by S Williams
Instead, I hear the ocean roaring from far away, the crunching of cars running over asphalt and gravel. I hear my slow, thudding heart, and the raging, screaming thoughts in my head. I am aware of every single thing, including how close I am to losing my sanity.
Mrs. Molina is still out by the pool when I decide to grab some bottled water. As I enter the kitchen, I see Draco outside on the terrace. He has a phone glued to his ear, his back facing me. His shoulders are hunched, and his hair is a disheveled mess being tousled by the wind.
He turns a fraction, the first few buttons of his shirt undone. There are bags beneath his eyes, and his eyebrows are dipped and glued together.
He is furious.
He orders something into the receiver of the flip phone, and then he slams it closed right before slamming it down on the ground and breaking it in half. He grips the guardrail in front him, shoulders still hiked up and tense, breathing heavily like a savage beast.
He finally turns, peering over his shoulder, and his eyes find mine.
I don’t speak. Really, what can I say? I expect him to come in and talk to me—to say something, even if it’s rude or mean or whatever. But he doesn’t. He comes inside, but his eyes are no longer on mine.
“Everything okay?” I ask, but he completely ignores me, marching right past with his chin up and his jaw flexed.
The next morning I hear doors slamming. Something falls to the floor and then another door slams shut. Gasping, I sit straight up, hurrying for my robe and sliding my arms into it, wrapping it around me and covering my gown.
I rush out of the bedroom, but the living room is completely empty. The pool water is still. There is utter silence.
I walk to the empty kitchen, checking the patio. I start to think it was all in my head—that I was hearing things—until I hear stomping and Mrs. Molina asking, “WHERE IS SHE?” in Spanish.
She storms into the kitchen, her eyes puffy, gray hair a frizzy mess. I’ve never seen her so distraught. So…unhinged.
She charges for me, pointing a fierce finger in my face.
“You! What have you done?” she roars in Spanish. “What have you done, Gianna!”
I blink rapidly. Guilt courses through me, taking over every single fiber of my being. “W-what are you—”
“No!” she snarls. “Do not play dumb with me!” She’s still speaking Spanish, the words flying at me like sharp spears. “He is dead because of you! My only nephew is dead! Why didn’t you listen to Draco? Why? He trusted you!”
I feel my bottom lip quivering, my eyes bulging out of my head. Emilio and Patanza appear behind her. Emilio grabs Mrs. Molina by the shoulders but she shrugs him off.
“Señora, please,” he pleads, grabbing for her again.
This time she doesn’t shrug him off, but she does glare at me. Hard. Cold. In this moment she looks exactly like her son—ready to defend and kill if she must.
“He trusted you. I trusted you.” She points at herself, stabbing a hard finger into her own chest. “I thought you would be good for him. I thought you would give him some hope, but all you did was snatch that hope and light away from him. You’ve ruined him!” Her voice breaks.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, holding my hands out, but she shakes her head, standing up tall.
“You are not sorry! You are weak and just like the others! You had a chance, and you blew it. Thiago was all we had, Gianna. All we had.” Her tears are continuous, like waterfalls, overflowing. “Because of you…he is gone. They took him, because you didn’t trust my son enough—because you wanted to be better than him. You did the wrong thing.” She sniffles hard, and my throat thickens with unwanted emotion. “I will not be surprised if he never forgives you, Gia.” Her head shakes swiftly as she swipes a tear away. “Your father would be so disappointed in you.”
When she airs her last sentence, I feel a crack form in my chest. My heart, which was pounding in my chest, stops. My hands, which were shaking with adrenaline, are cold and still.
I didn’t know my heart could be any more broken than it already is, but she just did me in.
The pieces are crumbling and wilting away, but only because I know what she says is true.
Daddy would be angry.
He wouldn’t have forgiven me, if I’d done this to him.
And because I know this godawful truth, I am devastated. What the hell have I done?
