The Fall of Sin

by Bella J

  Copyright ©2020 by Bella J

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual living or dead person, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

  Acknowledgments

  Editor: Lori Whitwam

  Cover Design by Clarise Tan, CT Cover Creations

  Formatting: Pink Elephant Designs

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Other Novels by Bella J

  About the Author

  1

  Mila

  I glanced in the side mirror.

  Saint stood in the middle of the road with his hands behind his head still screaming, the sound of my name on his lips drowned out by the increasing distance between us.

  I was split wide open, and my soul bled the tears that slipped down my cheeks. The faster we drove away from him, the more my heart cracked, as if a part of it was left behind on the road and at his feet. There was a time when I would have done anything to get away from him. But now, as I watched the distance between us increase with every passing second, I had to fight the urge to stop the car and run back to him. Back to the monster who took me, broke me, and made me his. It had been minutes and already my skin grew hungry for his touch, my soul grieving the loss. When did this happen? When did the pain he inflicted turn into heartbreak? When did my need for freedom turn into a desire for submission?

  I inhaled deeply and took one final glance at his fading reflection before focusing on the road ahead—a road I didn’t know where it would lead to. The sound of a roaring engine and the speed of a sportscar took me farther and farther away from the man who started this nightmare. A nightmare that somehow crossed the border and settled as a dream only to be thrown back into the darkness. Now, here I was, unsure if I’d ever find the light again.

  Sharp turns, screeching tires, and the crank of shifting gears reminded me how dire this situation really was.

  It felt like we spent hours in the car, driving through the streets of Rome. The city wasn’t as beautiful as I thought it would be. The rich history depicted in every building and path did not appeal to me. I didn’t even want to stare out the window. Maybe it was the big black thing that pulsed in my chest, in that tiny space where my heart used to be, that had the power to make everything seem ugly and ruined. It made me see every crack, every broken piece, every speck of dirt instead of seeing the city’s beauty.

  “You okay over there?”

  I glanced down at my hands in my lap. “Yeah.”

  “I can tell you’re lying.”

  “I’m good. Really.” I pulled the pins from my hair, and the curls fell over my shoulders. “I’m just confused.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  I turned to face the driver—a familiar stranger.

  “So, you’re really Milana Katarina Torres?”

  “According to my DNA, yes.”

  “Fuck me. This is just…insane. Milana, back from the dead.”

  I glanced out the window. “That would be true if I was actually dead.”

  “To me, you were.”

  I tucked my curls behind my ear, subconsciously reaching for the tiny scar, a subtle reminder of what I’d survived through all the years. Saint was now another hardship I could add to that list. Only the scar he left wasn’t on my skin. It went far deeper than I could have imagined. I didn’t know when it happened, but somewhere between getting kidnapped, married, and fucked against a wall, the lines blurred for me. It was no longer black and white, a huge motherfucking gray area now screwing with my head…and my heart.

  “So, where have you been all these years?”

  “New York.”

  “America? Well, that explains the accent, then.”

  I smiled half-heartedly. “Yeah. An Italian girl with an American accent. Who knew?”

  The car swerved as we took a sharp turn, and I grabbed hold of the door handle. He looked in his rear-view mirror. “I don’t think they’re following us. Why did you run from him? Did he hurt you?”

  It was a simple question with so many complicated answers. Yes, he hurt me. Yes, I’d wanted to run from him so many times. Yet, as I sat there in the car thinking about all the things he had done to me, the emotional turmoil and the humiliation, a part of me wanted to go back to him. It was insane to even think that way, to entertain the thought of returning to that boat just to be in his presence again. I was a masochist. The gnawing ache in my gut confirmed that. Things had changed. I didn’t know how, where, or when. But it changed. His touch turned from vile and invading to exquisite and welcomed. And now I could no longer distinguish between right and wrong, wanted and unwanted.

  “Mila?” The voice plucked me to reality. “Did he hurt you? Did Saint—”

  “No. No, he didn’t.” I swallowed and looked down at my hands in my lap.

  “Good. That’s good, then.”

  A heavy silence settled, and I snuck a glance at him. Raven hair, short at the sides and back, longer curls at the top. With a strong jaw and deep voice, it was easy to mistake him for someone a little older. His skin was the same olive tone as mine—a blessed year-round tan. I could see some resemblance between us, but even though he was my brother, he was still a stranger to me, a fact I didn’t consider when I jumped into the car with him, desperate to get away from Saint.

  Could I trust him?

  Could I trust anyone?

  God. I was alone in a city I didn’t know. Alone and caught in the middle of what seemed like a power struggle between giants. Saint and his father. It was the loneliest feeling in the world thinking I had no reason to trust anyone.

  “Where are we going?”

