by J, Bella
“I don’t understand.”
“There is so much you don’t understand, segreto.”
His hand pressed harder against my heat, as if to show ownership, my slit already slick and primed to take him. I clenched my thighs with his hand between my legs, panting breaths lapping from my lips.
“So much you don’t know.”
“Then tell me,” I urged. “Tell me everything. Tell me your secrets.”
He shook his head and removed his hand from between my legs, my body instantly mourning the loss of his touch. I stared at him in question, but he gazed out over the ocean. “Marina Piccola. They say it is here where the sirens attempted to seduce Ulysses while on his journey back home…to his wife.”
“Ulysses?”
“The Latinized name for Odysseus.” He traced a finger down the small of my back as I lay against him. “After fighting with the Greeks in the war against the city of Troy, he started his voyage back home.” His voice trailed off, his eyes still gazing out across the ocean.
“Attempted to seduce?”
Saint’s lips curled at the corners. “Ulysses ordered his men to plug their ears with beeswax as to not hear the sirens’ alluring singing.” He looked at me, eyes hard and dark. “If they hadn’t, the sirens would have seduced them and lured them all to their deaths.”
The tenor in his voice lowered, thickened, and he stared at me as to tell me I was the siren whose call could ruin him.
I shook my head lightly. “Why are you telling me this?”
He shrugged and looked back into the distance. “Never trust something that has the power to make you lose control.”
I didn’t understand. Was he telling me that he didn’t trust me, or was he saying he didn’t trust himself when he was with me? I didn’t know, and the confusion was eating away at my insides. I had never felt this conflicted before in my life, and I started to wonder whether the story was meant to tell me not to trust myself—especially when it came to Saint.
My hair was tied at the back of my head in a messy bun, and there were no locks to tuck behind my ear, yet I reached for the scar and absentmindedly circled my fingertip around it.
Saint stiffened beneath me, and I looked up at him.
“Do you think of him every time you touch that scar?”
“Not always.” I answered truthfully. Saint already knew my past and the story behind my scar. “Sometimes I wonder how many kids he’s hurt.”
Hard lines covered his face, his expression stone. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that anymore.” He shifted, pulled me from his lap, and moved me to the side so he could get up. I didn’t want him to go. In fact, I wanted to beg him to stay, but I didn’t. I hardly had a shred of my dignity left as it was.
“What do you mean by that?” I sat up straight, and Saint rubbed the back of his neck, frustration, indecision, and rage all rolling off him in waves.
“That bastard will never hurt anyone ever again. That’s all you need to know.”
He stomped off and disappeared below deck without another word. Questions ransacked my mind, my thoughts a frenzy of confusion.
What did he mean? What did he do?
And then an image of Brad’s dead body bleeding out on expensive carpet flashed inside mind, my skin turning ice cold.
James cleared his throat, and I looked his way. With a mere nod, he confirmed two things.
He knew what I was thinking. And I was right.
24
Mila
I glanced at Saint and James standing a few feet away from me and Elena, clearly talking about something they didn’t want us to hear. Saint had his hands tucked into his suit pants pockets, the wind ruffling through his midnight black hair. Even from a distance, I could feel his presence wrap around me like a cloak of dominance. There was a mystery about him, a darkness that sucked me in. My body still yearned for him. It still hungered for his wicked touch, wanting to be the canvas he painted with all his twisted intentions. But he hadn’t attempted to touch me again, and it was obvious he avoided situations that would lead us to be alone together. It was funny. It seemed like the tables had turned. As if he was the one fighting me now.
“Come on. Mind your step.” Elena got onto the charter boat and held out a hand toward me. It wasn’t easy climbing onto a speedboat in stiletto heels and a tight pencil skirt while clutching your sunhat to stop the breeze from whisking it away. The nervous butterflies in my stomach didn’t help either. I was about as unsettled as the ocean water which seemed angered by the warm wind.
