by SJ Molloy
When in Rome, I ask Marco to go back to Scotland to oversee some business for me, then I call Suzanne and ask her to have the empty dressing room in my suite filled with absolutely anything and everything Lexi would need … apparel, shoes, bags, lingerie, accessories, cosmetics, and products.
I remember her telling me the day of our first date that she borrowed that green dress from her friend Jessica. I imagine she had next to nothing as a child. I will ensure she never has to ever want for anything ever again.
I call Rose and advise her that I will be bringing Lexi home to stay. She squeals with delight. I imagine her clicking her little heels before brushing down her mumsy apron and rushing to tell Peter the good news.
On the second morning in Rome, while Lexi is sleeping after I had worn her out all night, I head out to meet Cristofano and Mr. Della Vecchia, the collector, at a private residence just a stroll from the hotel where Lexi and I are staying.
Cristofano has spent two full days examining the rare and precious stone under a microscope, doing various tests on it. Satisfied the ring is one of a kind and an original, he discreetly tells me its new estimated valuation price after he researched and examined it thoroughly. The price albeit exceptionally expensive is what I had anticipated.
It is perfect. The most stunning piece I have ever seen and exactly what I imagined on my dolcezza’s finger. After some negotiation, my generous offer is accepted.
Mr. Della Vecchia loosens his shirt and tie, perspiration beading his forehead, feeling exceptionally overwhelmed and shocked. He had expected it to auction for around four million considering its original price when it was first designed was 2.4 million dollars. I want it for my girl, so I make him an offer he cannot refuse.
I offer five million Euros because after doing my homework, and as confirmed by Cristofano, I discovered that a very similar piece was auctioned for 6.4 million dollars, and this would be no different.
Mr. Della Vecchia clearly underestimated the worth and what people would be willing to pay for this diamond ring. I call and have the funds transferred from my Swiss bank account in Geneva after going through tight security passwords with the branch manager himself.
Once the funds clear, I ask Marco to arranged secure transportation for Cristofano back to Firenze with the ring. Conscious of time, I grab some chocolates, croissants, and strawberries from a quaint patisserie on the way back to the hotel then call room service to have champagne delivered.
Thankfully, Lexi is still asleep when I return so she will not question where I have been. Her hair is mussed all over the pillows, exposed dark skin a contrast to the stark white sheets. My girl loves her sleep. She could sleep around the clock if I let her. I crawl over her and lift her left hand, gently placing kisses on her finger, imagining what the stone will look like on her elegant hand.
Stirring, she smiles up at me with big, beautiful bedroom eyes as luscious and rich in colour as the chocolates I just bought. I kiss her until she is fully awake, leaving her biting on her bottom lip when room service arrives with the champagne.
I carry the ice bucket, champagne, and flutes into the bedroom and pour her a glass. “What are we celebrating?” she asks innocently before I transfer a chocolate into her sweet mouth with my tongue, devouring it between us in an open-mouthed tease.
“You,” I reply, licking the last of the chocolate from her delicious lips.
Part one: Lussuria ~ Lucca’s Words
“Lussuria ~ Chapter Twenty Eight: Destiny”
Chapter 22
Providence
As this is our last weekend in Tuscany, I have arranged a special treat for Lexi. We are staying at the Four Seasons Hotel in Firenze in the Royal suite Della Gherardesca. Tonight we are going to the ballet and the Luminara candle parade tomorrow night. I have arranged with Mr. Boveri, the hotel manager, to have Michelin-star private dining in the gardens afterwards where I will propose to my dolcezza because it is intimate, and we will be surrounded by flowers, music, and candlelight.
Something special.
I think about the first time lust claimed me and I made Lexi mine in the bathroom at my grandparents’ villa. I was rough and greedy with desire and never even considered she was a virgin. I told her it should have been romantic, gentle, and special. If I had known, I would have taken my time with her and adored every inch of her with tenderness.
