Chapter 2 Who she belongs to

The persistent knock on the bedroom door stirred Serena awake. She blinked awake, only to freeze when she realized she was trapped against a broad, solid chest. A muscular arm was draped possessively around her waist, leaving barely any space between them. She didn't need to see his face to know it was her husband. Confusion flickered through her as she wondered why the man who treated her with nothing but contempt had held her in his arms all night.

Had he been too drunk to remember how much he loathed her?

The thought lingered in Serena's mind as she cautiously turned her head. Lorenzo was still asleep, his breathing slow and even. In sleep, the harshness that usually shadowed his face had faded, making him appear almost peaceful.

She couldn't help but study him. Even after four years of marriage, his striking looks still took her by surprise. His broad frame radiated quiet strength, while the intricate tattoos winding down his muscular arms only added to the dangerous aura that surrounded him. One of those arms remained securely around her waist, keeping her close without the slightest awareness.

She could feel the solid warmth of his body against hers through the thin fabric of their nightclothes. His firm chest rested against her back, and despite herself, Serena's heart gave a small, reluctant flutter.

His thick, muscular thighs were tangled between her legs, and his hard morning wood poked against her bare ass and the soft folds of her pussy, making her  body want to push back and take him inside again.

Serena let out a quiet breath, her gaze lingering on his sleeping face. Without the coldness that usually hardened his features, Lorenzo looked almost unreal. His thick dark hair fell carelessly across his forehead, his long lashes rested against his skin, and the sharp lines of his nose and jaw gave him the appearance of a man sculpted from stone. It was difficult to believe someone so breathtaking could possess such a merciless heart.

She remembered the first time she had laid eyes on him four years ago. Her heart had betrayed her in that very moment, falling hopelessly for the man who would one day become her husband.

Back then, she had mistaken his silence for mystery and his coldness for restraint. It wasn't until after their wedding that she discovered the painful truth—she had given her heart to a man who had never intended to accept it.

Careful not to wake him, Serena remained perfectly still. She knew better than to disturb Lorenzo's sleep because over the years, she had memorized every habit, every preference, and every unspoken expectation he had. She could tell what he wanted from the slightest change in his expression, yet he had never once tried to understand her.

She had married him at nineteen with nothing but hope in her heart. Foolishly, she believed that if she loved him enough—if she remained patient, loyal, and devoted—one day he might look at her with the same affection she had always shown him.

Little by little, the dreams Serena had clung to began to fade. Each morning seemed to bring another headline featuring Lorenzo beside a different woman, smiling for cameras in ways he had never smiled at her. The tabloids mocked her without mercy, painting her as the unwanted wife while celebrating the countless beauties linked to the Mafia King.

At first, she had convinced herself not to believe the rumors but as the months turned into years, reality became impossible to ignore. The marriage she had prayed would blossom into love had been nothing more than a lonely illusion from the very beginning.

Serena forced down the ache rising in her chest. She gently lifted Lorenzo's arm from around her waist, taking care not to disturb his sleep. Once she was certain he wouldn't wake, she quietly slipped out of bed, her bare feet landing softly on the cold marble floor. She was still naked, her thighs sticky from last night’s cum and her own juices, so she swiftly put on her clothes as the sound of knocking grew louder and went to open the door.

As Serena quietly opened the bedroom door, she nearly bumped into a woman standing outside.

"Good morning, Serena."

It was Margaret Russo, Lorenzo’s stepmother.

Serena offered a polite smile. "Good morning, Mother."

Margaret's eyes briefly searched Serena's face. There was kindness in them, but also sympathy—a look Serena had grown all too familiar with over the past four years.

Everyone in the Russo mansion knew the truth about her marriage. They knew Lorenzo had never accepted her as his wife. Some pitied her silent suffering, while others secretly laughed at the irony that the wife of Italy's most feared Mafia King lived like an unwanted guest in her own home.

Margaret was different. She had never mocked Serena or treated her with contempt. Unlike the rest of the family, she always spoke to her with warmth and respect.

"Is Lorenzo awake yet?" Margaret asked gently.

Serena shook her head. "Not yet. He's still sleeping."

Margaret sighed almost inaudibly.

"He has an important meeting this morning. If he oversleeps, he'll be in a dreadful mood."

She smiled reassuringly at Serena before continuing, "I'll wake him. In the meantime, would you prepare breakfast? You know he refuses to leave the house without eating on time,” Viviana suggested, holding Serena’s hand with concern. 

"Of course." Serena nodded and quickly scurried downstairs to the kitchen to prepare Lorenzo’s favorite breakfast.

Margaret quietly stepped into the bedroom, closing the door behind her with practiced care. A faint smile curved her lips as her gaze settled on the sleeping Lorenzo.

To anyone else, it was the smile of a loving mother checking on her son but beneath that gentle expression lurked calculation.

She had no intention of letting the morning pass peacefully.

As she crossed the room, the sole of her slipper brushed against something on the floor. She paused, looked down and saw a torn piece of delicate lace lying near the bed.

Her eyes darkened instantly.

So... they had spent the night together.

