Unholy Intent

by Natasha Knight

  But then after? What happened downstairs broke something inside me. Broke the hope inside me.

  “I don’t think I can do this.” I drop my head into my knees.

  “Cristina. Fuck. Talk to me.”

  “It’s done.”

  He’s quiet for a long minute. “You had no choice. You have to do whatever it takes to survive now, Cristina. Whatever it takes.”

  “He said he’d let me go if I give him what he wants. That’s why I did it.” I feel ashamed to tell him. I feel weak. I shake my head, force my tears back. “His family…they’re all here, and they hate me, and…” My voice breaks into a sob.

  “Listen to me, Cristina.”

  Unable to speak, I nod through a choked breath, but he can’t see that.

  “Are you listening? Are you still there?”

  “I’m here.”

  “You can’t let them get to you. You need to be strong.”

  “But I’m not strong, Liam.”

  “Tell me again what he said. Word for word.” When I don’t reply, he fills in for me. “He said he’d let you go?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. That’s something. Did he hurt you? Tonight, I mean. Did he make you—”

  “No.” Is it a lie? He didn’t make me do anything. But I feel too ashamed to tell Liam that the marriage has been consummated.

  He exhales in relief. “Is he cruel to you?”

  “Yes. No, not cruel, no.”

  “Good. The rest of them don’t matter. He’s the one you have to focus on. He’s the one who decides.”

  “I’m so scared.”

  “He let us see each other. That’s something, Cristina. He did that for you.”

  “No, he didn’t. He wanted something from me.”

  “He can take anything he wants. He did it for you. You have to think about that. Focus on that.”

  “What do you mean? How?”

  “I mean he’s human. He has chinks in his armor, and you’re going to need to use his weaknesses against him. Against them all.”

  I straighten, feeling a little better.

  He’s right that Damian did what he did for me, for some strange reason. I don’t know why he doesn’t just take. And I don’t believe him that he feels badly about me and has since that night he intercepted me in the hallway when my father was killed.

  “He hates his family too,” I say. “I know it. I see it. Feel it even. And I think they hate him.”

  “Good. Then you’ll use that against him too. You’ll get close to him. Make him care about you. Make him trust you.”

  “He won’t care about me.”

  “He already does.”

  No. That’s not right. “I don’t understand what he wants. Why he’d go against his family and let me go.”

  “He and his brother haven’t been close in a long time. Since they were teens from what I’m learning. His sister, Michela, she ran away to get married and only returned to the house recently after her husband died. And only when she was destitute. And the father, he has cancer. I’m surprised he isn’t dead already, considering.”

  “He’s a terrible man. Evil like that doesn’t die.”

  “I do know that Damian was very close to his mother and sister, both of whom he lost in the accident.”

  “But wouldn’t that only make him hate me more?”

  “He’s a man, Cristina.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Do I have to spell it out?” he pauses, and I can almost feel him roll his eyes. “You’re a beautiful woman. I know guys. He has a soft spot for you. A weakness. You have to focus on that.”

  “I don’t think that’s right.”

  “Trust me. I’ve seen how he looks at you.”

  “Okay.” I don’t really know if I believe him but it gives me a little strength, at least.

  “Did you know he was driving the night of the accident?”

  “I just found out.”

  “I wonder if his father blames him in some way too, in addition to blaming your father.”

  “That would explain at least in part why they are how they are. Lucas blames Damian for sure. He made a comment about it.”

  “Listen, I’m going to do some more digging here. Can I call you back?”

  “Yes. But don’t leave a message, just in case. He just gave me the phone and I don’t know if he’ll take it back.”

  “All right. You try to get an idea of his timeline and what he wants exactly. Because he has something specific in mind. I’d bet my life on it.”

  I nod just as a soft knock comes on the door.

  Startled, I gasp and turn to watch the door open.

  It’s not Damian. He doesn’t knock.

  I’m surprised to see Michela peek her head in. I get to my feet, but she puts her hand up, palm toward me, when she sees I’m on the phone. Then she backs away.

  “Wait!”

  She does.

  “I have to go, Liam.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah. I’ll be okay. I’ll talk to you soon.” I disconnect the call and Michela looks behind herself before slipping inside. She’s holding a small box.

  “What do you want?” I ask her.

  She glances around the room.

  “He’s not here,” I say.

  “I wanted to make sure Elise wasn’t lurking.”

  I fold my arms across my chest, remembering that this is the woman who lured Simona into her car. Who essentially kidnapped her.

  She looks me over, eyes the bottle of whiskey on the floor but doesn’t comment.

  “Are you okay after that spectacle?” she asks finally.

  “No, not really.”

  “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

  “Why would you say you’re sorry? You were a part of it.”

  “I have to do what they tell me to do.”

  This confuses me, but I refuse to care about this woman.

  “Here,” she says, holding out the box.

  “What is it? A welcome to the family gift?”

  She shakes her head. “Protection.”

  I just watch her.

  “Take it.”

  The box is plain, but when I open it, what I find inside surprises me. It’s a switchblade.

  “What is this for?”

  “Like I said, protection. I know what my brother’s capable of.”