I think about her missing out on proper care when she was younger in the physical and emotional sense, so I want to ensure that my proposal will be romantic, special, and starry-eyed for her. I want her to feel, to feel everything I promised her, and to know I will forever romanticise her like she deserves. If she says no, then I will ensure that every time I ask her, I will put the same amount of effort into making her feel … feel special.
Marco has returned to Tuscany for a couple of days to tie up some business for me with contracts Omari had written up. While he is here, he can arrange transportation plans for Lexi and me, along with the air freight for all of Lexi’s new clothing and accessories.
Lexi looks completely bewildered when we walk into the opulent suite at the Four Seasons Hotel. As opposed to appreciating the regal interiors and artwork, I am too fascinated watching my baby’s sparkling rich eyes and smiling lips take in the grandiose architecture and affluence surrounding her.
Breathtaking.
Simply stunning.
The way her lashes flutter, bottom lip dragging through her perfectly white teeth, face glowing with radiance. Overwhelmed, her body trembles. She is lost in the beauty of the suite, just as I am lost in the beauty of her.
After a debate about massages and spa treatments, I carry my dolcezza straight to the luxurious bed so I can lose myself in her, over her, and around her. Nothing has felt so perfect; it is the beginning of a very special weekend for Lexi.
While we bask in sweetness of our lovemaking, I can tell her little brain is ticking. She wants to say something but struggles to tell me. Soothing her, I stroke her breasts, hips, and the top of her ass.
“While I’m away, I would like you to maybe read my journal. That is, if you want to.”
I knew this would come eventually. I have given her space and never pushed her after her confession when she returned from hospital, but I made her a promise, and if she feels like she is ready to share it with me, then I will do it for her.
Since I am hoping she will agree to marry me, it may help me be a more patient and understanding husband to her. I have no idea what is inside the journal because I have honoured her privacy, but I only hope it is not too detailed or graphic. Shit, that would end me. My head is already starting to think of words and images which will contort my mind.
Do I want to know the details?
No.
But for her, I will have to man up and accept it.
“Of course I want to. I am so thankful that this has helped you. I love you, baby.” Her whole body relaxes and falls deeper into my embrace. She sits up and faces me, her eyes wary.
“Lucca, there are things I have noted down that I just can’t talk about, and other things I want to tell you. I ask that you understand I might not be able to tell you everything. I’m sorry I can’t tell you directly.” After holding my gaze, she looks down and blushes. I kiss that worry straight from her cheeks and replace it with a passionate flush of colour instead.
Returning from escorting Lexi to the spa for her appointment with Tania, I make final arrangements for tomorrow, then settle on the leather sofa in the library with a packet of peanuts and a bottle of apple juice from the bar, ready to read Lexi’s journal. Opening the first page, I smile, seeing the withered blue orchid still pressed in the front page.
Taking a deep breath, I scroll my fingers over Lexi’s pretty handwriting, then open my eyes. I fully open my eyes to the upsetting, disturbing, and dark past of Lexi.
Page one.
Nine years in prison.
Seventeen years in therapy.
I have only let two people
in.
Only one woman has helped.
Casey Huddersfield.
Only one man has helped.
Lucca Caruso.
It hits me like a ton of bricks. Christ. I fucking knew it. Lexi is the woman I bumped into at Casey’s clinic on that horrendous December day. Breath-stealer. Instant attraction. Love at first sight. My gut instinct told me that I had met Lexi before. I would never forget her beauty. It was her. It was me. There, together, blissfully unaware of our future.
Fate. It was our destiny to meet.
I now believe in it more than ever.
Providence. God is watching over us both. He had a plan after all.
Stunned and intrigued, I begin to read on.
Life before my life.
Shed … house on stilts … Australia … bush … spiders … snakes … dingoes …grass … heat … sun … thirsty … dirty … hungry … scared … dark.
My jaw ticks. My muscles seize and my ironclad body feels like it is detained by a leaded weight of steel like I am held in a vice. My stomach twists in knots faster than a tornado ripping through me at rapid pace and swallowing me up into the dark pits of Hell.
