Chapter 3

The silence stretched between us as Marco finished unbuttoning his shirt.

I couldn't stop thinking about what I'd heard. Little angel. What did that mean?

But I had more immediate concerns. This marriage, this room, this man who could either be my greatest ally or biggest obstacle.

"I think we should talk," I said.

Marco's hands stilled on his shirt buttons. "About what?"

"Our relationship. This is a political marriage, right?"

He turned to face me, those dark eyes showing surprise.

"I mean," I continued, "we might as well be practical about it. You need a suitable wife. I need protection and position."

She's more direct than I expected. Different from other noble daughters I've met.

His mental voice was curious rather than offended.

So he'd expected me to be some simpering flower?

Maybe she's more interesting than the woman Matteo chose.

Another comparison to Valentina. Apparently he'd been measuring us against each other from the start.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"I want to manage the family's winery business."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to be a decorative wife who just spends money. I want to prove I have value."

She actually wants a career? This isn't some test or manipulation?

His mental tone held genuine curiosity now.

Marco smiled for the first time since I'd met him.

"Fine. The winery is yours."

That was easier than expected.

"Just like that?"

"You think I should make you beg?" His smile turned slightly wicked. "Most women in your position would ask for jewelry or a bigger allowance."

"I'm not most women."

"No," he said slowly. "You're not."

There was something in his voice that made my pulse quicken, but I couldn't read his expression.

"I'll take the guest room tonight," I said quickly. "Until we figure out how this arrangement works."

He nodded. "Probably wise."

But as I gathered my things, I heard him thinking:

She really isn't what I expected. Nothing like...

The thought cut off before I could hear the rest.

The next morning, Marco kept his word.

A driver took me to the Torrente winery, about twenty minutes from the castle through winding roads lined with olive trees. The building was beautiful - old stone covered with ivy, surrounded by endless rows of grapevines.

"Donna Lucia!" The manager, Giuseppe, hurried over to greet me. He was maybe fifty, with sun-weathered skin and kind eyes. "We're honored to have you here."

"Thank you. I'm looking forward to learning."

Giuseppe's smile was genuine. "Come, let me show you everything."

For the next few hours, I toured the facilities. The workers were respectful but not fearful - a good sign. They explained the wine-making process, showed me the account books, introduced me to regular customers.

"Donna Lucia, these are our export orders," said Maria, the bookkeeper. "We ship to restaurants in Rome, Milan, even some places in America."

I studied the numbers. The business was profitable but could be more efficient.

"What about expanding to luxury hotels?" I asked.

"We've thought about it," Giuseppe admitted, "but Don Marco prefers to keep things traditional."

"Leave that to me."

For the first time in either life, I felt useful. Not because of who I'd married, but because of what I could contribute.

By late afternoon, I was ready to head back to the castle.

The driver dropped me off at the main entrance, and I walked through the gardens toward the family wing. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the courtyard.

That's when I saw him.

Matteo was walking across the garden carrying a silver tea tray. He moved casually, like he was just being a thoughtful husband bringing his wife an afternoon refreshment.

But something made me pause behind a stone pillar.

I watched him climb the stairs to the family quarters, heading toward Valentina's room.

My instincts screamed danger.

I followed quietly, staying far enough back that he wouldn't notice. When he reached Valentina's door, he knocked softly.

"Come in," came her voice from inside.

I crept closer until I could see through the crack where the door hadn't quite closed.

Matteo set the tray down on Valentina's dressing table. She was sitting in front of her mirror, brushing her hair.

"You're so sweet," she said, not turning around. "What kind of tea is it?"

"Your favorite. Chamomile with honey."

But as he spoke, Matteo's back was to Valentina. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial.

White powder.

Barely visible.

He sprinkled it into one of the teacups, then stirred it carefully with a silver spoon.

My heart started racing.

It was happening. The experiments had begun.

"Here you go, my love." Matteo handed her the doctored cup with a gentle smile.

Valentina took it without hesitation. "Thank you. You take such good care of me."

Phase one is working perfectly. A few more days and she'll be completely compliant.

His mental voice was cold, clinical.

Valentina is fully under control, I can use her to help with the bigger plan. Marco won't suspect his own brother.

Ice flooded my veins.

I backed away from the door as quietly as possible and hurried to my own room.

My hands were shaking as I closed the door behind me.

It was real. Everything I remembered from my past life was happening again.

Matteo was drugging his wife. Last time it was me. This time, he chose my sister.

At dinner that evening, I watched Valentina carefully.

She seemed normal at first - chatting about her day, complimenting the food. But halfway through the meal, I noticed her hands.

They were trembling slightly as she reached for her wine glass.