  “Which brother?”

  She smirks. “As if you need to ask. I saw the bloody sheets. I’m sure he took pleasure in that.”

  I feel my face burn but don’t reply. Something about her visit rubs me the wrong way so I don’t tell her he didn’t hurt me anymore than anyone else would have the first time.

  It’s not only that I don’t trust her. I don’t like this woman.

  I set the box aside and take the hilt of the small switchblade in my hand. I touch the tip.

  “Careful,” she says.

  It’s sharp. Deadly.

  I look at her. “Why are you giving me this?”

  She turns around, showing me her back, and I swallow. “This is how Damian welcomed me home a few years ago.”

  Like earlier, I gasp at the sight, and take in the slightly raised lines of skin. There must be a dozen on her back.

  She turns to face me again. “They go all the way to my ankles.”

  My stomach turns.

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Because in his eyes, I betrayed the family when I ran off with the man I loved. Bennie’s father. It’s all about the family to him. To all of them.”

  “But you hate each other. Anyone can see that. You all hate each other.”

  “That’s not true. It’s Damian who sows hate. You need to be careful with him.”

  “I think I need to be careful with all of you.”

  She gestures to the knife in my hand. “I wouldn’t give you that if I had any intention of hurting you, Cristina.”

  “You took Simona.”

  “
Because he made me. I would never have done that to any child. I’m a mother, Cristina. And I didn’t hurt that little girl.”

  “You scared her.”

  “I know.” She looks down momentarily. “And I’m sorry about that.”

  For some reason, I believe her. Maybe because she’s a mother too. Or maybe it’s those lines on her back. She’s not lying about those.

  “Why did you come back here? To this house?”

  “Bennie’s father died. I had to. I had nothing and Bennie was just a baby.”

  Her eyes glisten and I can’t help but feel for her.

  “I couldn’t make it on my own. We’d be on the street and I couldn’t do that to my son.”

  “Damian hurt you like that?”

  She nods.

  “Your father asked if he’d welcome me like he had you.”

  “Like father, like son. Just be careful. You can’t trust anyone in this house.”

  “Does that include you?”

  “I’m a victim too. Just like you. Just like my mother. All women are to them. Everyone but that bitch Elise. You watch her too. Just watch your back.” She walks to the door. “I need to go before he sees me. Hide it from him, or he’ll punish me again, okay? Promise me.”

  “I won’t tell him you gave it to me.”

  “And use it if you have to. Don’t hesitate.”

  I swallow and feel the weight of the dagger as Michela slips out of the room.

  10

  Cristina

  Once she’s gone, I sit down, wincing, as I remember why everything hurts.

  My wedding night.

  What a hell of a wedding night.

  The switchblade open, I set it in my palm. It’s a little longer than my hand with an intricate handle carved from wood. The initials M. D. S. are engraved in the hilt. Michela Di Santo.

  When I close it, it fits in my hand. I should be able to hide it in a pocket easily. As long as he doesn’t search me, that is.

  I get up to turn out the light in the room, take the bottle of whiskey, and sit back down, facing out the enormous window. I don’t want anyone who might be outside to see me in here, so I need to keep the light out.

  Liam is right. I need to be strong. I can’t give up, not if I want to survive. I can’t let them break any other part of me.

  I take a long sip from the bottle, having to force the burning liquid down. My fingers trace the pattern of the wooden hilt absently as I stare out into the dark night. I want to know what’s out there in those woods. Both Damian and his brother know about whatever it is.

  Did Damian know what would happen tonight? Did he know about the little welcome party? About the bloody sheet being shown to them all.

  God, the humiliation.

  And the little boy. Bennie? I glance back at the wrinkled, discarded drawing on the bed. I didn’t even look at it really. How afraid must he have been tonight to see his uncles at each other’s throats. To see me as I was.

  Does he wonder about the skin of his mother’s back? He’s too young. He wouldn’t know, not yet, but he will ask when he gets older. What will she tell him? That his uncle is responsible?

  Did he whip her? That’s the only way to get those lines, I think.

  I need to be careful with him. If he’ll do that to his own flesh and blood, what would he do to me?

  I squeeze the knife in my hand.

  Michela didn’t need to tell me to use it if I had to. I won’t hesitate.

  I grin, drink, and listen to whiskey slosh in the bottle as I remember that I’ve already stabbed Damian once. And his punishment was four spanks. He told me I was getting off easy, but four spanks compared to what I saw on Michela’s back is more than easy.

  And I realize something.

  He won’t hurt me like that. I don’t know why I think that, but I do.

  The wind rustles the trees outside. I stand, go to the window, and look down at the garden. There’s a pool in the distance. It looks like it’s been covered over for years. Somehow, I don’t see this family lounging out by the pool on a hot summer day. I can’t see them relaxing together at all.

  The overgrown garden has not been maintained for a long while now. I can’t see the path we took to the church from here, but the grass was overgrown there too.

  My mind wanders to Edgar Allan Poe’s The Fall of the House of Usher. How the house crumbled down around the family. How, as the family died off, so did the house.