My gums ache because I crunch my teeth so harshly while the veins surface in my neck and arms from my clenching grip. I can imagine my veins breaking my skin wrapping around my throat, and strangling me, because that is how I feel.
Breathless.
Choking.
Gagging.
The next page begins with Dark and a serious set of words. I flick through the next page, and the next, they are all the same. My jaw now falls lax as an icy numbness penetrates me. Reluctantly, I go back to the second page.
I need something stronger. I place the journal down and find a decanter of expensive single malt, a crystal glass, and fill it half way. Throwing it back, trying to take the edge off my racing mind, I screw my face when it sears my throat. I know I promised Lexi I would not drink whiskey, but there is no way I will be able to get through this book otherwise.
I take the bottle and glass back to the sofa and bow my head, sigh, and grab my nape fiercely before picking up the journal again. I brace myself.
Page two.
Dark … lonely … upset … scared … crying … hiding … running … unsafe … petrified … desperate … panicking … hurt … worried … screaming … trembling.
Bile rises in my throat. I place my hand over my jaw in disbelief, already filling in the gaps in my mind. My baby girl. My poor baby girl.
Mum … crying … bruised … cut … crawling … sick … bleeding … red … black … blue … purple … grass … burnt … drugged … sleeping … begging … crying … shaking … needy … scared … thirsty … sore … dizzy.
Fuck! I swallow down the lump lodged in my throat with another glass full of whiskey.
Cameron … crying … angry … screaming … kicking … banging … shed … dark … locked … trapped … breaking … shattered … trembling … sick … thirsty … dizzy … spinning … falling … crashing … cold.
Was she kept in a fucking shed in a garden? What the fuck? Like an animal, she was imprisoned in a fucking shed … for fuck’s sake.
Page three.
Dark … dragged … hair … cut … bleeding … sore … beaten ... tree … tied … fire … belts … ashes … burning … hot … screaming … crying … begging … petrified … back … whipped … lashed … lacerated … sliced … raw … painful … ripped … raw … burnt … raw … open … raw … bleeding … raw … Mary … watching … smiling … satisfied … suffering … scarred … numb … dizzy … spinning … blackness.
“No, the fucking evil motherfucking son of a bitch,” I yell into the emptiness of the library, surrounded only by the darkness scribbled in Lexi’s journal. I hope to God the fucker is dead because I will go down in the death sentence just for the sweet revenge of torturing the fucker and killing him.
My pupils dilate wide with fear, fear for what my girl experienced and went through. The torture she endured sickens me to the core. I throw more malt down my throat, hoping it will anaesthetise this mind-fucking realisation and pain burning inside me. I begin to shake and tremble.
Dark … Mum … beaten … dragged … screaming … missing … away … hours? … days? … house on stilts … hungry … thirsty … sore … bleeding … desperate … crying … Cameron … safe … cuddling … holding … calming … pacifying … angry … nightfall … cold … sleepy … alone.
Jesus, her mum was dragged away from them and hauled up in this house probably tortured and abused while she and Cameron were left on their own locked up in that shed.
Page four.
Dark … Mum … mattress … ground … drugged … sleepy … bleeding … nighty … ripped … stained … wrists … cut … scarred … bruised … swollen … lifeless … shouting … shaking … sleeping … wake up … wake up … wake up.
Shit. I immediately think of Lexi and her fractured wrist and how it must have brought back horrible memories for her. I hiss through gritted teeth. The fear I saw in her eyes when she witnessed the cuts and bruises on me after my brawl with David in Tasa. She wanted to tend to them, clean me up, and look after me. This is what she had to do for her mother.
Cameron … working … timber … truck … firewood … privileges … food … Simon … Michael … gun …threaten … force … work … away … shed … me … alone … crying … hungry … scared … thirsty … hot … dirty … shaking … nervous … Mum … sleeping.
