The Fall of Sin

by Bella J

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. What did my son offer you?”

  I sat down on the couch and narrowed my eyes. “I’m not sure what you’re implying.”

  “I’m not implying anything. I’m asking you a direct question.”

  “A direct question that gives me the impression you think your son bought me.”

  “Didn’t he?”

  “Oh, my God.” I crossed my arms. “Now I see where he gets it from,” I mumbled to myself.

  “Mila,” Raphael took a seat next to me, “we’re trying to help.”

  “Why?” I looked back at Mr. Russo. “Why on Earth would you want to help me? You don’t even know me.”

  Mr. Russo pulled a cigar from his jacket pocket, and I glanced at the no-smoking sign on the back of the door.

  “Do you know my son, Mila?’

  I shifted in my seat. “I married him.”

  “Willingly?”

  His question took me by surprise, and my lack of a witty answer had me clenching my jaw.

  A puff of smoke escaped his mouth as he pulled the cigar from his lips. “I’m assuming you know about the debt your family owed ours.”

  “What debt?” Raphael chimed in.

  Mr. Russo grinned. “I’m assuming by the look on your face you know what I’m talking about, Mila. Why don’t you enlighten your brother?”

  An uncomfortable weight settled in my gut, and I knew I had to tread lightly with this man. The look on his face, his entire demeanor, spelled nothing but trouble.

  I tucked a loose curl behind my ear. “I think I’d like to hear your version of the story, Mr. Russo.”

  A dark brow arched, his grin turning into an arrogant smirk. “I can see why he likes you.”

  “I can see why he doesn’t like you.”

  His lips curled. “What makes you think my son doesn’t like me?”

  “I could—”

  “Okay,” Raphael interjected, “I think we’re getting off topic here. Let’s go back to the part where one of you enlightens me about this debt you mentioned.”

  Mr. Russo didn’t take his eyes off me. “To put it simply, Raphael, years ago, a firstborn Torres girl was promised to our family. As fate would have it, there hasn’t been a firstborn girl in your family until,” he gestured toward me, “Mila was born.”

  “What was the debt for?”

  “Money, of course,” Mr. Russo answered simply with a shrug. “Your great grandfather needed money for his company. And my grandfather—bless his kind heart—was generous enough to give him the money he needed. So, a mutual agreement was made to merge our families with having a firstborn Russo son marry a firstborn Torres girl.”

  “And when I was born, my parents faked my death and shipped me halfway across the world to make sure that didn’t happen.” I continued his story, adding a little animosity to my tone. There was something about Saint’s dad that had me dissecting every word, every movement—no matter how subtle—to try to figure out what game he was playing. The amused grin and hard look in his eyes made it clear he was playing a game he had no intention of losing.

  I didn’t trust him. Whether it was an orphan’s instinct, or the disposition of a woman surrounded by strangers, I had the distinct feeling the old man sitting across from me had nothing but ill intentions.

  “You know,” Mr. Russo started, “I have no idea why your parents went through all that trouble to hide you from our family. I’m sure you had a lot of abandonment issues growing up as an orphan.” The crooked smile on his face was devoid of any sympathy.

  I refused to let him rattle me. “I’m sure they chose the lesser evil.”

  “Did they, though? Was tearing you from your family, denying you your birthright as a Torres heir really the lesser evil compared to marrying my son?” He snorted, lips curved in an amused grin. “I suppose one could say it was all for nothing since you ended up marrying my son anyway. Would you call that fate, Mila? Destiny, perhaps.”

  I refused to answer or react in any way. It was as if he wanted to provoke me, to get me to say things I was determined to keep to myself. It only took me ten minutes in this man’s presence to figure out why Saint had reacted so hostilely toward his dad in that boardroom. They were like two titans going at each other’s throats—a war between gods.

  “What did you do to him?” I glared at the old man. “Why does he hate you so much?”

  The stoic look on his face faltered for a split second, and the arrogance he carried so well slipped for a single moment. If I wasn’t dissecting his expressions since he walked in here, I would have missed it.

  Wrinkles at the corners of his mouth and eyes giving away his age. “My son doesn’t hate me. He hates the fact that he can’t be me.”

  “I don’t think that’s it.”

  “I assure you it is. Marcello has mourned the death of his mother for the last eighteen years. He hates the fact that I was strong enough to move on, yet he is unable to do so.”

  A puzzle slipped into place, and I wanted to ask questions so I could complete the image, get a little insight into Saint’s mind. But asking questions would only put me at a disadvantage with Mr. Russo, which I didn’t want. Not right now.