Emilio finally gets her out of the kitchen, looking back at me once with sympathetic eyes. Patanza still stands there, her lips pressed. With one shake of the head, she turns her back to me and walks away.
When they are gone, I sink onto a barstool, dropping my face into the palms of my hands. I don’t cry. I can’t cry. Instead, I fight the tears, though it’s hard as hell to do.
I hear footsteps, but I don’t look to find where they’re coming from.
I don’t care who it is—that is until the familiar voice says, “If you want to cry and be useless, go to your fucking room and do it. I don’t want your tears on my countertops.”
I pick my head up, frowning at Draco, who is standing at the door of the kitchen. His first words to me in nearly forty-eight hours, and that’s what he has to say?
I push off the stool, walking up to him, getting in his face. “You think I don’t feel bad about this?” He doesn’t answer me. He matches my stare, challenging me in all the wrong ways. “If you are so angry, why haven’t you punished me for it yet? If I’m just like the others, why am I still here? Why?” I demand.
Still, nothing.
His jaw ticks as he pushes me aside and walks toward a liquor cabinet, taking down a box of cigars. I watch him as he sniffs one and then locks it between his teeth.
After putting the box back where it belongs, he’s walking in my direction again, but he goes right past me, his eyes far away from mine.
Just like that, he’s walking away too.
6
GIANNA
The next day, I am completely fed up.
I eat breakfast alone. Lunch alone. Dinner alone. All meals have been delivered to my bedroom. I haven’t seen Patanza in two days, and I haven’t seen Mrs. Molina since she confronted me.
The guilt is eating me alive. All I want is to feel human—to speak to someone and voice my opinions, but no one wants to listen.
I can understand why. I’ve destroyed the relationships I had, demolished by my own bad decisions. The people that trusted me, no longer can. The people who gave me a chance now regret that decision.
Though the view is gorgeous, all I see is black and white. There are people who would kill for this kind of room, this paradise, yet here I am, with the right side of my face on the comforter, drowning my sorrows with bottle after bottle of wine.
The sun is setting now—I can see it from here.
The house is quiet. I haven’t seen anyone but Emilio all day.
I continue asking for bottles of wine, but sooner or later I’m going to need something much stronger than this.
I have to do something to win back their trust.
I have to fix the damage I caused. But how? How, when no one is wiling to give me a chance—when no one will even look me in the eye?
Nightfall arrives, and I roll over, staring up at the twirling ceiling fan. It’s still quiet, the ocean roar peaceful, the city lights bright and flashy.
I step out of bed and walk to the door, on the search for something stronger now. Tequila, or even rum will do.
I walk to the empty kitchen. The countertops are spotless, and of course the wine fridge is out of my favorite wine. The bar inside doesn’t have a very good selection, which only leaves the pool’s bar.
With a sigh, I turn around and walk out, going into the living room, past the clean, untouched furniture. I look out at the pool bar, but then I see a shadowy figure sitting close to the rails. Chains of smoke surround him, and I notice a short tumbler in his left hand.
I quietly open the door, walking barefoot past the pool. The scent
of his cigar is strong and powerful, but I suck it up and keep it moving. I know I shouldn’t. I should just grab my bottle and go about my way, but I can’t help myself.
I step up behind him, and he peers over his shoulder with a solid frown. The city lights highlight one half of his face, the other half shadowy in the moonlight.
“What are you doing out here?” I ask.
He looks away, taking a slow pull from his cigar.
“Can’t sleep?” What a stupid question. He never fucking sleeps. I sigh. “Draco, can we please just talk? I need to tell you how I feel.” I pause. “I want to help you.”
He clears his throat, shifting in his chair.
“What happened is my fault, okay? I know now, and I know you’re pissed. I blame myself for it, and I always will. I regret what I did. I was selfish and I wasn’t thinking. I was stupid, thinking I could—could own you in some fucked up kind of way. Testing your limits. I thought I had you wrapped around my finger. I thought I . . . I don’t know. I just thought I didn’t need you. But I do. More than you think. So please, just say something.”
