by Sam Mariano
“I know you’re angry right now, hurt, scared, but you should know this doesn’t change anything. Like me or hate me, you will remain loyal to me. You speak a word about anything you shouldn’t, and I will end you.”
The memory of Mateo’s threat—uttered mere moments after violating me—causes gooseflesh to rise on my arms.
“I’m sorry,” I say, lowly. “I don’t know a single thing that could be of use to you.”
“Ma’am, your mother—”
“Investigate her if you have to,” I interrupt, shoving open the door. “I can’t help you.”
I hope it’s over once I’m outside of the car, but Potbelly holds out a business card for me to take. “Well, why don’t you take this, just in case you remember anything? Maybe you’ll hear something we can use in the future.”
I stare at the card, but I know I can’t take it. Forget the possibility of somebody finding it—if I have that in my possession and Mateo assaults me again, I might be tempted to call.
Swallowing, I shake my head and walk away.
---
Don’t go to the bakery after school. Taking you to dinner. Wear whatever you want.
I get the text from Vince at lunch.
My initial response is uncertainty—it’s already been a hell of a day, and I haven’t even left school yet. I don’t really want to face Mateo though, particularly after last night, so I don’t reject his offer.
Cherie takes me home after school, and since I know I’m doing dinner with Vince, I go to our room to do my homework.
A little after four, Vince shows up.
“You ready to go?” he asks.
“Sure,” I say, flipping my textbook closed. When I stand and turn to face him, however, I’m caught off guard. Vince’s eye appears to be swollen, and his lip is split. Rushing over to him, I reach out a hand to touch him, but stop short, figuring it might hurt. “Oh, my God, Vince. What happened?”
He shakes his head like it doesn’t matter. “I’m fine.”
“Did someone hit you?”
“I’m fine. It was nothing.”
“Who did this?” My first thought, honestly, is Adrian. He seems to be the only decent one around here, and even he isn’t decent enough to stop any of it. Then again, I don’t know if he’d actually hit Vince. He doesn’t tread carefully around the Morelli men like everyone else, but that may be taking things too far.
“It was just sparring,” he says dismissively.
“Sparring?” I ask, quirking a skeptical eyebrow.
“I think Mateo just really wanted to punch me in the face. It was at the gym. It’s fine.”
I’m surprised to hear it was Mateo, though I guess maybe it’s payback for his little scene at the table yesterday. If so, it’s a light enough retaliation. I guess that’s why Vince doesn’t care.
“I feel like for future reference, not sparring with him would be a good idea,” I advise.
Rolling his eyes, he says, “He’d still punch me if he wanted to. Mateo does what he wants, Mia. Don’t worry about it. At worst, it may get ugly in a couple days.” Nodding toward the door, he says, “Let’s get out of here.”
Grabbing my purse from the floor, I follow him out. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” he tells me, surprising me by reaching down and taking my hand.
I offer a tentative smile when he looks over at me, but I’m confused. We haven’t been out on an actual date since I moved in, and obviously last night he was not in the mood to wine and dine me.
I think he feels guilty. Which… well, I guess he should.
I watch out the window as he drives, trying to guess where we might be going, but I have no idea. When he finally pulls into a parking area, it’s outside an apartment complex.
“This is where we’re eating?” I ask, confused.
Instead of answering me, he takes me by the hand again and leads me inside.
I’m surprised again when he pauses outside room 602 and uses a key.
Then he opens the door and gestures for me to go inside. Thoroughly confused, I look around. It’s sparsely furnished, but as soon as I spot the kitchen, I see pots and cans of food, a bag of flour, spices, and some kind of silver machine with a crank handle. Across the kitchen in the corner there’s a small round table with two chairs, an unlit candle at the center, already set for two.
A smile spreading across my face, I ask, “What is this?”
“I asked Joey if I could borrow his apartment for the evening. I seem to remember we’re way overdue for a spaghetti dinner.”
