Chapter 3 - THE HUSBAND BEHIND THE MONSTER
Vivien woke to the smell of coffee.
Someone had placed breakfast outside her door.
A handwritten note rested beside the tray.
You asked for privacy. Nobody will enter without permission.
—E.
She stared at it.
For a man who controlled a criminal empire, Edmund Costa had surprisingly neat handwriting.
She dressed in clothes the housekeeper had provided.
Then she went downstairs.
Edmund was in his study.
His jacket lay across a chair.
His sleeves were rolled to his elbows.
He was examining security footage from the wedding.
Vivien stood in the doorway.
“You look terrible.”
He glanced up.
“Good morning to you too.”
“Did you sleep?”
“No.”
“Of course not.”
She entered.
On the desk lay photographs of the cathedral.
The eastern windows.
The shattered vase.
The office building across the street.
Edmund pointed to one image.
“The shooter escaped.”
Vivien frowned.
“How?”
“Someone disabled a security camera at the building entrance.”
“Someone inside your organization?”
“Possibly.”
She studied the photographs.
Then noticed something.
A man standing near the cathedral's eastern doors.
He wore a waiter's uniform.
But his shoes were polished black leather.
Expensive.
Not the kind normally worn by catering staff.
“Who's that?”
Edmund leaned closer.
His expression hardened.
“Where?”
She pointed.
He stared.
Then reached for his phone.
“Tommy. Find the man in the waiter's uniform near the east entrance.”
He ended the call.
Vivien looked at him.
“You didn't notice him?”
“No.”
She smiled faintly.
“Good thing you married me.”
Edmund looked at her.
“Apparently.”
For a moment, their eyes held.
Then Vivien looked away.
She didn't want to like him.
She certainly didn't want to find him attractive.
But there was something unsettling about the way he listened to her.
He didn't dismiss her observations.
Didn't mock her questions.
Didn't treat her like decoration.
He took her seriously.
That afternoon, Vivien discovered something else.
Edmund had a private library.
Hundreds of books.
History.
Architecture.
Poetry.
And a shelf filled with children's stories.
She stared at it.
“Do you have children?”
Edmund stood behind her.
“No.”
“Then why the books?”
His expression changed.
“They belonged to my sister.”
Vivien turned.
“You have a sister?”
“Had.”
The word was quiet.
Vivien swallowed.
“What happened?”
Edmund looked toward the window.
“She died when she was sixteen.”
“I'm sorry.”
He nodded.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then he said, “Her name was Isabella.”
Vivien looked at the books.
“What was she like?”
Edmund smiled sadly.
“Loud. Stubborn. Completely incapable of following instructions.”
Vivien raised an eyebrow.
“Sounds familiar.”
He looked at her.
May you like
Then laughed softly.
And for the first time since the wedding, Vivien saw the man beneath the monster.