I boarded and took a seat next to Elena, the sun beaming down as if the floodgates of hell had been opened.
“You look beautiful,” Elena said. “You ready?”
“No,” I answered truthfully. How could I be? I was only informed that we were on our way to Rome a few nights ago. And while Elena did all the talking, enlightening me about the day’s events, Saint sat in deafening silence, not even looking my way. After Elena had said all there was to be said, he merely stood and for the first time during that entire conversation locked eyes with me. “It’s time to introduce Milana Katarina Russo to the world. Do not disappoint me.” That was all he said. Words that made me feel like a child. As if he was convinced I’d screw up. Part of me felt a little vindictive, wanting to prove a point by doing whatever I could to fuck up his plan. But that wasn’t me. I wasn’t like that. I made a deal, and I would stick to it, just like I expected him to keep his end of the bargain once all this was done.
James and Saint joined us, and the engines started. I was surprised when Saint took a seat next to me, the fabric of his suit pants brushing against my naked leg.
“You okay?” He didn’t look at me, as if his question made him uncomfortable.
“Do you care?”
From the corner of my eye, I saw him ball his fists, and I let out a breath.
“I’m fine,” I answered as coolly and calmly as I could.
“Good. Just…” He paused and rubbed his palms together. “Just…stay close.” He got up and walked off to join James, leaving me wondering if what he just said was meant to appease me. If it was his way of saying he’d protect me.
Probably not.
“It’s okay to be nervous, Mila.”
I glanced at Elena.
“I’m pretty sure you’ve dreamed about this day all your life. But not quite like this.” She shot me a reassuring smile. “So, it’s okay to feel emotional.”
“I’m fine,” I lied. But I knew if I had to start talking about everything, my walls would crumble. and I’d turn into a crying mess.
There was no way of telling how long our trip was to the mainland. To me, minutes felt like hours, and hours felt like seconds. My mind was a minefield, and I couldn’t control the thoughts that speared into my head. All my life, I had never felt this nervous. My insides were being twisted inside out, and I had to remind myself to breathe. Saint’s presence, and the weight of so many unanswered questions, unmet desires lay heavily in the air around us. It was laden with tension, as if it could snap and break at any second.
As the mainland came into view and the charter boat moved into the port, James stepped in next to me, tall and threatening. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Saint standing behind us, his gaze hot on my skin. Our eyes met, but his expression was stone. It gave me nothing. No insight into what he was feeling or thinking. It felt as if there was no gravity keeping me in place, and I was drifting without direction when it came to him.
“Welcome to Rome, Mrs. Russo.”
Surprised, since James hardly ever spoke to me, I looked at him. “Thanks, James.”
The marina was packed with luxury yachts, expensive-looking catamarans and cuddy cabin boats. People were buzzing around, everyone enjoying the sun and the sea. For a moment, I was overwhelmed by it all. It was beautiful—even more so than I imagined. Unfortunately, I wasn’t allowed much time to soak it all in, to see everything there was to see.
James rushed me acros
s the dock, my heels clicking in quick succession. One would have thought since my identity was about to be revealed anyway, they’d worry less about keeping me hidden. But it was the exact opposite.
We approached a waiting limo, and James stood to the side, allowing Elena and me to get in first. Saint and James got in, and the door slammed shut. Elena sat beside me while Saint took a seat across from me. Our eyes met for a fleeting moment before he turned his attention out the window. I hated how he could ignore me so easily, especially since it was so difficult for me to try to do the same. In fact, it was impossible.
I cleared my throat. “Where did we meet?”
“What?” he snapped, as if the sound of my voice annoyed him.
“If anyone asks, where did we meet?”
He scoffed. “Believe me, no one will ask.”
“Why not?”
“Because once they find out who you really are, no one will fucking care.” There was a sharp edge in his voice. The way he spat out his words was almost as if he was telling me he didn’t care.
“What I think my nephew is trying to say,” Elena started, “is that everyone will be shocked to find out about you and your marriage to Marcello. No one will be bothered with futile little details as to where you two met.”