Recalling the time he bought my groceries and then I asked him to leave, I nod my head. “I guess we are.”
“And I know you just use the readymade stuff, but I can’t eat spaghetti sauce from a jar. It just isn’t right.”
Rolling my eyes, I say, “Don’t be a spaghetti snob; it’s good!”
“Well, I’m going to show you how to make your own spaghetti sauce, and we’re making our own pasta. We’ll see which one’s better.”
“This is nice,” I tell him, feeling lighter than I have in a while.
Taking my hand, he lifts it and places a light kiss to my knuckles. “Good. After dinner, we’ve got the living room to ourselves—any movie you want. At least, any movie that Joey has that you want.”
“I’m sure I’ll be overwhelmed by the selection,” I assure him.
“I hope you like Jason Statham.”
Snorting, I respond, “Who doesn’t?”
A few minutes later, washed up and ingredients sorted, Vince and I start dinner.
“I’ve never cooked with a guy before,” I tell him, mincing garlic.
“Weird, me neither.”
I roll my eyes at him. “That’s because in your family only women cook.”
Lifting an eyebrow as if to admit his inability to argue that, he says, “Well, this is my mom’s recipe, so I know it’s good.”
“You never told me about your mom.”
His demeanor dims a little, and I feel him want to retreat. To his credit, he doesn’t. “Like most Morelli women, she got trapped into a relationship with one of us bastards and couldn’t get out.”
“Ah,” I murmur, nodding. “How did she die?”
“Pills. Killed herself.”
My head snaps up. “Oh, Jesus. I didn’t know, I’m sorry.”
He dumps a can of diced tomatoes into the pot. “I always told myself I wouldn’t be like him. Swore it. I didn’t want to become someone I hated.”
I’m not sure if he’s talking about Mateo or his father, but I really don’t want to bring up the former if he’s not talking about him, so I guess, “Your dad?”
He nods. “I’d never let him meet you. He’s garbage.”
“Well, I’m sure you’re not like him, then,” I say easily, lifting the chopping board and taking it over to the pot, scraping the garlic in.
“I was last night,” he states, quietly.
Putting the cutting board and knife down on the counter, I wrap an arm around him and give him a squeeze. “No.”
“Yes. Eighteen years ago, he did to Maria what I did to you, and every day I see Cherie it’s a reminder of the kind of man I don’t want to be.”
That stuns me. Mateo had filled me in on their relation, but he certainly hadn’t indicated it had been non-consensual. I just figured he had an affair with the maid—typical.
“Your dad and Maria weren’t…?”
“She hated him,” Vince states. “He wanted her anyway. Morelli men take what they want.”
I don’t know what to say to that. It’s not like I haven’t seen proof of precisely that since joining their fucked up family.
“I don’t want to be like that, Mia.”
“Then don’t,” I say simply.
“I’m so sorry for last night,” he says, meeting my gaze.
“I know. It’s okay. We don’t have to… It’s over. I forgive you. We’re okay. I just want us to get past everything. I do
n’t want to dwell.”
“No matter what happens, nothing like that will ever happen to you again at my hands.”
Offering a supportive smile, I nod. “I know.”
“And you were right about what you said, too. Mateo can’t get between us unless we let him. I’m not gonna let him anymore.”
“Neither am I,” I state.
Leaning in to touch his forehead against mine, Vince asks, “Can I kiss you?”
Smiling slightly, I tell him, “Always.”
Chapter Twenty Seven
It’s easier to stay out from under the cloud of gloom now that I’m out of Mateo’s room and back in Vince’s. I still think about the possibility of cameras all the time, because there aren’t any visible in Vince’s room, which means there are hidden ones. Vince hasn’t touched me again, giving me time to heal, but I think about it when we’re lying in bed. Will Mateo be able to watch? I guess I shouldn’t care so much. Voyeurism would at least be less intrusive than what he’s already done.