  Raphael stretched his arms and pushed back in his seat. “Well, we can’t go back to my place since Saint is probably ransacking it as we speak. So, I think our best option is to stop at a hotel.” He looked my way. “And then just…talk.”

  I nodded with a hint of a smile. “We do have a lot to talk about.”

  “Yeah, we do. But for now, just try to relax. We’ll get this all sorted. I promise.”

  While Raphael made some calls, his fluent Italian words filled the car with its foreign appeal. Pity I didn’t understand the language even though the blood in my veins was pure Italian.

  I leaned against the window, people and streets passing by in a blur. A few weeks ago, I was nothing more than an orphan with abandonment issues and a few scars from the occasional abuse by psychotic foster parents. I was Mila Black. A nobody. But now…now I was Milana Katarina Torres—or rather, Russo. I was a woman caught in a war I knew nothing about. A daughter and a sister to people I didn’t know. There was a time in my life when I could predict my every step, and every direction I would go. But that was no longer the case. I had no idea what would happen from one minute to the next. How my life would change going from one moment to the other. It was unnerving, and I had nothing but unease prickling down the back of my neck.

  Raphael made a sharp turn to the right and drove into an underground parking area. It took my ey
es a second to adjust from the summer glow outside to the sudden shadow of concrete that surrounded us.

  He pulled into a parking space, tires screeching to a halt, and switched off the ignition. “We’re taking the back entrance. Knowing Russo, that bastard has eyes and ears everywhere.”

  There was a sudden surge of nostalgia that swept through my gut. It reminded me of when Saint had rushed me from the hotel back in New York, taking me through the kitchen and back exit. He was right. I was the world’s best kept secret, and obviously, I still was.

  Raphael turned to face me. “I think for now, until we have this all figured out, we shouldn’t go around telling people who you are. Not just yet. You okay with that?”

  “I don’t even know who I am anymore, so yes. I’m more than okay with that.”

  “Good. Don’t get out until I open the door for you.” Raphael got out, and I watched as he rounded the car. Back in New York, a guy his age would be wearing designer jeans and some or other branded t-shirt. Not a black suit and a white dress shirt and open collar.

  The passenger side door opened, and I hopped out, my heels clicking on the concrete.

  “Come on.” Raphael grabbed my hand, and I was surprised to find his touch cold through the summer heat that blazed down. I followed him to a back door where a man stood waiting for us.

  “Raphael,” he greeted politely. “Second floor, room eighteen.”

  “Thanks, man. I owe you one.”

  We walked through the laundry room, women buzzing around washing, drying, and folding linen. The heavy scent of laundry detergent and overbearing smell of fabric softener assaulted my nostrils. Tumble dryers and washing machines created a chaotic noise, and the steam from the irons made it almost impossible to breathe.

  Raphael pushed open the metal door of the fire escape, and we rushed up two flights of stairs. His desperation to get me out of sight was evident in the way he clutched my hand tightly—almost too tightly. The click of my heels resounded around us. It was so loud I contemplated taking them off so I could sprint the rest of the way barefoot.

  Room eighteen was the first door on our right when we got to the second floor. A bellboy waited for us and handed Raphael the key card.

  Raphael simply nodded and slid the card through the lock and opened the door. We were so rushed I only managed to take a breath when I heard the door slam shut behind us.

  “You okay?” Raphael stepped closer, his eyes wide with worry.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “Then why are you crying?”

  “I’m no—” I felt the tear trickle down my cheek, unaware of how my emotion took control. “I’m okay, really.” I wiped at the tear with the back of my hand. “Just a little overwhelmed.” The large corner couch beckoned me, and I sat down. My feet hurt, my body was exhausted, and my mind kept spinning in a thousand different directions at once.

  No longer caring about keeping up appearances, I pulled the shoes from my feet and rubbed my heels. I cursed the pencil skirt that clung to my every curve and wished for a pair of tights and an oversized t-shirt so I could just cuddle into a ball and be comfortable in my misery.

  “Drink?” Raphael held a bottle of vodka in his hand. Up until now, I tried to remain level-headed and sober. But if there ever was a time I needed alcohol to take the edge off, it was now.

  “Will you assume I’m an alcoholic if I asked for a double?”

  Raphael lifted a brow. “After the morning we’ve had, I’ll assume you have the emotional capacity of a brick if you didn’t.”

  “That’s awesome, then.”

  I sighed and continued to rub my achy feet.

  My gaze drifted around the hotel suite. It wasn’t nearly as big and lavish as the penthouse suite back in New York, the one where I met Saint. It was an open-plan suite, and the only thing separating the bedroom from the living room was two four-panel room dividers. Gold colored curtains draped down the framed windows which allowed the perfect view over the city of Rome. The light beige filigree wallpaper added a vintage touch to the suite, the posh couches inviting and comfortable.