Elena’s bid to lessen the harshness of Saint’s voice failed. It already sliced deep, pierced my flesh and hurt my soul. If this was what Stockholm Syndrome felt like, it was far worse than I ever imagined.
“We’re here.” Saint straightened the lapels of his jacket when the car came to a stop.
Me? I had the sudden urge to vomit all over the expensive Jimmy Choo shoes Elena made me wear.
“James. Aunt Elena, give Mila and me a few seconds.” Our eyes met, and my heart hiccupped inside my chest.
“Of course.” Elena climbed out of the limo, and James followed, the slam of the door signaling that we were alone.
I wiped sweaty palms down my pencil skirt. “I’m okay,” I started, “in case that’s what you want to know.”
“You’re not okay.”
“I am.” I swallowed hard, trying my best to put on a brave face.
“Don’t lie to me.”
“Jesus, Saint.” I rubbed my forehead. “What do you want from me? You’ve been mind-fucking me—”
“Watch your mouth when you talk to me.”
“Just stop, would you?” I closed my eyes. “Stop pretending like you give a damn how I talk, how I act, what I do.” I leaned my head back against the seat. “And most of all, stop acting like you care whether I’m okay. You don’t give a shit. You never have. You don’t have to go around ignoring me all the time to prove that.”
Leather creaked, and the seat moved under his weight as he slipped in next to me.
I locked eyes with him, the blue of his eyes lighter than I had ever seen them before. No words were spoken, and it was as if time had stopped. As if the whole world around us had disappeared. His lips twitched, and I waited for him to speak. But he didn’t. He just stared at me like I was a maze he needed to find his way through.
He reached out and slid a finger down the side of my neck, a simple touch that caused me to tremble. As quick as the strike of lightning, he grabbed me behind my neck and pulled me to him, slamming his lips against mine. Nothing about his kiss was gentle or romantic, but rather dominant and desperate. His tongue demanded, and I offered willingly by kissing him back with equal vigor. I wanted to drown in him. I wanted him to pull me under, take my every breath and make it his.
Strong fingers bit into the skin of my neck as his lips claimed mine harder, but I welcomed his fierce touch. Welcomed the storm that was Marcello Saint Russo.
I moaned when his lips left mine, but he remained close, his forehead resting against mine. “Jesus, Mila. Everything has changed. Everything.”
“How?” I whispered. “Why?”
He shook his head. For the first time since he stormed into my life like a deadly hurricane, he didn’t seem like the proud, regal man I had come to know. But rather like a man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“Just…I need you to trust me today.” He placed his hands against my cheeks, forcing me to look at him. “Whatever happens, promise you’ll trust me.”
I studied him, searched his face for answers, but found none.
“Promise me, Mila.”
I nodded. “Okay. I promise.
He kissed me again, but softly this time. “Stay close. Do not leave my side, and—”
“Act the part?”
His lips curved at the ends. “Yeah.”
There was a knock on the limo door. “Mr. Saint,” James called. “We should get inside.”
Saint leaned back and straightened his suit jacket. “Stay. Close.”
The door opened, and my mind reeled. I had no idea what he meant by saying things had changed, or what exactly was happening. All I knew was nothing was black and white anymore. Nothing.
I pressed my hand on the large white sunhat I wore as I got out of the limo. Saint was standing to the side waiting for me, and when our eyes met, he smiled at me with nothing but warmth and affection. It would have floored me if I didn’t wonder whether it was all part of the show, an act both of us would participate in for the next hour.
He took my hand and led the way as a perfect gentleman. With his broad shoulders, expensive suit, perfectly groomed hair, and cleanly-shaven face, Marcello Saint Russo was the epitome of sophisticated power. Like a tropical storm, he was a force to be reckoned with, vigorous energy filling the open spaces around him. I watched as people stood to the side as we walked through the highly decorative and almost theatrically styled building. The women stared at him with batting eyelashes and flushed cheeks, and I was on the receiving end of their deathly glares when they noticed him clutching my hand. I didn’t blame them. Saint was a devilishly handsome man, and the confidence he exuded was a magnet that pulled everyone toward him.