Between school, the bakery, and hiding out in Vince’s room, I don’t have to see Mateo again until Wednesday night.
Maria comes to tell me Mateo wants to see me in his study before dinner. She brings a garment bag, but I don’t even open it.
“What if I don’t go?” I ask. I don’t know why I think she could anticipate his reaction, but I really, really don’t want to find myself alone with him again. Especially not right now, when I have no idea of his mental state. Is he pissed that his little plan didn’t work? That I’m back with Vince? Will he redouble his attempts to break us up? I know Vince is fighting to stay with me now and to keep Mateo out of our relationship, but I’m not sure how we will hold up under the reality. If Mateo decides to keep me as a plaything, will Vince be able to handle it? Will I?
Warily shaking her head, Maria said, “You don’t say no to Mateo.”
“But what if I do?”
“I think you can guess,” she states. “He isn’t alone. Adrian is with him.”
That makes me breathe a lot easier. He may be a creep, but I don’t think he’d rape me in front of Adrian.
“Why does he want to see me?”
She merely shrugs, leaving the room.
In a small act of defiance, I don one of the dresses Vince gave me.
I don’t know where Vince is, but I wish I did. I really don’t want to go to Mateo’s study without telling him. We haven’t discussed how we’ll deal with this, but my instinct is that I should be as open as possible when I’m going to be around him. Secrets will only make him stop trusting me again.
I haven’t decided how that openness will work concerning sexual activity. I hope to God it never comes up again, but I have no idea how to handle it if it does.
When I show up in the study, Adrian is still there, so I breathe a little easier. Mateo’s leaning against his desk, drink in hand, and he allows his eyes to move over my body. I expect him to react to my not wearing whatever dress he must have sent up, but his perusal of my body only turns up pleasure.
“Mia,” he says warmly.
Staying by the door, I square my shoulders. “Maria said you wanted to see me.”
“Correct. You can come closer.”
“I’m all right.”
Cocking his head to the side, he gives me about two seconds, then he pushes off the desk and strides over to me. I fall back a step, but I know I can’t leave. He stops in front of me, looking down at me, seeming to shrink me with his gaze. After several long seconds, he reaches behind me and shoves the study door closed.
“Just because I’m letting you sleep in Vince’s bed, Mia, don’t get confused and think you’re allowed to start defying me.” Furthering his point, he drags the back of two fingers across my collar bone, dipping threateningly toward my cleavage.
Body taut with tension, I offer a barely perceptible nod. I don’t relish the reminder that whatever victory it feels like we’ve achieved, we only have it because he’s allowing it.
His hand leaves me, but the tension doesn’t leave my body.
“Tomorrow night I’m hosting a poker game. I want you to come.”
“I don’t know how to play poker.”
That makes him laugh. The bastard gives me another warm smile, like he just finds me goddamn delightful. “No, you won’t be playing. You’ll be there to help out. To look pretty,” he adds with a wink.
“Will Vince be there?”
“No.”
I hesitate, not wanting him to take my next statement as any sort of challenge. “He won’t want me to go.”
Mateo rolls his eyes. “Obviously.”
I really don’t want to put Vince through this. I mean, I don’t want to do it to begin with, but I certainly don’t want to leave him all night to wonder if Mateo’s doing… Mateo things.
I don’t know how to say any of this. There would be no point. It’s nothing he doesn’t already know; he just doesn’t care. What I don’t want to do is make him feel he has a point to prove about my obedience.
I wish I could make him promise me I’ll be safe, but he doesn’t have to. He wasn’t requesting my presence, he was telling me where I would be going. Finally, I nod. “All right.”
This pleases him, and he gives me another agreeable smile. My stomach turns over, because for some sick reason, it brings me relief to have pleased him.
“Is that all?” I ask, wanting to get out of here.
