The Unspoken Rules
The days that followed blurred into a rhythm Ava did not remember choosing but one she was forced to master.
Morning routines. Silent meals. Long stretches of waiting punctuated by moments of sharp awareness. Alessandro's presence came and went like a shadow—sometimes distant, sometimes unavoidably close, never predictable. He did not summon her often, but when he did, it was never without purpose.
She was learning the unspoken rules.
Rule one: nothing here was accidental.
Rule two: silence could be protection or punishment.
Rule three: Alessandro Romano always knew more than he said.
That knowledge settled into her bones.
On the fifth morning after their outing, Ava was escorted—not asked—to join Alessandro in his private study. It was a room she had not yet been allowed to enter. The doors were heavy, the air thick with authority. Dark wood lined the walls, maps framed behind glass, shelves filled with ledgers rather than books meant for leisure.
Power lived here.
Alessandro stood behind his desk, reviewing documents. He did not look up when she entered.
"Sit," he said.
She did.
Minutes passed in silence. Ava resisted the urge to shift, to speak, to fill the void. She understood now that impatience here was a weakness.
Finally, he set the papers aside and regarded her fully.
"You are being watched," he said.
The words were calm. Matter-of-fact.
Her stomach tightened. "By whom?"
"Everyone," he replied. "My allies. My enemies. People who are deciding whether you are leverage or a liability."
Ava lifted her chin. "And what have they decided?"
"That remains to be seen."
She inhaled slowly. "Then why tell me this?"
"Because awareness changes behavior," Alessandro said. "And behavior determines survival."
She considered that. "Do you want me to be afraid?"
"No," he said without hesitation. "Fear is sloppy."
That surprised her. "Then what?"
"Control."
The word lingered between them.
"You are not here to be decorative," he continued. "You are here to be believable."
"Believable as what?" she asked.
"As my wife."
Her pulse spiked but she did not let it show.
"And what does that require?" she asked evenly.
He leaned back slightly, studying her. "Composure. Loyalty. Discretion."
"And affection?" The question slipped out before she could stop it.
His gaze sharpened. "Affection can be learned," he said. "Conviction cannot."
She nodded slowly, absorbing the weight of his expectations.
"You will attend events with me," he continued. "You will be seen. You will be questioned. And you will give them nothing they can use."
"And if I fail?"
His voice dropped. "Then they will test me through you."
The implication chilled her.
That afternoon, Sofia began Ava's education in earnest.
Not etiquette but strategy.
How to read a room. How to recognize veiled threats. How to smile without inviting intimacy. How to deflect questions without appearing evasive. Ava listened intently, asked questions sparingly, absorbed everything.
She realized then that Alessandro was not preparing her to survive him.
He was preparing her to survive them.
That night, dinner was a quiet affair. Alessandro seemed more withdrawn than usual, his focus divided. Ava watched him discreetly, noting the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightened when his phone buzzed and he ignored it.
Something was happening.
When the meal ended, she rose instinctively but his voice stopped her.
"Stay."
The servants withdrew, leaving them alone in the vast room.
"You handled yourself well today," he said.
The acknowledgment startled her more than criticism ever could.
"Thank you," she replied softly.
He hesitated, then added, "You adapt quickly."
"I don't have a choice."
"No," he agreed. "But many would still break."
Silence fell again but this time, it felt different. Less hostile. More… tentative.
"Why me?" Ava asked quietly.
His eyes lifted to hers, dark and unreadable. "Because you are observant," he said. "And because you are still standing."
She studied him then—not the mafia boss, not the man who controlled lives with a word but the one who carried the weight of that control alone.
"You don't trust easily," she said.
"No," he replied. "And neither should you."
Something passed between them in that moment—not warmth, not comfort but recognition.
They were both prisoners of this arrangement. Bound by obligation. Defined by survival.
Later, alone in her room, Ava replayed the day in her mind. She no longer felt like an intruder wandering around unfamiliar halls.
She felt like a piece being positioned on a board she was only beginning to see.
And for the first time since arriving at the Romano estate, one thought took root and refused to leave:
If this world was determined to test her,
Then she would not be found wanting.