With every step across the marble floor, my pulse raced, and with effort I managed to take deep breaths to allow air to settle in my lungs.
Mario, Saint’s lawyer, waited outside a large double door with his briefcase in hand.
“Is it legit?” Saint asked sternly without greeting him.
Mario’s frown formed grooves on his forehead. “I’m afraid so.”
“Fuck,” Saint blurted. He nodded toward the door. “Do they know?”
“They’ve given no indication that they do.”
“Is Katarina here?”
Mario shook his head, and my heart all but jumped out of my chest. I placed a hand on Saint’s elbow. “My mother?” I whispered, and Saint finally turned my way.
He nodded, his eyes softer than before.
After Saint had told me the real reason my parents gave me up, I had no desire to know their names or anything about them. To me, they were two people who threw away their firstborn child because of some stupid deal my great-grandfather made with the Russos. I had been denied a true family because of something that, in my opinion, held no merit in this day and age. Even if a contract had been signed in blood, there was no court in the world that would rule such a deal binding.
“Okay.” Saint let go of my hand and brushed a palm down his face. “Do not say a word about it. Not unless they do. There has to be a reason Katarina hasn’t revealed it yet. Besides, it won’t change anything today. Raphael’s inheritance remains the same.” Saint glanced at me. “And so does Mila’s.”
What was going on? Something wasn’t right.
“Come on.” He clutched my hand again. “Let’s get this over with.”
I swallowed, my mouth dry and every muscle tight like a rubber band. I knew for weeks that this day would come. The day when I had to do what he had intended for me since the moment this all started. This was it. I might have signed our marriage documents as Milana Katarina Torres, but today I would finally become her.
James opened the door, and my heels stepped from marble
floors to plush carpet as I entered the boardroom at Saint’s side. I didn’t look up. I couldn’t. I was afraid of what I’d see—of what they would see once Saint revealed who I was.
Saint squeezed my hand lightly, a subtle way of reassurance, a silent way of saying, ‘Be a Russo wife.’
“Good afternoon, gentlemen.”
“Marcello, what are you doing here?” I heard the unfamiliar voice as I kept my head turned down.
“This is a shareholders’ meeting, is it not? And since I’m a shareholder, I’d think my presence is required. Oh, and I’d also like to introduce you to someone.” Saint clutched my hand tightly. “Allow me to introduce you to my wife.” He paused for dramatic effect, and my pulse went completely apeshit. “Meet Milana Katarina…Torres.”
At that moment, I looked up from underneath the brim of my hat and straight into the eyes of four men who stared at me as if they had seen a ghost. The older man who sat at the end of the table had his unblinking gaze locked on my face as if he was convinced I’d vanish at any moment.
“What in the name of Christ is this?” His voice made me shudder, and I inched closer to Saint as chills slithered across my skin.
Saint stood unmoved. “You heard me. She’s my wife, and she also happens to be the Torres girl we all thought was dead.”
Shocked I looked at the man Saint had addressed as his father. He had the same heavy presence Saint had, and it reached for me across the room. Threatening. Deadly. Bone-chilling. A thick gold chain peeked from underneath the unbuttoned collar of his light blue shirt. With a sharp widow’s peak, salt and pepper hair, it was only his crystal blue eyes that resembled Saint’s. If I hadn’t stared into almost those exact blue eyes so many times, I never would have guessed they were father and son.
The man stood from his seat, dark brows furrowed and lips pulled in a snarl. “What is going on here?”
Saint acted aloof, calm. “This is a shareholder’s meeting. And since I own thirty-nine percent, I think I have a right to be here.” He shrugged. “I just figured it was the perfect timing to introduce my father to my new wife.”