  “Anyway,” he sat up and dropped the stub of his cigar into Raphael’s empty glass, “I brought my lawyers with me.” He indicated to the two men standing behind him. “All we need from you is a statement that says Marcello forced you to marry him and sign over your shares to him. We can get this marriage between you and my son annulled by sundown.”

  My stomach turned. The prickle of warning in the back of my neck had the hair on my body stand up with chills. I glanced from him to Raphael, who merely nodded in agreement with Mr. Russo. “It’s the only way to sort out this mess.”

  I didn’t react.

  “Mila,” Raphael urged and took my hand, an action that made me uncomfortable, “you’re scared of him. I know that. Otherwise, why would you have run from him? Mr. Russo can make sure he never bothers you again. And once this is all sorted out, we can start over—you can start over with your rightful family.” He squeezed my hand, and my heart bled inside my chest, the thought of seeing my mother crushing me with every dream I had ever had of being reunited with her. In that moment, I was that young girl again—the orphan who got locked in a closet with nothing but the darkness and thoughts of what her real mother was like to keep her company. There was no way I could count the nights I spent on a filthy mattress thinking about her, wondering what she looked like. Whether I had her eyes, her nose, her smile. Now, here I was, being offered the chance to have a little orphan’s dreams come true. But I couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that not everyone here had my best interest at heart.

  I looked at Raphael, the resemblance between us becoming clearer the more time we spent in each other’s company. “You were about to sell your shares.”

  He nodded without a moment’s hesitation. “I’ve never had an interest in the shipping business. I would only run that company into the ground if I had to take my father’s place. Mr. Russo has built himself quite a logistical empire. I can’t think of anyone better to run my father’s company than him.”

  Mr. Russo cleared his throat. “Although I appreciate the vote of confidence, Raphael, I’m afraid that without Mila’s ten percent—which we all initially thought was yours—I’m no longer interested in buying your shares. It would make me a foolish businessman to buy into a company when my enemy, in this case my own flesh and blood, owns the majority shares.”

  “What?” Raphael jumped to his feet. “We had a deal.”

  “Indeed, we had. But without Mila’s ten percent, that deal is no longer on the table.” He gave me a pointed stare. “Unless, of course, we can prove Mila was coerced into marrying my son and giving him her shares. That way, she will regain her shares, and we can negotiate a new deal. All three of us.”

  The tension in the room was like a rubber band about to snap at any second. Frustration
rolled off Raphael, and arrogance radiated from Mr. Russo, and all the while I sat right in the middle of it. I was back in that goddamn boardroom with Saint and his father, hoarding all the heightened emotions. Again, I felt like running with an overwhelming need to escape.

  “We already have all the documents we need to sort out this entire mess with my son.” Mr. Russo snapped his fingers, and one of the men who stood behind him laid a briefcase on the dining table to our left. The lock latch snapped as he opened his briefcase, followed by the scratching noise of papers. A lot of fucking papers. A pen was shoved into my hand, and the man oddly reminded me of a robot. No emotion. No expression. Just business. Artificial intelligence created to assist the wealthy in becoming even wealthier.

  I held my hand in front of my mouth and cleared my throat. “You seem real convinced Saint forced me to marry him.”

  “Did he not?” Mr. Russo challenged. Even though it was the truth, I found it odd that he made this correct assumption right off the bat.

  In a bid to regain some self-assurance, I took a sip of vodka and crossed my legs while forcing my shoulders to square with confidence. Men like Mr. Russo thrived on intimidating others, it was easy to see. It made me determined not to give him any reason to think he unsettled me.

  “Mr. Russo, you are making quite the assumption by thinking I’d share my personal matters with you, a man I don’t even know. And you are quite sure about the fact that even if I did give you a statement regarding my marriage to your son, I’ll be willing to sell my ten percent shares to you.”

  He smiled, but it wasn’t a warm smile that reminded you of kindness and compassion. It was as cold as the Arctic sea, and as deadly as the darkness below it. “Let’s be honest, here, shall we?” He shifted to the edge of his seat, elbows placed on his knees. “You’re in a strange country and caught in the middle of a family feud that has been raging for years. You are a pawn in my son’s game, nothing more. You’ve lived your entire life off other people’s scraps and welfare, so go on and tell me you don’t have a price.” He leaned forward, menace painted over every line on his face. “Everyone has a price, Mila. Some are just a little greedier than others. But you, I don’t think you’ll be too greedy since you’ve known nothing but poverty. So, give me your price.”

  I’d be lying if I said he didn’t intimidate me in the slightest. But I wasn’t about to cower in my seat and wish for the Earth to swallow me up. “You’re right,” I stated. “I have lived a poverty-stricken life. I know what it’s like to have nothing but your dignity. And that is my price, Mr. Russo.” I got to my feet. “My dignity. And not even you possess the kind of wealth to afford that.”

