The Don's Deadliest Obsession

When I wake up the next morning, I have absolutely no idea what I’m supposed to do with myself.

I lie in bed for several minutes, staring at the ceiling.

It’s strange.

Yesterday, I had been too busy to think about it. Everything had happened so quickly that I barely had time to process the fact that I left my country and moved into a completely different country.

But now I’m awake and it’s quiet.

My thoughts are creeping in which leaves me with one very important question.

What the hell am I supposed to do today?

Do I stay in? Do I cook?

Wait.

Am I supposed to cook for him now that I’m his wife?

I sit up immediately.

I definitely hope not, because if that’s what being married to Lysander involves, he is going to be in for a very long haul.

I’ve only ever tried to cook three times in my entire life.

Three.

And all three times ended terribly.

The first time, I burnt the food and it’s not the kind of burnt where you can scrape off the top and pretend everything is fine.

It was completely burnt.

The second time, I somehow managed to burn the food and the kitchen towel at the same time.

The third time...

Well.

Let’s just say there was smoke everywhere, tons of broken plates, and a very traumatized housekeeper.

I still don’t understand how I managed to turn cooking into a near-death experience.

I can’t cook to save my life so that is definitely out of the question.

Besides, I’m not about to start pretending to be some perfect little housewife just because I have a ring on my finger.

I glance down at my hand, the ugly ring catching the morning light.

I still hate it.

I turn my hand slightly, studying it.

Mrs. Sanchez.

The thought still feels strange.....Almost ridiculous.

I’m Nerissa Luciano.

I’ve spent most of my life being told exactly who I am, where I belong and what I’m supposed to do so I’m definitely not about to spend the rest of my life sitting in some giant mansion waiting for a man to come home.

I know myself.

I can’t just stay home and do nothing, I’m not built that way.

I always have to channel my energy into something.

Work, research, people.

Anything.

As long as I’m doing something. I need to work, I can’t be a stay-at-home wife.

The decision settles firmly in my mind.

I’m going to talk to Lysander about working here. I don’t care if he likes the idea or not.

For now, I need coffee....Lots of it.

I know I take an unhealthy amount of coffee into my body but hey don’t judge me, its th only way I can function.

I get dressed and head downstairs.

The estate is unusually quiet this morning.

The halls are wide and bright, sunlight spilling through the tall windows and stretching across the polished floors.

I hate this place, everything is too big and grand.

Even the staircase looks like something out of a historical movie.

I make my way toward the kitchen, expecting to find someone there and I do.

The moment I walk in, I recognize her. It’s the girl who came to my room yesterday with the dress Lysander wanted me to wear.

She is standing near the counter, doing something with a tray.

The moment she sees me, her expression changes. Her eyes narrowing slightly.

She looks pissed to see me.

”Good morning,” she greets curtly.

”Morning.”

I walk farther into the kitchen.

”What would you like to have?” She asks.

”Coffee.”

Iglance toward the coffee machine.

”But it’s fine. I’ll make it myself.”

She stops what she’s doing and slowly turns toward me.

”Why?”

I look at her.

She has an odd expression on her face.

”Why what?”

”You don’t think I’m capable enough to make you a cup of coffee?”

I stare at her genuinely confused.

”No, I didn’t say that.”

”You just said you would make it yourself.”

”Yes.”

”So?”

”So I just want to make my own coffee.”

I gesture toward the machine.

”I’m allowed to do that, aren’t I?”

She folds her arms, her expression becoming colder.

”You know you aren’t supposed to be here, right?”

I blink.

For a moment, I wonder if I heard her correctly.

”What?”

”You heard me.”

I slowly turn away from the coffee machine.

Now she’s looking directly at me, eyes full of anger and hate.

”You know you aren’t supposed to be here.”

I stare at her.

”Why exactly am I not supposed to be here?”

Her jaw tightens.

”You people killed my brother.”

She takes a step toward me.

”You killed him and sent his severed head back to me.”

My stomach twists.

”That....that was the only thing of him I got to bury.”

Her voice cracks slightly on the last word.

I see the grief underneath the anger for a second but then her expression hardens again.

”You should watch your back in this house, you don’t want to ”accidentally” get poisoned now do you?.”

I place my coffee cup down slowly.

Then I move closer.

”Is that a threat?”

She doesn’t move.

”Take it however you will, Nerissa. I don’t care.”

My jaw tightens.

”It’s Mrs. Sanchez to you.”

Her eyes flash.

”My brother was a good fucking person! And you people killed him like...like he was a nobody.”

Her voice rises.

She takes another step toward me. 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ

”You took him away from me!”

I stare at her.

I don’t know her brother, i don’t know what happened to him and I certainly don’t know whether the Luciano family was responsible for his death.

But I know one thing is I’m not going to stand here and let someone threaten me because of a war I didn’t start.

I step closer.

”I don’t care if your brother was Mother Teresa, jolly Parton or Jesus himself.”

Her mouth falls open.

”You need to understand who the fuck I am to you.”

I point toward myself.

”You don’t fucking threaten me.”

She stares at me, breathing heavily.

”Now, you will address me with courtesy, or you will not address me at all.”

When I take another step toward her, her eyes widen.

Before she can react, my hand shoots out and grab the front of her collar in my fist.

Her entire body stiffens as I pull her slightly closer.

”I am your Don’s wife, remember?”

She swallows.

Her confidence from a few seconds ago is completely gone.

I hold her gaze.

”I don’t care how angry you are.”

My voice lowers.

”I don’t care how much you hate my family or me.”

I tighten my grip slightly.

”But you will not threaten me. Is that clear?.”

Her lips part.

”I...I’m...”

”I said is that clear?.”

She swallows hard.

”I’m so sorry.”

I don’t release her yet.

”I didn’t mean...”

Her eyes drop.

”I’m sorry, Mrs. Sanchez.”

She takes a shaky breath.

”It’s just the grief. I...”

I stare at her for a few seconds before I finally loosen my grip.

She immediately straightens her clothes, rubbing the collar where my fist had been.

I watch her carefully.

I don’ don’t know if my family truly had anything to do with it.

But if they did...Then I understand why she hates me.

That doesn’t mean I’ll let her threaten me though.