Cameron, he was forced to work for them in return for food. The twisted, wicked, fucking bastards. Just in case I am missing something, I re-read the paragraph. She mentions two men … Simon … Michael. She previously mentioned the name Mary too.
Who is that?
Was someone else involved?
Was Mary another victim, a prisoner?
Was Michael her attacker, her abuser?
So many things go through my mind. I do not want to know anymore because I am finding it hard to stomach, but at the time I want to know everything. I need to understand this. Not even appreciating the velvetiness of the smooth malt in my throat, I gulp another huge mouthful and quickly turn the page.
Page five.
Her style of writing changes on this page. I imagine she is anxious, scribbling quickly, breathless while she relives these repulsive events, desperately trying to find words to formulate the tragic ordeals.
I’m trying to escape. I’m running through the Australian bush.
He’s chasing me … he’s shouting at me … my bare feet are hurting and bleeding.
It’s dark … it’s hot.
I’m scared.
I can’t get away.
I need to get away.
Dark … tortured … scared … crying … angry … defiant … impulsive … panicked … opportunity … escape … running … breathless … wire … fence … bush … trees … barefoot … spider … snake … blood … captured … crushed … wire … fence … thrown … sore … threatened … crying … begging … trembling … screaming … dragged … hair.
House on stilts … warning … threatened … tossed … bed … scurrying … crying … shaking … protecting … fighting … scratching … dress … ripped … naked …
I suck in a huge, sharp breath and bolt upright, clenching my fist while holding the journal. I can barely continue. My eyes prick with tears, knees feel weak, the room closing in on me. My body is heavy, insides inflamed, skin cold, eyes stinging, hairs erect.
Falling to my knees, I am petrified and disgusted about what I am going to read. The only reason I am still reading is because I want to know who these three people are and what happened to them afterwards.
Please no. Please no. Please no.
Naked … begging … afraid … Michael … stripping … jeans … belt … dropped … naked … hands … tied … smacked … beaten … hair … pulled … legs … parted … screaming … thrashing … kicking … heavy �
�� pushed … pressure … gripping … cursing … swearing … biting … shoving … pain … inside … pain … inside … eyes … closed … screaming … frail … sore … sore … grunting … sweating … breaking … ripping … tearing … cracking … shattering … suffocating … silenced … biting … pain … grunting … cursing … skin … bruising … ripping … silenced … stilling … numbness … heaviness … sore … sore … sore … bleeding … silenced … trembling … numb … tarnished … Michael … Simon’s son … crooked … happy … smiling … dressed … object … curses … orders … camera … photographed … flash … naked … spread eagle … open … ruined.
Hell.
Taken.
Innocence.
Taken.
Life.
Taken.
Dead … inside … dead … dirty … shocked … traumatised … afraid … dragged … hair … bleeding … thrown … shed … locked … corner … curling … shaking … wordless … empty … numb … lost.
I cannot read anymore. Barely comprehending, I scramble to the nearest bathroom and vomit my guts up. I do not care to know the rest. It is too hard to get my head around. I am trembling, shaking … sobbing … hair dishevelled. I cannot breathe. I cannot get air.
The cold tingle running down my spine has been replaced by a flush of fire and intense heat. My heart … I am sure is on the fucking floor somewhere. Standing up, I stare at myself in the mirror expecting to get some answers, some reasoning.
He raped her. He took her fucking innocence, her virginity. A child for Christ sake, just a child. A little girl. My girl. It is barbaric.
Why did she lead me to believe she was a virgin? I understand why she feels ashamed and embarrassed, but why did she not be honest with me? Nothing will ever change the way I feel about her. Shit, the thought of him being inside her makes my skin crawl and ignites a fuming madness in me. HE. WAS. INSIDE. MY. GIRL.
Rage boils inside me. My jaw twitches with the wrath of my temper. If I thought I was pissed about David manhandling Lexi, this is on another level entirely. I am worried I will fucking kill someone I am that angry. I am ready to erupt. The evil monster sexually abused my girl and the thought stirs a crazy fucking vengeance inside me.
