The Dirty Dozen: Damsel Edition

by Kay Maree

  He’s baiting me. I practically bite through my bottom lip in my efforts to not give him the response he’s looking for. From his position in front of me, my grandpa watches me struggle with a smirk on his chiselled face.

  “Like I said, smart.”

  “What do you want?” With a flick of his head, he orders his men to stand down. They remove their guns from the back of my head, and I allow my arms to settle loosely at my sides. Eyeballing the annoying man in front of me, I shake my head and grind out from between gritted teeth, “Your welcome is quickly running out. Why don’t you do us both a favour and tell me what you want? I’m sure once that’s settled, you’ll scuttle back off to your mansion and me and my sister can go back to barely surviving.”

  He reaches out to touch my cheek. I step away before he can. Hurt clouds his dark eyes, then it clears and he’s back to looking like the ruthless as fuck mob boss he is. “I have it on good authority that an Imbruglia is attending your little library reopening. I want your allegiance to my name, and I want your skills used to keep them here on my turf until I’m free to dispose of them.”

  I snort. “Yeah, nah. Fuck that, old man.”

  “I don’t recall giving you a choice.”

  Scratching my eyebrow, I narrow my eyes and search him for clues. The only thing I find is his raging to desire to get his hands on the enemy stupid enough to slip into his midst. “First up, explain to me why you want the allegiance of your illegitimate grandson?”

  “You’ve never been illegitimate,” he replies, smoothly. “I disowned Gio and threw him out with his whore, not you. Never you.”

  Motioning around my shitty neighbourhood, I smirk. “Coulda fooled me. Pretty sure me and Maria were turfed out with them. If that’s not being disowned, I don’t know what is.”

  “I was biding my time. The agreement was that you stayed with your mother until you turned twenty-five. She was to build you up. Make you strong enough to carry my name. Unfortunately, things have changed, and I’ve come to collect a little early. Your mother is amendable, of course. She’s being heartily rewarded for your early release.”

  A storm builds within me. Lightening bolts of anger. Thundering claps of fear. Rumbling waves of confusion. Rain showers of sorrow. It all sweeps through me like a Category Five cyclone. I feel my brain whirling around in my head, bouncing off my skull, and rattling enough sense into me to see the truth.

  Finally, I understand why Mama fought my father every time he tried to kick me out. She was on a promise from Satan himself. I always knew she had a secret. I’d thought it was the heroin. Turns out she’s owned by a devil I didn’t see coming.

  I’d bet my last dollar Papa didn’t see this on the horizon either.

  The father he sold out has sold him out in return.

  “What deal did you make for Maria?”

  A Cheshire Cat grin splits his face. “Nothing. She’s an unexpected bonus.”

  I’m being pounded my unanswered questions. Why? How? When? There’s too many to count so I settle on the two that are hitting me hardest.

  “Why hide me away for all these years? Surely, it would’ve suited you better to raise me yourself?”

  “Do you know what happened to your Uncle Marco? Your cousin, Theo? Your nephew, Mario?”

  I shake my head.

  “They died. My enemies came for me through them. I kept you hidden to keep you safe. You’re my secret weapon, son.”

  The true weight of his explanation makes my knees buckle. I fall to the ground. Jamming my hands on top of my head, I lift my face to the sun and roar. The sound that leaves me is full of pain and fury. All this time, I believed I was nothing. Unwanted. Put on earth to save my little sister.

  The real reason is worse.

  I’m cannon fodder.

  Born into a war I didn’t start.

  Doomed to die for a sin I never committed.

  Predestined to fail the sister I swore to protect.

  “Angelo.” My grandfather lays his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t despair. I’m not sending you to war without a reward. Your education starts now.”

  Lowering my head into my hands, I peer at the cracked concrete beneath me through my fingers. The warm weight of his hand on my shoulder soothes and his words break through the dark haze that’s holding me hostage.

  “What education?” I ask.

  “I’m going to teach you how to be me.”

  Chapter Six

  Jennifer

  “You’re looking lovely tonight.”