“Yes,” he says, easily. “Cherie will get you ready. I believe Maria already brought something up for you to wear.” Barely pausing a second, he adds, “I’ll give Vince something to keep him occupied. Tell him where you’ll be or don’t.”
A shiver goes down my spine at that, at the secrecy implied. I don’t want to have secrets with this man, especially not secrets from Vince.
Ignoring that temptation, knowing it would just blow up in my face later, I say, “No. I’ll tell him.”
He shrugs, unconcerned. “Suit yourself.”
Our business complete, he allows me to leave. On the other side, I lean heavily against the wall, my mind racing a million different ways. I was dreading seeing him again, being alone with him—have been, since Sunday night. It feels bizarrely comforting, despite his casual threats, that everything was… fairly normal. He didn’t seem angry at me. He didn’t seem resentful or put out. His reaction is nothing like Vince’s—and I feel so relieved. It doesn’t make sense, but I don’t dread the next time I’ll see him as much.
But that distresses me. Relief distresses me, because I shouldn’t be relieved. I hate him. He’s a terrible human being who manipulates and controls everyone around him—and I’m damn sure no exception.
There’s something… addictive about him though. Something that leaves me craving the approval of a man I hate.
How fucked up is that?
More unsettled than I had been when I knew I was coming to meet him, I head for the dining room to get ready for dinner.
---
Vince sits on the edge of the bed, watching Cherie curl my hair.
Nobody speaks. Well, occasionally Cherie, when she has to tell me to tilt or not move my head, but Vince and I are both silent.
Finally finished, she grabs hair spray and coats my hair.
“Is that necessary? She’s not going to the fucking prom,” Vince says, understandably aggravated.
I’m sort of regretting not taking Mateo up on his offer to keep Vince busy. Maybe I should have asked him to, even though I was telling Vince. It’s not helping anyone to have him sitting here, watching Cherie doll me up on orders from Mateo, none of us knowing exactly what I’m walking into, but all of us aware of what could happen.
Cherie understands, so she doesn’t say anything in response.
“Let’s grab the outfit. Where’d you put it?”
“It’s still in the bag,” I tell her. “I put it in the closet after dinner last night.”
A few minutes later, the outfit is out of the bag and I am horri
fied. Vince’s temper, thus far controlled, seems like it’s going to explode any second.
“That’s what you’re supposed to wear,” he says, each word angrier than the last.
I understand why. Unlike the classy dresses he bought me for dinner, this outfit is just plain trash. The fire engine red corset top is… well, a corset. There’s a skimpy black skirt that may not even cover my ass, and a pair of thigh-high, fishnet stockings to finish off the “$25 for a blow job, $100 for an hour” look I’m apparently going for.
“He’s just goading you, probably,” I tell him.
“They’re just clothes,” Cherie adds, trying to help.
Vince is unimpressed by our attempts.
I’m not at all looking forward to putting this on, so I take it in the bathroom, wanting to see the damage first. It’s not good. I do what I can to loosen the corset and take the attention off my boobs, but it’s ineffective. Even a gay man would have to look right at them on sight.
Why is he doing this?
Giving up on the impossible, I open the bathroom door and march out to the firing squad.
Vince’s eyes get the lusty look I recognize, but it’s struggling with his short fuse, and the short fuse is winning.
“It doesn’t matter,” I tell him, shrugging like it doesn’t even bother me. “It’s just an outfit. It’s fine.”
“Don’t go.”
“Vince…” I sigh, because he knows that’s not an option.
“He’s gonna… he’s not going to keep his hands off you, Mia.”
Gathering up her things quietly, Cherie says, “I’m done here, so… I’m gonna leave you guys to… all this.”
I don’t blame her. I wish I could bail, too.
Placing my hands on Vince’s shoulders, innocently pressing my boobs against his chest, I say, “Let’s fight the battles we can win. Mateo’s going to be busy playing poker with his buddies. We won’t be alone.”
“What if I rip it? You can’t wear it if it’s damaged.”