  The sound of clinking ice cubes reminded me of the summer heat that beamed down outside, and I was thankful for the comfort of a well-air-conditioned room.

  Raphael handed me a glass and settled on the couch across from me. “All this time you were alive and half a world away. My sister.” His voice rang with disbelief, and he leaned back into the couch, pushing a hand through his hair. “Incredible. Non ci posso credere.”

  I pressed my lips in a thin line. “I don’t understand—”

  “You don’t speak Italian?”

  I shook my head.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m just…this is just unbelievable. I can’t wrap my head around it.”

  “It’s been weeks since I found out, and I’m still trying to make sense of it all.”

  Raphael sat up. “So, Saint just found you in New York and brought you here?”

  “You could say that.” There was still no way of knowing who I could trust, and it made me hesitant to share too much. Sure, I could tell Raphael all about how Saint killed Brad and kidnapped me, then forced me to marry him. I could give him every sordid detail of my ordeal ever since Saint catapulted into my life and threw everything off-kilter. But I’d learned in the past never to play all your cards at once. Never do something when you’re not one hundred percent sure—which was why I chose not to divulge too many details right off the bat.

  “Why, though? I can’t help but think his timing was too perfect.” Raphael took a sip from his drink. “It’s as if he waited for the exact moment right before the deal between his father and me got signed.”

  “I don’t—”

  His phone started ringing, and he pulled it out of his jacket pocket and answered. “Yeah.” He looked at me. “She’s with me. No, there’s no sign of him.” He stroked his jaw with his fingers. “Yeah, I’ll send it through now.” He hung up and placed his phone on the coffee table in front of us.

  “Who was that?” I shifted in my seat.

  “Mr. Russo.”

  I narrowed my eyes, and Raphael must have noticed the confused look on my face.

  “He’s just as confused as I am. It’s safe to say everyone is shocked.”

  I settled a little. “Have you…” I swallowed. “Does our mom know I’m with you?”

  Raphael diverted his gaze, his shoulders squared as if he steeled himself. “No. Not yet. I wanted us to have some time to talk first. I don’t want to upset her.”

  “And knowing about me being here with you would upset her?”

  “No. I don’t know. Maybe.” He leaned back with his arms behind his neck. “This is all still surreal. I guess I just want some time to get this all figured out in my head before I tell her. Ever since my father,” he cleared his throat, “our father passed away, she’s been lost without him. I don’t want to upset her more than she already is.”

  What he said kind of made sense, but it hurt to think that knowing about me, knowing I was here and this close to her, would upset her.

  Maybe I was being overly sensitive and reading too much into what probably was a son’s genuine concern for his mother. Just like he was a stranger to me, I was a stranger to him—to her.

  “I understand,” I replied with a forced smile. “It’s a lot to take in.”

  “Yes, it is. What I don’t understand is…you are married to Saint, right?”

  With a lump in my throat and a twisted gut, I nodded.

  “Why would you run from your husband? What would have happened if I didn’t drive down that road and spot you running away from him?”

  I looked down at the glass in my hand and absentmindedly drew circles around the rim. “It’s complicated.” It wasn’t a lie. The answer wasn’t simple, and the truth wasn’t a mere black and white statement. There were so many gray areas I was starting to think my world no longer had any color.

  “Does that complication have anything to do with
the ten percent loophole in my father’s will?”

  I glanced up at him from under my lashes, not sure if it was hostility or confusion I heard when he referred to his father’s will. Not ours. His. His father. Maybe I shouldn’t read too much into his words. This was as big a shock for him as it was for me. But I was still hesitant to trust him and to say too much. One would think I’d be screaming from the rooftops about how one of Italy’s wealthiest men kidnapped me and brought me here. Instead, here I was, counting my words because I didn’t want anyone to know. At least not yet.

  Ice clinked as I put my glass on the coffee table in front of me. “I know Saint owns shares in the company. And I know he wants more.”

  “Is that why he married you? To get his hands on your ten percent?”

  Silence settled, and I bit my lip as I pondered the lie. “No.”

  He opened his mouth just as someone knocked. Raphael got up and walked to the door as if he already knew who it was.

  My stomach coiled, and my lungs forgot to exhale the last breath I took. I didn’t know who I expected it to be, but when Mr. Russo walked in with two other men, I swallowed hard and knew things were about to take another turn into the unknown.

  2

  Mila

  “Miss Torres,” he started, “or is it Mrs. Russo now?” His smile was that of a predator—deceivingly kind with deadly intentions.

  I got up on my feet. “You can call me Mila.”

  Mr. Russo sat on the couch across from me, leaning back as if he owned the place. The gold chain around his neck did what it was supposed to—show the world his wealth with a shiny glint.

  His gaze settled on me. “What did my son offer you?”