  My father’s compliment hangs in the air while I search his face for clues. On the surface he looks calm and steady, yet floating beneath his cultured veneer, I spot the signs of a man who’s not quite sure if he’s making the right choice.

  “Dad?” I say once my mother has entered the formal dining room to check on the arrangements for our upcoming private dinner. “I need to speak to you. Alone.”

  He looks past me, staring at something in the distance. Indecision flows from him until the main doors open and the voices of our guests fill the room. Dad straightens his shoulders, then brings his gaze back to meet mine.

  “I know what you want to talk about, however it’s too late. What’s done is done,” he murmurs in a hushed tone. Frowning, I go to speak, but he cuts me off. “I hope you’ll say yes tonight. Anything less would be unacceptable.”

  “Please,” I plead.

  My father’s expression turns blank. When he walks around me to greet Ambassador McMahon, his wife, and Desmond, I take hold of his arm.

  Dad shakes me off and growls, “Get yourself together, Jennifer. You’re a DeLuca and that comes with a price. I expect your obedience. Do not embarrass me.”

  Shock ricochets through me. He’s deadly serious. It doesn’t matter what I thought I saw before the McMahon’s arrived. My father is going to force this marriage or find a way to punish me for disappointing him.

  Now I know how my mother feels.

  Out-of-control yet oddly caged.

  It’s an unenviable position to be in.

  Someone coughs. Introductions ensue. My mother emerges from the dining room to commence her hostess duties. This all happens around me without any input from me. It feels like an out of body experience, viewing these people from above while I judge myself for my weakness. Any other girl would fight back.

  Not me.

  Defiance has never been in my nature—my secret trip to the city on Friday, notwithstanding.

  My hands shake as I smooth down my hair. It doesn’t buy me enough time to steady myself, so I pretend to adjust my already perfect dress. The white taffeta is virginal in design and feel. I’m covered from neck to toe, complete with sheer long sleeves and a full-length, lace trimmed skirt. It’s modern-day, Gone with the Wind-esque attire that would be out of place anywhere other than our dining room. It’s also something that didn’t bother me until Desmond teased me about it two days ago.

  “You’re looking…,” Desmond trails off as he sweeps his gaze over me. His lips twitch and his eyes fill with mirth. “Stifled.”

  “Haha, funny.” I roll my eyes at him and accept his arm when he extends it to me. He leads me in the formal dining room behind our parents and Relief courses through me at the easy-going atmosphere between us, especially after our altercation on Friday morning. I’ve spent the past two days worrying about tonight. Now, I’m not sure what I was worried about. Desmond has proven the lesser of two evils. “It’s good to see you.”

  My raw honesty surprises him as much as it does me. “Really? I was expecting to be snubbed. We didn’t end on the best of terms last week.”

  He waves away the server who moves forward to pull out my chair for me. Once I’m settled in on the plush seat, Desmond lays his hands on my shoulders and bends down to my ear.

  “I assume this uncustomary politeness means you’re accepting my offer?”

  A shiver runs the length of my spine when his warm
breath washes over my shoulder.

  “You are a bad man,” I murmur, low enough for only the pair of us to hear. His grip tightens to the point of pain. I remain relaxed in his hold and lean back into him. “However, I’ve decided that I’d very much like for you to be my bad man. Consider this my agreement to your terms. Because no matter how tawdry I find them and you, your offer beats remaining in this mansion with my father, hands down.”

  The rattle of cutlery alerts me to our audience. I swallow, then tilt my head to the side and kiss Desmond’s smoothly shaven cheek. My movement doesn’t go unnoticed by my father. He surreptitiously inclines his head with approval. Conversely, my mother slops water onto the silken tablecloth when she takes a drink from her tumbler. She seems shaken, peering back and forth between Dad and me with worry etched on her face.

  “Wise choice,” Desmond drawls. He takes his seat next to me, then directs his attention at my mother. “The table looks divine. I can’t wait to taste the first course.”