The discovery twisted her stomach with resentment. The last thing Margaret wanted was for Lorenzo and Serena to grow closer. For four years, she had carefully nurtured Lorenzo's distrust, feeding him lies and half-truths until he viewed his own wife as nothing more than a manipulative gold digger.

Lorenzo had never questioned her words.

He trusted Margaret without hesitation, believing she always had his best interests at heart.

Masking her anger, Margaret nudged the torn fabric beneath the bed with the tip of her foot, making sure it was out of sight. By the time she reached Lorenzo's bedside, every trace of anger had vanished behind her usual warm, motherly smile.

She gently brushed a hand through his dark hair.

"Lorenzo," she called softly. "It's time to wake up.”

Margaret's hand had barely touched Lorenzo's shoulder when he reacted on instinct. His eyes remained closed as he caught her wrist and shoved it away with enough force to make her stumble backward.

"Ah!"

A soft cry escaped her lips which pulled Lorenzo from sleep.

He opened his eyes, immediately noticing Margaret rubbing her wrist. A faint crease formed between his brows.

"Mother..."

He sat up slowly, running a hand through his messy black hair.

"I didn't realize it was you."

Although it was an apology, his voice carried its usual detached coldness because warmth had long disappeared from the way Lorenzo spoke.

Years of pain had frozen every emotion inside him.

When he was only fourteen years old, his world had fallen apart.

His biological mother had betrayed the Russo family by running away with another man.

His father, Antonio Russo, the feared Mafia King of Western Italy, found them before they could escape.

Consumed by rage and betrayal, Antonio shot them both without hesitation.

Lorenzo had witnessed everything. The image of his mother's lifeless body collapsing to the ground haunted him for years, leaving wounds that never truly healed.

Not long afterward, Antonio married Margaret and unlike everyone expected, she never treated Lorenzo as her stepson.

She cared for him with patience, comforted him through his nightmares, celebrated his victories, and loved him as though he were her own flesh and blood.

At least...

That was what Lorenzo believed.

While others questioned Margaret's intentions, Lorenzo never did.

To him, she was the only woman who had never abandoned him. The only mother he had left.

And because of that unwavering trust, he accepted every word she spoke without question, never realizing that the person he relied on most was quietly poisoning his marriage from the shadows.

Lorenzo swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for the black T-shirt draped across a nearby chair. He pulled it over his head before turning to face Margaret.

She let out a small, awkward laugh.

"Oh, dear... I suppose I worried for nothing."

Lorenzo raised an eyebrow.

"What do you mean?"

Margaret hesitated, as though debating whether she should speak.

"It's just..." she began cautiously. "I heard Serena spent nearly two million euros yesterday while shopping."

She quickly waved her hand, forcing a gentle smile.

"Please don't misunderstand. I wasn't trying to complain. She's still young, and perhaps she got carried away. I simply thought you should know."

Lorenzo's expression didn't change.

"So?"

Margaret blinked.

"So... I thought you might be upset."

A dry chuckle escaped Lorenzo's lips.

"She's my wife and the money in my accounts belongs to her as much as it belongs to me. If she wants to spend two million—or twenty million—that's her choice."

Margaret's smile nearly cracked as jealousy flared inside her chest. The unlimited black card Lorenzo had given Serena had never been touched by its rightful owner.

Instead, Margaret had secretly used it for years, purchasing expensive jewelry, designer handbags, and luxury vacations before shifting the blame onto Serena whenever the bills appeared.

Every accusation she made had only deepened Lorenzo's resentment toward his wife. Yet Serena had never defended herself. She simply endured the humiliation in silence.

Margaret forced another affectionate smile, hiding the bitterness burning inside her.

"My son..." she said warmly. "You've always been far too generous to your wife," Margaret finished softly, lowering her gaze as though she regretted speaking. "I just don't understand why Serena insists on getting so close to other men."

The words made Lorenzo stop in his tracks. He slowly turned around, his expression darkening.

"What are you talking about?"

Margaret bit her lower lip and shook her head.

"No... it's nothing. I shouldn't have mentioned it."

She took a small step toward the door, deliberately avoiding his eyes.

"Forget I said anything."

"Mother." Lorenzo's voice turned dangerously quiet.

"I asked you a question."

Margaret hesitated, pretending to wrestle with herself.

"I don't want to cause problems between you two."

"Speak."

The single word echoed through the room.

Margaret let out a helpless sigh.

"Yesterday, while we were at the shopping mall, Serena wandered off for a while."

Lorenzo remained silent.

"When I found her, she was chatting with one of the salesmen." Margaret paused before adding carefully, "He was young... quite handsome, too."

A flicker of rage crossed Lorenzo's face.

Margaret continued before he could interrupt.

"They were smiling at each other. I even saw him compliment her, and Serena didn't seem uncomfortable at all." She lowered her head as though ashamed. "I quietly reminded her that she's a married woman, but she only laughed and said I was overthinking."

She looked up at Lorenzo with feigned concern.

"Perhaps I misunderstood the situation. I truly hope I did."

Lorenzo's jaw clenched so tightly the muscles in his face twitched and without another word, he strode past Margaret and yanked the bedroom door open. His footsteps thundered down the hallway.

Only one thought filled his mind.

Serena.

If she had forgotten she was Mrs. Russo...

He would remind her exactly who she belonged to.