Married to the Monster They Said Was Dead Chapter 09

Married to the Monster They Said Was Dead Chapter 09

6:47 AM. Thirteen minutes before Ottavia’s daily check.

I disconnected the spoofed EEG feed and swapped in a pre-recorded flatline loop. Forty minutes before the system flagged it. Forty minutes to change everything.

Lorenzo sat on the edge of the bed, dressed in a black shirt and dark trousers I’d had delivered under the pretext of “organizing his wardrobe.” His hair was combed back. His jaw was set. He looked nothing like the hollow figure Ottavia had kept buried in this bed.

He looked like a man who owned the ground beneath your feet.

“Ready?” I asked.

“Four years ready.”

I opened the door. The corridor stretched ahead of us—twenty-two steps to the staircase. He rose, steadied himself, and walked.

His gait was slow but controlled, his hand brushing the wall without leaning on it. I walked half a step behind—close enough to catch him, far enough not to undercut the image of a man back from the dead.

The staircase. Sixteen steps down. The dangerous part.

He gripped the banister, knuckles white. One step. Two. Three. His left leg trembled on the fourth and my hand shot to his elbow.

“I’m fine,” he murmured.

“Your quad’s spasming.”

“I said I’m fine.”

He reached the bottom without falling. I exhaled for what felt like the first time in an hour.

The dining hall lay ahead. Through the archway we could see Ottavia at the head of the table, sipping coffee, scrolling her phone. Two guards stood near the wall.

Lorenzo paused at the threshold. Then he walked in.

Ottavia looked up.

The cup slipped from her fingers and shattered against the marble.

“Good morning, Ottavia,” Lorenzo said. His voice was strong now—not the rasp of three weeks ago, but the low, commanding baritone buried in old recordings. “It’s been a while since I’ve taken breakfast downstairs.”

The color drained from her face so completely she looked like the corpse she’d been waiting for. Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

“This—this is impossible. You can’t—the doctors said—”

“The doctors you bought said what you paid them to say.” Lorenzo pulled out a chair at the far end of the table and sat with practiced ease, though I caught his hand trembling beneath the wood. “I’ll have coffee. Black.”

The guards stood frozen, their eyes darting between him and Ottavia, witnessing a resurrection.

“You heard him,” I said calmly, taking the seat beside Lorenzo. “Coffee. Black.”

Ottavia’s shock was hardening into something colder. She straightened, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “I don’t know what game you two are playing. But a few steps down a staircase prove nothing.”

“It proves I’m conscious, coherent, and fully aware that you’ve been sedating me for four years while bleeding my family dry.” Lorenzo’s tone was almost pleasant. “But we can go through the details. Over lawyers. And over the file currently sitting somewhere very safe.”

Her eyes flicked to me—a flash of pure murder. “You. You did this.”

“I detoxified him,” I corrected. “There’s a significant legal difference.”

She snatched up her phone, jabbing at the screen. “I’m calling Alessio. I’m calling—”

“Alessio Conti?” Lorenzo said softly. The name hung in the air like a blade. “Go ahead. Tell him his partner woke up. Tell him I know everything—the shell companies, the rerouted product, the deadline you set to murder my wife.” His eyes never left her. “Tell him the dead man remembers his name.”

The phone slipped from Ottavia’s hand.

The front doors opened. Three men in dark suits entered—Vitale family attorneys, carrying boxes of documents. Behind them, two men I didn’t recognize. Loyalists. Old guard. Men who’d served Lorenzo’s father and had spent four years waiting for a sign.

They looked at Lorenzo. And one by one, they bowed their heads.

“Welcome back, Don Vitale,” the eldest said.

Ottavia backed toward the wall, her composure shattering completely. “You ungrateful—I held this family together after your father—”

“My father isn’t dead.” Lorenzo’s voice went quiet. Dangerous. “He’s in a facility in the mountains you told me was a grave. I heard you arrange it. I’ll be bringing him home this week.”

Ottavia went white as bone.

“His father is alive?” I whispered—the shock piercing even my composure.

“Later,” Lorenzo murmured.

As the loyalists moved to surround her, Ottavia turned back one last time, her face twisted with rage.

“This isn’t over, Lorenzo. Alessio won’t let it be. You have no idea what he’s built. What’s coming for you. For her.” Her eyes found mine, and her smile was a wound. “You should have

stayed asleep.”

They led her away.

The dining hall fell silent. Lorenzo sat perfectly still, hands flat on the table. Then, slowly, his composure cracked. His shoulders dropped. His breath shuddered out of him.

I reached under the table and took his hand. He gripped it like a lifeline.

“It’s done,” I said softly.

“No.” His voice was raw. “Ottavia was the lock. Alessio is the war. He has the men, the guns, and now nothing left to lose.” He looked at me, exhaustion and fire warring in his eyes. “And he’s coming for both of us.”

He paused, his thumb moving once across my knuckles.

“Stay with me?”

It wasn’t contractual. It wasn’t clinical. It was the most honest thing he’d ever said.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I answered.

And I meant it—right up until the moment my phone lit up with a single message from an unknown number.

“Pretty wedding photo, Addie. Pretty face. Shame about what’s coming. — A”