  His jovial, relaxed tone brings the dinner party alive. Our father’s begin talking business while our mother’s chat about whatever it is that keeps them occupied during the day. I stare at my gold rimmed dining plate and then at the expensive art decorating the walls. Anything is better than witnessing the triumph that must light up the eyes of the three devious men sharing the table with me.

  “You’re looking beautiful tonight, Jen,” Desmond announces. Below the tablecloth, he bunches my skirt into my lap. “I swear you blossom a little more every day.”

  “Thank you. You’re looking quite dashing yourself.” My response is automatic. The politeness is so engrained I don’t need to think about it. “Have you been playing tennis lately?”

  The question seems innocuous on the surface, although Desmond and I know what I’m referring to. It’s my way of subtly warning him to leave me alone—to remember our agreement—since the last time our families met, he’d cornered me in the changerooms by our tennis court. I’d thought my hiding spot was ingenious until Desmond found me. I’d discovered that there was only one way out.

  The only reason I’d escaped his pawing was pure luck.

  My mother had decided to show Mrs. McMahon the new turfed she’s had laid. The interruption had been enough for me to make my excuses to retire to my bedroom suite with a headache.

  “Most definitely,” he replies with a grin. His hand creeps under my skirt and slides along my thigh until he’s cupping my mound. “I’ve been working on my return of serve. Haven’t I, Dad?”

  By drawing everyone’s attention to his father, he buys himself enough time whisper to me, “As your fiancé, I’m entitled to touch the merchandise.”

  As Mr. McMahon drones one about tennis, I slip both hands beneath the table and seize hold of his wrist. Digging my fingernails into his skin, I tug his arm away from me. Desmond chuckles, then allows me to move his hand back to his own lap.

  “We’re not engaged yet. And, if you remember you promised me two weeks to myself first. I expect you to honour your side of our bargain if I’m expected to uphold mine.” My hissing rebuke is drowned out by my father loudly requesting a refill of his wine glass. Gesturing at my lower body, I continue, “Nothing’s changed in two days. Still an icky, needy virgin. I’ll get back to you when that’s been dealt with.”

  Desmond dabs his lips with his napkin. He locks eyes with me, then throws his head back and laughs. I resist the temptation to scrunch down in my seat when four other sets of eyes look our way.

  “Sorry,” Desmond crows. He slaps the table before pushing his seat out and standing. “I can’t wait any longer. This needs to be set in motion before I burst from the anticipation.”

  My face heats, a burning wave of embarrassment making its way through me when I realise what he’s more than humouring me. He’s pulling my objections apart and raining them down over my head like confetti. I know when I’m beat. With my hands clasped in my lap, I look down at the floor and pray for it to open up and swallow me.

  My reprieve is abruptly aborted. Pulling my chair like it’s on wheels, Desmond shifts me away from the dining table and turns me to face him. After tugging a black velvet box from his inside jacket pocket, he kneels down in front of me.

  “Jennifer Grace DeLuca.” The box is snapped open to reveal a beautiful—and oversized—diamond ring. Anticipation takes hold of the dining room. I pretend to be shocked, glancing up at his with wide eyes, even though I know exactly what he’s doing. “I know you’re young. I know we have a way to go before we truly know each other. I also know that our parents have been pushing this. What I don’t know is if you can put aside all this and take a chance on me.”

  As proposal’s go, it’s been good so far. I glance around the room and find our parents with varying degrees of support colouring their expressions. From our father’s who appear to be willing me to accept with their eyes to Desmond’s mother who is sniffing back tears of joy to my mum. She’s sitting ramrod straight in here chair with a look of horror growing in her eyes as she searches my face and sees that I’m going to say yes.

  “Jen,” Desmond continues. “Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

  Blocking out everything but the voice in my head, I grapple with my options. My father has made it clear what he wants. Mum will never stand up to him if I go against his wishes. If the past is an accurate predictor of the future, Grandpa will side with Dad as well. Marrying Desmond is likely to be my only chance to get out of this house without losing the life I’ve known since birth.

