made the air itself feel heavier.

Then he stepped into the light.

Matteo Corleone, the heir to the Corleone family.

But it was his eyes that made my blood run cold. Those wolf-like amber orbs held a complex storm of emotions—rage, pain, longing, and something that might have been love if it weren't so fucking twisted.

He carried a bottle of red wine and two crystal glasses, as if he'd come for a civilized conversation rather than whatever this psychological torture was supposed to be.

"Five years, Sera." His voice was deep, cultured, with that distinctly Sicilian accent that turned every word into silk wrapped around steel. "You still look at me like I'm a stranger."

I scrambled backwards until the stone wall stopped me, chains rattling. "Don't call me Sera! Why am I here?"

A bitter smile twisted his perfect mouth. "I'm your husband, Seraphina. Lucia's father." He set the wine bottle down on a small wooden table just outside my reach. "Though you refuse to acknowledge either fact."

"Husband?" The word came out as a strangled laugh. "You're insane. Alessandro is my husband. I just married him—"

"Alessandro." Matteo's voice turned arctic, all pretense of civility vanishing. "You're still thinking about him."

He poured wine into both glasses with movements so elegant they looked choreographed. The rich red liquid caught the candlelight like liquid garnets.

"Tell me something, Sera," he continued, settling into a chair he'd brought down earlier. "Do you remember our wedding? The little chapel outside Palermo, with the olive trees in bloom? You wore your grandmother's dress—ivory silk with pearl buttons down the back."

I stared at him, confusion and fury warring in my chest. "That's... that's not how it happened. I married Alessandro in the cathedral. There were hundreds of guests, white roses everywhere..."

Matteo's eyes softened with what looked like genuine pain. "You were so beautiful that day. Your hands shook when you said your vows, but your voice was steady. Strong. You promised to stand by me through everything—blood, honor, and vengeance."

"Stop it!" The words tore from my throat. "Those aren't my memories! I never promised you anything!"

But even as I said it, something flickered at the edge of my consciousness. A flash of ivory silk... olive trees swaying in Mediterranean wind... strong hands sliding a ring onto my finger...

'No. No, that's wrong. I married Alessandro. I remember the cathedral, the music, his gentle smile...'

Matteo leaned forward, studying my face with the intensity of a predator watching wounded prey. "Do you remember our first kiss? Behind the old church, after evening mass. You were sixteen, wearing that blue dress your aunt made. You tasted like sugar and rebellion."

"Alessandro was my first kiss," I whispered, but doubt crept into my voice like poison. "In the garden behind his family's house..."

I shook my head violently. "You're lying. All of this is lies. Alessandro loves me. He would never let anyone hurt me, never let me be locked up like some animal!"

Matteo's carefully controlled mask began to slip. His jaw tightened, and those amber eyes flashed with something murderous.

"Alessandro?" He stood abruptly, the chair scraping against stone. "You think Alessandro Romano gives a damn about you?"

"He's my husband!" I screamed, desperation making my voice crack. "He loves me! He's probably looking for me right now, and when he finds me—"

"He'll what?" Matteo's laugh was sharp as broken glass. "Rescue you? Sweep you away to some fairy tale ending?"

"You want to know about your precious Alessandro?" His voice dropped to a deadly whisper. "You want to know why he hasn't come for you?"

"He will," I insisted, but fear was creeping up my spine like ice water. "Alessandro would never abandon me. He loves me—"

"Alessandro Romano is fucking dead!" Matteo roared, the sound echoing off the stone walls like a gunshot.

The world seemed to tilt sideways, and for a moment I couldn't breathe.

"No..." The word was barely a whisper. "That's not... he can't be..."

Matteo's expression was savage, all pretense of gentleness abandoned. "Five years dead, Sera. I put three bullets in his chest and watched him bleed out in the olive grove behind our estate."

"You're lying." But my voice had no strength behind it. "He's not dead. We just got married..."

The room spun around me. Nothing made sense. The memories in my head, the pictures Isabella had shown me, Lucia calling me mama—it was all wrong, all twisted together like a nightmare.

"I remember..." I clutched my head as pain exploded behind my eyes. "The cathedral... Alessandro's smile... our first dance..."

"Those are fantasies," Matteo said, settling back into his chair with predatory grace. "Your mind's way of protecting you from the truth. You loved him, yes. But he tried to take you away from where you belonged. From your family."

"What family?" I gasped through the agony in my skull.

"The Corleones. The family that raised you, protected you, gave you everything." His voice turned gentle again, which somehow made it more terrifying. "The family you betrayed for a Romeo fantasy."

More images flashed through my mind—not the beautiful memories I'd been clinging to, but darker ones. Alessandro grabbing my wrist too hard, arguing with someone in hushed, angry voices. Blood on marble steps. Screaming that wouldn't stop.

"I don't understand..." Tears were streaming down my face now. "If Alessandro is dead, why do I remember him so clearly? Why do I feel like I just lost him?"

Matteo's expression softened with something that might have been pity. "Because you've been lost in your own head for five years, cara. Living in a world where you married the enemy instead of your own family."

He stood and walked to the iron bars, close enough that I could smell his cologne—expensive, masculine, devastatingly familiar.

"Tomorrow," he said quietly, "I'll take you to see his grave."

"Please..." I could barely form words through my sobs. "Please, I can't... this isn't real..."

Matteo reached through the bars, his fingertips barely brushing my cheek. For just a moment, his touch was gentle, almost loving.

"It's real, Sera. All of it. The marriage, Lucia, these five years you've lost in madness." His voice was soft as velvet, cruel as winter. "Alessandro Romano is rotting in the ground, and you're exactly where you've always belonged."

He picked up his wine glass, draining it in one long swallow before setting it down with deliberate precision.

"Sweet dreams, wife."

The iron door clanged shut behind him.

I sat in the suffocating silence, staring at the wine he'd left behind. The rich red liquid looked like blood in the candlelight, and suddenly I was drowning in memories that felt both foreign and familiar:

Standing in a chapel wearing ivory silk...

Holding a baby with amber eyes...

Living as Matteo's wife for years before...

Before what? Before I lost my mind? Before I forgot my real life and created a fantasy about marrying the enemy?

'But which memories are real? The beautiful ones with Alessandro, or these terrible ones with Matteo?'

I pressed my hands against my temples, trying to stop the fragments from cutting me apart from the inside. But the truth was taking shape like a cancer growing in my mind.