He picks up his glass and downs whatever liquor he is drinking. When he’s done, he sets it down on the ground and then stabs the butt of his cigar on the concrete. He starts to push out of his chair, but I walk forward and stop him from getting up, pressing him down by the shoulders.
A million thoughts take over my mind, but I don’t let them consume me. He’s only wearing sweatpants, and I immediately go for what I want.
I lower to my knees to get between his legs, yanking his pants down as he tries to push me away. “Get off of me,” he growls.
But I don’t. I keep going, wrapping my fingers around the hem of his pants and tugging, tugging, until I see nothing but his briefs. He barely lifts his hips, making me work for it, eyes hard on me. I continue, focusing on the edge of his briefs, my heart beating faster.
When his thick, soft cock is free, I push up and wrap my hand around the base of it, bringing his tip to my lips and swirling my tongue around it. He sighs heavily, and when I look up, his eyes still hard and intense on mine.
I close my lips around him, my hand still wrapped and stroking. He’s getting harder by the second. When he’s as hard as a rock, I have to work harder to fit him in my mouth, but I don’t stop. I keep sucking and licking, dying for a taste of him. Needing him to want me again.
I gag around him when I take him too far and hear him curse beneath his breath. But still, I don’t think or stop. I just do.
I finally let him go when he’s fully erect, climbing on top of his lap. I’m not wearing any panties or shorts beneath this gown, so sliding down on his thick length, inch by slow inch, is easy to do. My lips part, a gasp spilling out when I feel him completely inside of me.
His nostrils flare, his fingers digging into the arms of his chair.
He doesn’t want me.
He does want me.
I can’t tell.
I don’t stop.
I ride his cock, lifting my hips up and down, circling and dipping, my fingernails sinking into his shoulders. During all of it, he’s staring right into my eyes, breathing harder, pretending he isn’t enjoying it. But by his small grunts of resistance and how he clenches his jaw, I can tell he does.
Then he’s gripping my ass in his hands and slamming into me from below, and I know for a fact he’s enjoying it. A clapping noise fills the air, the sound of his body slapping against mine, and I gasp out loud, holding onto him tighter, my arms wrapping around him.
He squeezes my plump ass in his hands, and I work my hips in sync with each thrust he provides. He’s filling me up more and more, making me wetter. Making me hungrier for him.
Not a word uttered.
Only breaths mingling, and grunts and moans flowing with the warm breeze.
I can see he wants to hold off and pull away when our eyes connect. His mouth lands on mine, and he sinks his teeth into my bottom lip, biting hard, so hard that I taste blood, but the pain is overpowered by the pleasure.
I force him back and ride him faster, feeling his cock hit the most tender of spots inside me.
His head falls backward as he gives himself to me, just what I wanted, and he curses beneath his breath in Spanish.
“Forgive me,” I breathe in his ear, kissing my way down to his neck. A groan bubbles deep in his throat. He opens his eyes, looking right at me. I feel myself on the brink, so close to tipping over. “Please,” I beg, kissing his lips while my pussy clenches his cock. “I’m so sorry.”
His large hands are still holding me tight, delivering full, hard strokes. His strokes are quick and hungry, like he can’t get enough, and I squeeze my arms around his neck, climaxing like never before from the power alone.
I come so hard around him, never wanting to let go—loving how full and swollen he feels inside me.
“Shit,” he groans, his body now stiff and tense. I feel him coming inside me, the warmth he provides, twitching every time I squeeze my walls around his sated cock.
I’m breathing hard, but when I pick my head up to look at him, he’s no longer looking at me. He’s slouched in the chair, staring ahead at the city. I wait for him to say something—wait for him to kiss or caress me.
He doesn’t. Instead he says, “Get off and go back to your room.”
I frown, slowly climbing off his lap and standing in front of him. “We should talk,” I breathe.