  It’s shallow, it’s self-absorbed, it’s narcissistic, but that’s the parameters I’m using to make my decision. I’m nearly nineteen and I’m ready to live under my terms.

  Within reason.

  “Yes.”

  Desmond grins. He slides the engagement ring on my finger and everyone cheers. Dropping to both knees, he pushes my skirt up to mid-thigh, then moves between my legs and pulls me into his embrace. For a couple of seconds, my arms hang at my side until Desmond takes control. He grabs one wrist and pulls my arm around his neck. I understand what he wants so I drape my other hand across his shoulders. When he kisses me, I’m ready for him. I keep my lips pressed firmly together and take comfort in thwarting his efforts.

  “Two weeks,” he mutters against my impenetrable mouth. “Two weeks and you’ll let me in without a fight.”

  My father clears his throat. I move out of Desmond clutches, but he stops me. Placing his forehead against mine, he takes hold of my chin and forces me to look at him.

  “Say it, Jen… two weeks.”

  I swallow down the lump in my throat. There’s no point prolonging the inevitable—we both know I’m in no position to continue resisting.

  “Two weeks. Okay? Now leave me alone until then.”

  He nods and lets me go. Both of our mother’s surge forward. They ooh and aah over the ring. Possible dates and locations are thrown around. When they retreat far enough for me to draw in a full breath, I search for my dad. He’s resting back in his chair at the head of the table, arms over his chest, surveying the room like a conquering King while he listens to Desmond and his dad.

  Whatever deal my engagement sealed must be big.

  His shit-eating grin could be seen from the moon.

  My perusal is interrupted when the head chef ducks into the room. He whispers something to my mum. She smiles and nods, then stands and addresses the room.

  “We should all take our seats. The first course is ready,” she announces in her formal hostess voice. As everyone moves back to their chairs, Mum glances my way. Her eyes are tight when she offers me a half-smile and says, “Why don’t you sit by me, Jenny? I don’t know how much longer I’m going to have you home now you’re engaged.”

  “Speaking of time together,” Desmond interjects. My heart jumps into my throat and I hold my breath. Is he going to give me an alibi or not? It’s hard to tell with him. “Jen and I spoke last week, and
we want the first two weeks of our engagement by ourselves. I’ve arranged a leave of absence from work and accommodation for us.”

  Mum stifles a gasp, then she asks, “Alone?”

  Desmond grins, “Separate rooms, of course.”

  Sitting back in my seat, I watch the interplay between our parents. Mine are shocked at his brazen suggestion. Desmond’s are completely on board. His father, in particular, doesn’t seem surprised by his request.

  Eventually, they all turn to me.

  “What do you say?” Dad inquires. “Are you happy to spend the next fortnight with Desmond?”

  I try to read Desmond’s face to see if I’m walking into a trap. His face is devoid of emotion and he seems to be waiting for my answer with as much anticipation as our parents.

  The time has come to choose if I’m all in with Desmond McMahon.

  Hedging my bets isn’t going to get me free of my father’s indomitable will.

  Here’s hoping I’m not jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire.

  “As Desmond said earlier, we talked about this and we both decided that we wanted two weeks to ourselves, away from everyone and everything, before the engagement is officially announced. Since we haven’t spent as much time together as a normal couple, I believe it’s important to make sure we’re a good fit prior to going public with our relationship.”

  “Normal,” Desmond’s father interjects. “There’s nothing normal about our families.”

  “I know.” I do my best not to roll my eyes at his pedantic response. “However, that doesn’t change the point I’m making.”

  Mr. McMahon scoffs. I ignore him. Holding my hand out to Desmond, I wait until he comes to stand at my side, then I address our parents as a unit.

  “Please respect our wishes. I believe we’ve earned that, at least.”

  A murmur of consensus echoes around the room. Mum sends me a hurt look when I allow Desmond to lead me around the table to the seat next to him. As the servers converge on the dining room to lay our first dish in front of us, my fiancé intertwines his fingers with mine and pulls me closer to him.