I recognized the man introduced to me as Rafa’s father as the man Rafa had met with that day in Taormina. I know it from the way he walked. As slimy as he seems to me, I can see he gets under Stefan’s skin and that alone brings a smile to my face. Albeit a bitter one.
Thinking back to a few days ago, hell, even yesterday morning, how are we here now? How do I feel about my husband? I’ve seen the gentle side. The caring side. This one, though, the one from last night, from today, he’s the ruthless one.
I endured the afternoon in that restaurant. I sat beside my husband and sipped my champagne, probably more than I should have, and ate my food, probably too little in proportion to the champagne, and somehow, I survived it. And now we’re back at the Palermo house and I’m waiting for Stefan in my room as I study the gift his uncle gave me.
Stefan didn’t like it and I understand.
The cage—it’s my cage. This house, my prison.
Two birds. He and I. We’re both prisoners in a way, aren’t we? He to his hate. Me to him.
But lovebirds we are not.
The music, that particular scene. Ironic that it’s the same scene that played last night as we battled. As I learned what Stefan would do.
I open the little door and push the button to play the music again. From his question to Stefan I know it wasn’t an accidental choice of music, although not the most fitting gift for a wedding. Well, a true wedding with two people who love each other. Maybe it is fitting for ours.
My phone buzzes with a text message, interrupting my thoughts. It’s on the nightstand charging.
I pick it up. The name of the sender doesn’t register, but I know the number. It’s my father. How did he even get this number? And does he know what’s happened? That Stefan and I are married?
I click into the message which was sent an hour ago but because my phone was out of charge, I only see it now. I read it, thinking how unlike my father to send me a text.
I hear congratulations are in order. For the best, I suppose. I don’t think I could have handed you over to the Sicilian bastard in a proper church. I hope you enjoy my gift. It was quite an extravagance, all that gold, the workmanship.
Know that nothing I do is to harm you. It is all to destroy him and save you. I hope you will enjoy all the surprises of your gilded cage.
Daddy
Daddy.
The word turns my stomach.
Daddy is reserved for fathers who love their daughters. Not for men like my father.
I re-read the message.
I hope you will enjoy all the surprises of your gilded cage.
But Rafa’s father gave me this gift, didn’t he?
I get up, go to it, study it more closely when a knock on my door startles me.
“Yes?”
It’s not Stefan, I know. He wouldn’t have knocked.
The door opens and Rafa is standing out in the hallway. His gaze slides from me to the cage and back but if he knows anything about it, he keeps it hidden from me.
“Congratulations, Gabriela. I didn’t get a chance to tell you that,” he says, coming into my bedroom and closing the door behind him.
“You know it’s not real.”
He studies me for a long moment. “You like the gift?” he asks, eyes steady.
Am I reading into his gaze? Does he know something about it or is he making small talk?
“It’s beautiful but extravagant. Your father doesn’t even know me,” I test.
Rafa smiles and it’s that same smile from the first time when he took me jogging. “He’s trying to get back into Stefan’s good graces.”
Small talk. I don’t need small talk.
“Why was the same man who sideswiped us at that house, Rafa?”
He never shifts his gaze away. “I’m trying to figure that out too,” he says, his forehead creasing. Is it in concern?
“You were angry after your meeting with your father.”
“I was. But I’m often angry after meeting with my father.” He walks around me to the cage. He runs a hand over the golden bars. “It’s nice.” He turns to me. “You should come downstairs and say goodbye. Stefan will expect it.”
Anxiety fills my belly. “He wants me to sign a petition to get guardianship of my brother.”
“Better for your brother, isn’t it?”
“Becoming Stefan’s pawn rather than my father’s? How is that better? It’s just different.”
“It was your father who put him in Clear Meadows to begin with.”
“How do you know that?”
He studies me, then makes a point of checking his watch. “I have to take Clara home. Let me walk you downstairs.”
“I can find my own way.”
He walks to the door and opens it. “I’ll escort you.”
Stefan’s words come back to me. There’s nothing nice about Rafa.
“Just a minute,” I say, “I need to use the bathroom.”
He nods, gestures for me to go ahead. He doesn’t leave the room.
I walk into the bathroom and close the door. Standing in front of the mirror, I run the cold water and splash a handful on my face, then dry it.
What did Stefan say about allies and enemies and that constantly shifting line? Rafa is not my friend. I know that. I’ve known it all along. I guess the real question is how passive or active an enemy is he to me?
I feel like I’m locked in a cage and in each corner is another monster.
“Gabriela,” Rafa asks with a soft knock.
“Coming,” I say, wondering which of the monsters will bury me.
18
Gabriela
The house is dark but for the light that pours from Stefan’s study. I hear Clara’s familiar, irritating laughter and almost stop as my hands fist. I wonder if Rafa notices this shift in me. I think he might because it’s then that he puts his hand at my lower back. I hurry my step until he’s not touching me and I’m standing just inside the study.
“I didn’t realize we still had guests,” I say, my eyes on Clara.
