by Sonya Jesus
“You sure this kid isn’t dead? You suspect Tony killed the mother and set the fire, what makes you think he didn’t get rid of the kid?”
“Because he’s not my father.”
“No, but he works for your father, which means you can’t trust anything he has to say, Bells.”
“Tony isn’t always bad.”
“You’re defending your fiancé now?”
The thing about being in a relationship with someone while you’re engaged to someone else, is that jealousy is unavoidable. Any guy with a good heart would feel wrong about what we are doing. Sometimes, when I feel like being little less Santini doll and a little more human, I question my moral standards.
Cheating often comes up, only for me to justify my actions. Tony is not my choice, he is not my desire, and marrying him is not an advantage. On the contrary for him, I provide the perfect advantage, and yet, his sexual promiscuity renders him no consequence. Why should I care about falling in love with Luca, when Tony never once said he loved me?
Wanted. Needed. Desired. Craved. Missed.
Never loved. Because the only thing Tony loves more than anything is power. He may care for me, like he cares for Vinnie, or someone close to him. But our marriage is practically arranged. My father’s empire is my dowry. “I’m stating facts.”
“They sound like opinions.”
“Okay. What do you want me to say?”
He puffs out air through his teeth and says, “Nothing.”
I slump down to the floor, the small pack of makeup spilling out onto the polished blue marble. As I gather it up and wait out the silence, I hear him pull over.
“I’m sorry, Bells.”
“I get it,” I say firmly, as I stuff the lip gloss and brush into the pack. “It’s not easy.”
“I think it’s the fact that you’re going to screw him tomorrow, that’s getting under my skin.”
I knew telling him was a bad idea. “You asked me.”
“I would have preferred not knowing.” There’s an awkward silence because there’re no right words here. I’m forced to be in a relationship with Tony, to sleep with him when he misses the feel of my body against his, to pretend like I still enjoy him being inside me. I placate his ego while I diminish my dignity, just so I can survive.
I don’t have the guts to tell Luca it hurts to be me sometimes. Dolls don’t cry, but they aren’t supposed to feel either.
“I should go before they come looking for me.” I use the toilet to help me up on my feet.
“Are you okay, Bells?”
I’m always strong because that’s what I need to be in order to get through the day. “Yeah. You just take care of things with Calgrone. I’ll handle the … other stuff.”
“There’s no other way? I don’t like thinking—”
“He won’t take someone he doesn’t trust.”
He sighs and I hear beeping in the distance. “Soon, right?”
“Right.”
“Call me later?”
“Yeah. At one. Everyone will be asleep, and I’ll pretend to be up writing.” My routine is always the same lately: write nonsense on the computer at my nook near the veranda until the guards take a break. I make sure they see me head to the bathroom with my bath clothes, before I shut the door and enjoy Luca’s calming voice. With him, things are a lot more exciting in the dollhouse.
“Love you, Bells.”
Every time love is said, my heart aches. Since the massacre, I’ve only ever had three people tell them they loved me, and neither of them were family. It’s kind of sad to ponder on, so I whisper an “I love you” and hang up the phone, feeling worse than I did before I called him.
My world is surrounded by men I always seem to disappoint. I open the door and place my purse on the counter so I can run my fingers through my hair. I pinch my cheeks a couple times and slather on some pink lip gloss, and some mascara. The Don hates women who wear too much makeup.
Another lesson I learned the hard way.
I glance in the mirror, looking at the woman who my father molded to be the perfect wife under the eyes of God, unknowingly making me the last thing Tony wants. Tony likes wild, which is what he liked about me, and the girl staring back in the mirror is anything but.
Swiping the hair from in front of my eyes, I loop my arm through the handles of my purse. “Sunday,” I tell the girl in the mirror. “Sunday, you’ll be free. Just hold on a little while longer.”
I open the door to find Tony standing shoulder to shoulder with Vinnie; both have their back toward me. I catch the end of their conversation about fruit and Unita, and roll my eyes, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear before I clear my throat.
Tony turns around to face me. A wide smile spreading across his face, even though he just saw me a couple hours ago. “Baby?” Tony’s hand brushes against my cheek.
I don’t shudder away from his touch, because he did nothing to me, except lie. “You okay?”
I glance up at him, shifting my hair to one side of my shoulder and looking up at the guy who has said he loved me for the last few years, but had no problem lying to my face. “Just weird being back here.”
“I didn’t know your dad wanted to come here.” He removes the sunglasses from the top of his head and folds the legs before tucking it into his front pocket. “I can make an excuse up, and we can go somewhere else.” He stretches his hand out for me to take.
“I don’t really want to be here.” I slip my hand into his and tuck Luca in the back of my mind. He can’t be on my mind right now.
Tony wraps his bulky arms around my waist and holds me close. “Or we can do something else.”
With only a few days away from being with Luca, I don’t want to be with anyone else, but I have to lie and play pretend. “I like the idea of being just the two of us before family gets here.”
Vinnie speaks into the intercom. “Bring the car around.”
“Well, the three of us.” I smile and run my hands up and down his shoulders. “I could really go for some ice cream.”