Avoiding my eyes, he stands up tall and pulls his briefs and pants up to his waist. He starts to walk past me, and I panic, shooting my arm out before he can get away.
“No!” I grip his wrist and yank him back around to face me. He glares down at the hand I have wrapped around him, like he wants to cut it off.
He grimaces. “Let go of me.”
“No.” I step toward him, my bottom lip trembling now. “Stop walking away from me! Face me like a fucking man, you coward!”
“Fuck you, Gianna!” He snatches his arm away, taking a small step closer to me.
“You did just fuck me, and I fucked you, and you loved it.”
He doesn’t blink. “You stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours. It’s that simple.”
“Draco, please,” I beg, staring up into his eyes. The tremble in my lips is worse now. I’m on the verge of tears. I hate this. “Just fucking talk to me. I can’t live like this! Your mom fucking hates me now! Everyone around here hates me!”
His glower is terrifying. I can tell he’s angry, but that he’s also disappointed. I can tell he wants to talk, but it’s not in his nature to talk about how he’s feeling.
This is El Jefe, the broody, dangerous man who has wanted to kill me on more than one occasion, and somehow I keep forgetting that.
This is the man who was ready to kill me when he first heard about me. This is a man who never shows mercy or pity, yet he has for me—repeatedly. He doesn’t know what the hell to do with me, and I don’t know if I should be upset or glad about it.
His jaw ticks, and his throat bobs as he finally pulls his gaze away, like he can’t even stand to look at me. “I have nothing to say to you, Gianna.”
“Yes, you do. I’m sure you want to yell at me—or beat me. You can do whatever you want to me—punish me for days if you have to—do anything you want, as long as you talk to me! As long as I know there’s a way through this! As long as you’re not still angry with me!”
He frowns when my last sentence hits him. “Why wouldn’t I be angry with you?” he barks, voice harder, colder. “You disobeyed me! You didn’t fucking listen! I told you that motherfucker was no good, but you went behind my back and set him free anyway! And look what happened. My cousin—my only cousin and the only real family I had left other than my mother—died because of you. Because that no-armed fucker heard all about our plans, knew every fucking thing we were doing, and you set him free like a perra estupida!” Stupid bitch.
He gets closer to my face, baring his teeth now. I hold his gaze, barely bre
athing. I don’t even blink. I can’t. I’m stuck…shocked.
“You want me to talk to you—tell you how I feel? Fine. I’ll tell you what I feel,” he seethes, holding my eyes, his fierce and dark. “I never should have trusted you. I should have left your spoiled ass in that cell to fucking rot. It would have spared me all of the trouble and would have prevented all of the mess that I now have to clean up because of you. I never should have tried to love you.”
My heart nearly fails me.
He stands up straight again and walks by without another word. I stand there like the pathetic, useless girl I am. Draco isn’t known for walking away from his problems. He handles them and even owns them, but this time he refuses.
I can’t even turn to see him go. Though it’s nearly eighty degrees outside, I’m frozen all over.
My eyes sting, and I feel the unsteady emotions thickening in my throat, my breaths becoming labored. There’s a squeeze in my chest, a tug around my heart, like someone has lassoed it, pulling with all their might.
It doesn’t take long for me to realize where the pull is coming from. With each step he takes away from me, the pull is getting stronger and stronger.
With those words, he’s ripped my heart right out of my chest and, because he’s so hurt and misguided, he doesn’t even know it.
7
GIANNA
I decide not to go back to my room afterward.
I sit in the living room instead, staring through the spotless glass in front of me.
The sun is just rising now. Dusk is calling.
Someone shuffles by and I look up, spotting Patanza who is fully clothed. She’s tugging a pair of fingerless black gloves over her hands. Her face has a little more color to it now, but when she looks up, her eyes are still just as dark and dangerous.
She gives me a brief look with a slight frown before walking to the door and leaving the house, the door clicking shut behind her.