She finishes her champagne and I hate that she looks so perfect. That she’s wearing white. Isn’t it in poor taste to wear white to a wedding that’s not your own?
Why do you care?
Stefan and Clara both stand.
Clara looks me over as she walks toward me. I smell her perfume when she leans to kiss my cheek, or more accurately, to touch her icy cheek to mine.
“Congratulations,” she says to me, drawing back. “Welcome to the family.”
Family. Christ. Who’s worse, the Marchese’s or the Sabbioni’s? We take dysfunction to a whole other level.
“Ready to go, Clara?” Rafa asks.
She goes to Rafa, stands a little closer than what I’d think is normal for cousins but I’m apparently the only one who notices the oddity.
“See you tomorrow, Stef,” Rafa says as he gestures for Clara to walk out ahead of him.
“See you then,” Stefan says and a moment later, he closes the door and turns to face me.
“Are they together?” I ask.
“They’re cousins.”
“But are they together?”
Stefan shrugs, walks behind his desk to take out a folder. “They fuck now and again, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Did the three of you…” I start but stop as soon as I hear my own words.
Stefan’s eyes gleam and he gives me a one-sided grin. “For all your inexperience you have a dirty mind.”
I steel my spine. “You all seem so cozy. Always have.”
“Clara likes to have fun.”
He doesn’t deny it. I wish he did. Wish he’d tell me I was crazy.
“You’re my wife, Gabriela.”
“Don’t worry, I don’t ask out of jealousy, just curiosity. You can fuck whoever you like.”
He comes around the desk, his walk that of a predator. He doesn’t waste words or give me any space, but one hand fists my hair and he walks me backward until I�
�m at the wall.
“Be very careful.”
“I’m just telling you it’s okay. Isn’t that what you want?”
His gaze skims my face, hovering for a moment at my mouth before returning to my eyes. “So you’re giving me your permission?” He shakes his head, snorts. “Are you expecting the same allowance from me?”
“I don’t need your allowance.”
His fist tightens and I lean my head backward a little, trying to alleviate the pain.
“This is a sham. You and I both know it,” I say.
He studies me for a long moment but then abruptly releases me and steps backward. “The papers are ready.”
Yes. The papers. The reason for this whole thing.
I glance to his desk, to the stack of pages awaiting my signature. “You’ll take me to see him?”
He nods.
“Do you promise?”
“I promise.”
I don’t have a choice. Well, I do. I can leave him in my father’s care and never see him again.
I walk over to the desk, pick up the pen, sign my name and it’s done. Stefan’s petition is ready.
“My father doesn’t know, does he?” I ask.
“Not yet.” He looks over the papers, then turns his gaze to me. “You did the right thing.”
“I guess we’ll find out.”
“It’s late.”
Anxiety fills my belly. I know what comes next.
“Let’s go upstairs,” he says.
“I don’t love you,” I say, the words abrupt and out of place.
He cocks his head to the side. “Love has nothing to do with this. You told me so yourself.”
“We don’t have to do this part. We—”
“This marriage will be consummated. Tonight.”
A chill runs along my spine and I close one hand over the opposite arm.
Stefan puts a hand at my lower back. “Let’s go, Gabriela.”
Will he make me if I say no?
“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” he says, as if reading my mind. “Upstairs.” I feel the pressure of his hand and my legs are somehow moving, somehow carrying me out of the study, to the stairs and up to his room.
My heart races, goosebumps cover my flesh.
This isn’t how I want my first time. Or any time.
He closes the door behind us, and I step away, look at the bed. I’ve slept in it. Been naked in it. Been naked in it with him.
This, though, tonight, like this, it’s different.
He comes to me and I back away. I can’t help it and it’s not a conscious choice, but I only stop when I run out of space.
I put my hands up against his chest.
He takes my hands, draws my arms upward, taking both wrists in one hand using the other to tilt my face up to his. His touch is different than I expect. Gentler. And I can’t seem to find my voice.
“You’re beautiful. I thought so from the first time I saw you.”
My body seems to be vibrating, every nerve ending alive with anxiety and anticipation and something else. Something I don’t want to acknowledge.
“I was sixteen,” I manage.
“And already beautiful. I won’t hurt you, Gabriela.”
“You will, Stefan.”
He studies me, thoughtful. Then his free hand moves to unzip the back of my dress and I guess it’s happening. It’s happening now. Like this.
I didn’t think it’d be like this.
But fuck him. I will not cry. I will not let him see weakness. I will not let him see fear.
He releases my wrists, tugs the dress off and it pools at my feet.
I’m left standing in a white lace bra, matching panties, thigh-high stockings and high-heeled white pumps.
Stefan looks me over, makes a sound from somewhere deep inside his chest. He steps backward. It’s just one step, but it’s enough for me to breathe again. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath.
His gaze moves to the bra, to the delicate cups with the little red poppies on them. I remain still but my heart beats a marathon when he slides his knuckles over one lace-clad breast. My nipple hardens instantly.
He pushes against me and I feel him, feel his cock at my belly and the sound I make, it’s not like his. It’s not deep or threatening. It’s more of a whimper.