“What about the food for the rehearsal dinner?” Vinnie pipes in.
“Have Beppe choose,” Tony says and steps away from me. “I’ll be right back. Let me just go update your father.”
“Okay.”
Two guys take the front while Vinnie helps me into the luxury Escalade. Tony pops in his side and pulls out his phone; Vinnie slides the seat in front of us down and knocks on the divider that’s a TV screen.
“Do you like it?” Tony asks, as I slide the curtain to let some light shine in.
“It’s kind of like a private jet in here.” The car’s cup-holder is in the middle of the four seats in the back, a tablet as the center console. “Like a private jet.”
“I thought it would be comfortable for us when we had to go somewhere.” He slides his finger over the light gray seats. “The seats recline.” He lifts the footrest of his chair and grabs my hand. “Come here.”
“What?” I ask and look at Vinnie.
“Sit on my lap.”
“Tony, I thought we were going for ice cream.”
“Well, you can lick—“
I lightly squeeze his hand, telling him to shut up. He gets really detailed sometimes, and those details usually lead to something sexual.
“Devil’s in the details, doll.” Tony smirks and leans over the armrest to whisper, “If you don’t want me to say it out loud, come over here, and I’ll whisper it in your ear.”
The road to happiness always seems to run through hell. My whole life, I’ve lived under the thumb of one man or the other. Slowly, they’ve oppressed the life inside me, and it took seeing Luca again to give me the strength to fight. So, if that means playing the part for a few more days, then I will. I slide the curtain shut. One peeping perv is sufficient.
Vinnie knocks on the dividing screen, signaling the driver to go. Unfazed by Tony’s shenanigans, he looks out the window. I’m not quite sure what Vinnie’s deal is, but he and
Tony go way back. When Vinnie came back from the army, Tony brought him in as security. Beppe never turns down an extra man, especially ones with military training.
Having Vinnie in the car appeals to Tony’s fetish. As much as I don’t want to do this, it will be the perfect opportunity to set up for the blackmail.
I sit on his lap, my back to his chest. His hand curls around my waist, latching onto me as the car accelerates out of Old Ridge. He runs his fingers through my hair, fisting the long locks in his hand before slightly yanking on it, and tilting my head to expose the curve of my neck. “It’s been a long time, Bella.”
I sway gently when Vinnie hits a couple buttons on the side panel. A song comes on and floods the speakers. I lower my gaze away from Vinnie, who is trying to look away.
Tony’s lips slide over the skin, nipping at my earlobe, while his hand slides under my T-shirt, and his fingers dip into the band of my jeans. I sway my body with the rhythm of the car. Every stop sign, every red light, every slight deceleration— I grind into his erection while Vinnie watches.
When my eyes lock with the bodyguard’s, I try to look away.
Tony curls his hand around my neck, pressing his thumb just below my jawline where my pulse is most prominent. He feels the quickened pace as he shifts me into prime position. “Watch this, Vinnie.”
Without exposing anything to anyone, his fingers slide into my underwear and work their way over my folds until my shame is in liquid form. “I miss this side of you.”
I close my eyes and shut my thoughts out.
Dolls don’t think.
If this is who he wants. This is who he gets.
Chapter Four
Bath Time
Luca Cabrali
The phone doesn’t ring.
Damn. She’s never late. If she says she’s going to call at 1:01, she calls at exactly one minute past … unless something happened. Before I freak the fuck out, I pull up to the shitty neighborhood and park the car in one of the back allies, within walking distance of Veto Calgrone’s Italian restaurant, but far enough away not to be spotted. By the sounds of it, the guy Isabella asked me to hire is in there, getting messed up by one of Calgrone’s goons.
A necessary sacrifice. The guy thought he was searching for evidence of Jackson, but I already know Jackson is alive. I confirmed Isabella’s suspicion via the Beneventis. No one makes a move on the East Coast without them knowing about it. Tony took out Antonia, but the kid was safe. The Amber Alert on him vanished within hours of being issued, and he got buried under a pile of missing children cases.
Someone is hiding him.
My job is to find out who, but thanks to Gino, I already know. He sent me pictures of an album, and last I checked, dead guys don’t smile for cameras.
The phone rings, and I quickly pick it up. I hear the sound of running water in the distance before she says, “Hello?”
I sigh at the sound of her voice. Every time she misses a check-in, I’m worried someone has found out about the plan, or some shitface ratted on her, or Beppe got to her again. I’ve heard most of what he’s had done to her. Other than leaving bruises, Beppe’s more of a delegating type of mob boss, telling others to do the hurting. Fucking Tree House.
“You had me worried, Bells.”
“Sorry. I got sidetracked.”
“Sidetracked by Tony?”
“Yeah…” The sound of the toilet seat being put down has me picturing her sitting on the toilet while talking to me. “He kind of saved me tonight.” She’s distant.
I don’t like the way she said kind of. “What do you mean?”
“Beppe surprised me with lunch at Cielo. It’s where I called you from.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t have time to talk.”
But she had time to go with Tony. I roll my neck and massage the kinks. It’s been a long fucking twenty-four hours, and I haven’t slept.