  I shudder, then take another drink. I drop the switchblade on the bed and walk to the closet to get dressed. I’m naked but for the robe and my hair is wet. I know I should stop with the whiskey when I stumble just as I reach the closet door. I haven’t eaten since lunch.

  I set the bottle down and switch on the light in the closet. I look around at all the clothes. My clothes. He bought these things for me.

  He has a weakness for you.

  Does he?

  I spy his sweater on the floor in the corner. I’d tossed it in there after he’d left it behind that first night. Or was it the second night? I can’t even remember.

  Picking it up, I bring it to my nose. It’s soft. Cashmere wool blend. And it smells like him.

  For reasons I can’t understand, I slip off my robe and put his sweater on. It’s huge on me, comes to the tops of my thighs, and I keep having to push the sleeves up. It feels good on, though. Comforting somehow. Like he’s holding me.

  I inhale deeply. I like his smell. I smell like him now.

  Christ.

  I shake my head because maybe I have a weakness for him, too.

  Taking the bottle, I go back into the bedroom. I drink some more as I rummage through the drawer of underwear. He likes lace.

  I pick a bright red string with a triangle of lace at the front. There’s literally nothing to it. Setting the bottle down, I step into it, stumbling a little as I do, needing to catch myself on the dresser when I almost fall.

  Does he like this? Me like this?

  His.

  I remember his mouth on me. I remember his body on top of mine. Heavy. Good.

  I remember his cock inside me.

  Am I a whore to want it again? Want him again? I should hate him.

  Turning to the bed, I see the switchblade. I need to hide it. If he finds it, he’ll take it away. He’ll punish Michela again.

  Her back. My God.

  I’m crouched down beside the bed shoving the blade between the mattress and the box spring when a door opens. I look up to find Damian’s eyes on me as he steps through the connecting door and leans against the wall, his damaged hand in his pocket. I wonder if that’s just habit, hiding it.

  I stand, my heart racing, and drop the covers back down. I must look guilty as sin from the way he looks at me. But then his gaze drops down, and I follow it and remember I’m wearing his sweater. Why did I do that?

  Immediately, I start to pull at it to take it off, stumbling backward when it’s halfway over my head so I can’t see.

  He chuckles.

  “How much of this did you drink?” he asks as I try to get the sleeves off.

  His hands are on me then, and he pulls the sweater over my head, catching me when I almost fall.

  He looks down at me.

  I look down at me.

  Naked but for the slip of a thong.

  He grins, cups my ass and pulls me to him.

  “I like that one.”

  I push at him. “Get away from me.”

  He does, eyes sweeping over me as he picks up the whiskey to drink some.

  I drop to a seat on the edge of the bed and look him over as he spots my phone. He turns to me, holding the neck of the whiskey bottle in one hand.

  “Did you go into my room and take that, too?”

  “Well, it didn’t grow legs and walk over here on its own.”

  “Don’t do it again.”

  I lie back, suddenly so exhausted I can’t sit up.

  “I told you to eat. You can’t drink this stuff on an empty
stomach.”

  I look up at the pretty canopy over the bed, then at him as he comes to stand by my legs which are dangling off the bed. There’s only one word I can use to describe the look in his eyes as his fingers caress my thigh. Lustful.

  “Your sister’s back,” I say.

  His face tightens, that lust gone. He drinks a sip from the whiskey, then sets the bottle down and looks me over.

  “Don’t worry about my sister’s back.”

  “Did you really do that?”

  His eyebrows furrow, and I realize my mistake. I get up on my elbows and look at him. I should fix it. He shouldn’t know I talked to her.

  “My father would only take her back if she agreed to two things. One was to change Bennie’s name. She’d named him after his father. And rightfully so. But his name is now Benedict Di Santo. My father’s name.”

  “Why did she agree?”

  “Because she’s weak. Get on your stomach.”

  I swallow. I know what he wants. I want it too.

  He and I are weak too. Weak for each other.

  But I push on. “The second thing was what you did to her?”

  He studies me, then nods.

  At least he doesn’t lie.

  I shudder, looking down at his hands. Big and powerful. Able to cause that kind of damage. That kind of pain.

  “Are you afraid of me?”

  I bite my lip. Am I? I was at first. I still am now, in a way.

  “Will you really let me go?”

  “I gave you my word. Now answer my question.”

  “Yes.”

  His face is rigid, body tense.

  “And no. Am I being naïve to think you won’t hurt me like that, Damian?” I pause, then add, “You said truth in bed so tell me the truth whatever it is.”

  He relaxes a little. “You’re stretching that in bed part.”

  “I answered your question. Answer mine.”

  “I won’t hurt you like that. I shouldn’t have hurt her like that.”

  I hear remorse in his words. I think about the dagger just underneath me, beneath this mattress. I think about Michela and about the evidence of what Damian is capable of, and I still believe him.

  His eyes graze over me. That lust of earlier is a hunger now.

  “Get on your stomach, Cristina.”

  My belly quivers, heat pulses between my legs, and my nipples harden. I watch him unbutton his shirt and pull it out of his pants. Lines of muscle cut across his belly.