His expression doesn’t change as he slips his hand down over my belly and into my panties and when he cups my sex, my hands fly to his chest.
“Stefan!”
He watches me, and although I’m trying to push him off, I can’t budge him. His fingers begin their work and his eyes bore into mine and fuck, it feels good. What he’s doing feels good.
“I don’t…I think…stop.” That last word is so weak, I almost don’t hear it myself.
And if he hears it, he doesn’t stop.
Instead, he dips his head down and takes my nipple into his mouth, swallowing half my breast and I moan when he sucks, the lace rough, his mouth wet and soft and his fingers, God, his fingers.
A whimper catches in my throat and when he pulls his mouth away, I shudder at the loss, at the sudden cold. He straightens, leaning in closer, the scruff of his jaw rough against my cheek as he inhales deeply. He brings his mouth to my ear and his fingers are doing something to me and I don’t want him to stop.
“You’re wet,” he whispers.
When he takes my clit between two fingers and squeezes, I suck in a breath and my eyes close and I’m not pushing him away anymore. I’m clinging to him.
“You’re wet and I smell you,” he says, voice low and deep and I think his words become my undoing because he knows. He knows I want this. Despite everything, I want this. Want him.
He leans his face to mine and his lips brush my neck and his fingers, fuck, his fingers. I’m going to come.
“Stefan,” it’s a gasp and my knees are wobbling. They’re going to give out.
He must know because all of a sudden, he lifts me in his arms and he’s laying me on his bed and he’s dragging my panties off.
My legs hang off the edge and he kneels on the floor between them, pulling me to him, bending my knees back to look at me for one long moment before closing his mouth over my sex and devouring me whole. He’s sucking and licking and one hand moves upward, and when he takes my nipple and squeezes it, I cry out because I’m coming. I’m coming and I’m loud and desperate and the only word I seem to remember at all is his name. His damned name. Because I’m chanting it, breathless and out of my head and out of this world, I am chanting his name as I come on his tongue.
When it’s finished, when I can think, I open my eyes again, he straightens to his full height and wipes the back of his hand across his mouth.
I feel my face burn and draw my legs in.
He looks me over, and I’m grateful he doesn’t say anything. Just looks. Because in his eyes, I see what he thinks. He’s conquered me.
And he has, hasn’t he?
He walks away and I sit up, watching him. From the bottle on the table across the room, he pours himself a tumbler of whiskey. He turns to me, drinks, watching me.
“Come here,” he says.
I have a choice to make. I can let him own this night, or I can take it from him.
“Gabriela. I said come here.”
And so, I make my choice.
I get to my feet. I’m naked but for my bra and stockings but I hold my head high as I walk to him and, without a word, I take his glass and I swallow the contents.
He’s obviously surprised. One corner of his mouth curves upward and I set the glass down and wipe the back of my hand across my lips.
“Are you going to play games with me all night?” I ask, steeling myself, my voice strong. “Or are you going to fuck me?”
He grins, studying me. He unbuttons the top buttons of his shirt, pulls it out of his pants and undoes the cuffs before pulling it over his head.
I let my gaze wash over him the way his does me. No, worse.
; I look him over like he’s a piece of meat.
And I like the feeling.
I lay my fingernails on his hard chest and drag them down, meeting his gaze while I undo his belt, the button of his pants. I pull his zipper down a little, just enough to slide my hand inside and I keep my eyes locked on his as I cup his hard cock and squeeze.
I smile when Stefan sucks in a breath.
“I love that you call my name when you come,” he says. He’s trying to take it back, take back the night.
But I won’t let him. “I like coming.”
His grin widens. “Dirty girl.” He takes my face in his hands, holds me as he brings his mouth to my ear and licks the shell of it. “I like dirty girls,” he whispers, then takes the lobe between his teeth and when he draws it out, I feel it in my core and hear myself gasp and I want him. “I like doing dirty things to dirty girls.”
I bring my mouth to his and kiss him. Almost. It’s more a snapping of my teeth to taste the metallic taste of blood.
He moans, licking his own blood off his lip, and watches me as he slides his arms downward. He circles my wrists and it’s like we’re dancing a well-coordinated tango as he walks me backward to his bed. When the backs of my knees hit, I let myself drop down.
Stefan looms over me and I watch him strip off the rest of his clothes and fuck, he’s beautiful, all hard muscle and power, his cock thick and ready and I’m not sure how I’m going to take that inside me.
When he’s naked, when he’s given me a good look, he sets his knees on the bed, lays his weight on top of me. He’s heavy but it feels good.
“Why do you hate me?” I ask when he drags my arms over my head and holds them there with one of his.
“I don’t hate you,” he says, sliding his other arm down to open my legs. He pushes one thigh up. “I want to make you come again. I want to hear you call my name like that again.”
I feel him then, at my entrance and that’s when I falter. That’s when I hesitate. I tug my arms, but he tightens his grip. Grins.
“You don’t own this night, Gabriela. It’s mine.”
“Fuck you.”
Damage: an Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance Page 11