I never sleep after a kill, especially yesterday’s.
Keeping secrets from her is getting to me, and my body fucking hurts from the impacts. But my shit isn’t her problem, and her situation isn’t her fault. What do I expect her to do? Leave and then have Beppe retaliate? “How did it go?”
“It didn’t. Tony found me outside and told the Don he was kidnapping me for a date.”
Maybe I should sleep before having this conversation. I know she needed to have the blackmail before she left. Tuesday, the day of the interception, wouldn’t work. Tony will be too busy dealing with the five-million-dollar loss, to go to Unita. “When did the date end?”
“Luca… you know the situation better than anyone.”
“Did you sleep with him?”
“No,” she answers softly. “He just touched me.”
“Great…” I mumble, unsure if I’m the other man, or if that’s nullified because I’m helping her plot murder. I’m an accomplice.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t have a choice.”
I want to say ‘you always have a choice,’ but then I remember something she told me once. Dolls don’t choose. And I hold my tongue. One thing Isabella Santini doesn’t have is the luxury of choice without sacrifice.
She swallows hard, almost as if she were on the verge of tears, and I feel like a dick. “Are you crying?”
“No.” Her voice is heavy, and I swear I hear her mumble, “Dolls don’t cry.”
Or maybe that’s all in my head.
“This whole situation sucks.”
“The situation includes another man touching you, Bells.” I clear my throat and look around the alleyway. No one is around, and if they are, they’re not stupid enough to approach me. “I’m not that far away from you, and I can’t step foot anywhere near you. But that shithead is holding you close to his body, hearing you laugh, thinking he has a claim over you, like your some kind of property.” I don’t say I want her to be mine, because that’s hypocritical, but I feel it in my blood.
“Right now, I am.” She sighs softly; the sound of liquid hitting ceramic can be heard in the distance.
“Bubble bath?” My mind wanders into the past. To all those times we snuck around together at St. Theresa’s. She’s always liked the bubbles, but she squeezed the soap on the ceramic. Usually, circling the drain, so it foamed as the water disappeared. The school therapist had helped her fight a fear crisis by telling her to listen to the water while it filled the tub and then drain it, to show control. The essential oil in the bubble bath helps soothe her.
“With lavender…” A small silence fills the time before she says, “I don’t laugh.”
“What?”
“With him. He doesn’t make me laugh. He hasn’t for a long time.”
“Ever?”
“Maybe when I first came back.” Before her father killed her on the inside. “But there’s not much laughing at the mansion, Luca. Just a lot of loneliness and bullshit.”
It’s not funny, but I smile.
“I don’t really matter to Tony.” She seems upset by the fact, which irks my nerves. Pix and I are her only friends, and there are some things I prefer not to know. “He was at Unita.”
“He’s always at the club, Isabella. Does that bother you?”
“Does what bother me?”
She knows damn well what. “That you don’t matter?”
“No,” she vehemently concurs. “I’m used to it.”
“Then?” My clipped tone drags her out of her stupor. She’s off today. Anytime she’s near water, it’s presence takes precedence. There’s a lot of memories in water for her. “What exactly is it about Tony that pisses you off?”
“Nothing,” she growls. “He doesn’t piss me off because I’m used to being used. Unlike my father, Tony used kindness to manipulate me. He became the solace I needed, and it took me too long to realize it.”
“Are you shitting me, Bells?” I prop the phone up on the stand and go hands-free. “I’m in a fucking alleyway. I drove from New York all the way to Chicago,
to help you, and right before I go into a mobster´s den to bullshit him, you’re straight up telling me you love your fiancé?” My voice elevates while her breaths get heavier.
“I never said I loved Tony.”
“You won’t fucking let me kill him.”
“It’s not because I love him.”
After about forty seconds of her not elaborating, I ask, “That’s it?”
“That’s not enough?” The words spew from her mouth in a flat tone; “I’m leaving everything, including Tony, is that not enough to stroke your fucking ego? Or do you need me to spell it out for you?”
How she manages to pack all that punch and maintain a level tone and a stoic face flabbergasts me. It also tends to piss me off. That’s who she is with them, not with me. I don’t want her to hide anything about herself. “Spell it, because I’m obviously missing something.”
“Tony’s not a bad person.”
Again, with this damn conversation. “You’re not helping your situation, Bells. And before you tell me you don’t owe me an explanation, remember where I am, who I am, and what I’m giving up for you.” On a whim. On a chance. That she’s still the girl I fell for in high school. The short times in between weren’t enough to be sure, but had we not been separated, we would be together. I know that in my heart.
“You’re giving up a life you hate for someone you love. That doesn’t sound like such a big sacrifice, does it?”
“So are you.”
“We’re both prisoners in this life, Luca—for different reasons. When has your life been something you were allowed to live?”
In high school with her. “With you.”
A strange chuckle emerges on the other end, soft and serious—slightly relieved. “You always do that.”
She means annoy her and then ease it with being corny. “I’ve been told it’s charming.”
“You’ve been told wrong.”
After this afternoon, I had not expected this conversation to be so heavily focused on Tony. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“When do you live?”