  His smile turned into a malicious grin, a smirk that could crack through the walls of hell. “You’ve only been a Torres for three seconds, and already you think you have what it takes to go against me? That has always been the problem with your family—your pride.”

  “I can’t speak for a family I’ve never known. I’ve only been in your presence for three minutes, and already I know there is no way in hell I’ll give you my ten percent shares. And not for any other reason but the mere fact that you want it so badly.”

  He shot to his feet, nostrils flaring and eyes blazing like the fiery pits of Hades. “Do not take me on, little girl.”

  I raised my chin. “As you put it, I’m stuck in the middle of all this, and I don’t give a crap about whatever is going on between you and your son. But I’ll be damned if I allow any of you to drag me deeper into this shit-fest. The farther I get away from all of you, the better.”

  “Then give me what I want, and we’ll be out of your hair for good.”

  I let out a laugh. “Oh, my God. That’s all I’ve been hearing ever since this fucking nightmare started. ‘Give me what I want.’ You two sound so much alike, it’s uncanny.”

  “Mila, stop,” Raphael warned. “This has gone far enough.”

  Without even blinking, I kept my glare pinned on the old man in front of me. Suddenly, the expensive suit he wore did nothing to hide the ugliness of a greedy son of a bitch.

  Mr. Russo maintained a blank expression. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you a day or two to think about it.” He glanced at Raphael. “Until she’s made a decision, our deal is off the table.”

  Without sparing me a final glance, he stomped out of the suite, his little robots following him like worker bees flying after their queen. When he opened the door, I spotted two more men standing outside like guard dogs drooling for a fight. This entire situation had blown up into something bigger than I ever could have anticipated. And now that I was away from Saint, confronted by the man who seemed to be the root cause of Saint’s questionable acts, I was no longer sure whether running from him was the best decision I’d made so far.

  The door slammed shut, and Raphael wasted no time in confronting me. “What the hell did you just do?”

  I spun to face him. “I pissed off an old man with a shitty attitude, that’s what I did.”

  “Do you have any idea how rich that old man is?”

  “I don’t care.” I grabbed my glass and emptied it, the vodka burning as it settled in my stomach.

  “Well, I do. You could have named your price, and he would have paid it.”

  “Like I said, I’m not for sale.”

  “Yet you had your price for marrying Saint.”

  If it wasn’t for the fact that I just discovered a few hours ago the young man in front of me was my brother, I would have slapped him in the face. “You don’t know anything about what happened between Saint and me.”

  “But you don’t deny it?”

  “Deny what?”

  Raphael stepped closer. “That you had your price with Saint.”

  I bit my lip. There were so many lies I could tell, curses I could yell in order to get me out of this very conversation that had too much truth in it for my liking. Raphael was right; I did have my price with Saint. I did bargain with him, and in the end shook hands with the devil to finalize our deal. There was a price tag placed on our arrangement. The orphanage. That was my price, and even though it was for a noble cause, I now realized Mr. Russo was right. Everyone had a price.

  Even me.

  “Mila, you need to reconsider Mr. Russo’s option,” Raphael urged.

  “Can’t you see that man is a snake?”

  “I don’t care,” he replied, exasperated. “I honestly don’t give a fuck. I just want to sell my shares, get the money, and do what I want to do, and not something my father ordered me to do in his fucking will.”

  I sucked my bottom lip into my mouth and settled my hands on my hips. “Your father. Your father.”

  He rubbed his temples, his eyes closed. “Yeah.”

  “Have you noticed that ever since I got into your car you’ve been referring to our parents as your mom and your father?”

  “So?”

  I crossed my arms. “It’s our parents, Raphael. Our mom. Our father.”

  “Jesus,” he muttered. “Are you serious? You literally came into my life a few hours ago, and already you expect me to make the adjustment of going from the first and only Torres child, to the second and youngest? You expect me to wrap my head around it and not feel mind-fucked even in the slightest?”

  Discomfort slithered across my skin, and my gut knotted into clusters of uncertainty. “I don’t know what I expect.” Tears threatened, but I tried to swallow them. “I honestly don’t know, and the worst part? My entire life, I wished to be surrounded by my own family. And now, while I’m this close to finding them, I have never felt so alone.”

  He let out a breath and leaned his head back as he glanced at the ceiling. “I’m trying to understand what you must be going through, but keep in mind this is unchartered territory for me too. I had everything planned out, my entire future.” He looked at me again. “And now it’s all hanging in the balance because of a sister I believed was dead all my life.”

  I tucked my hair behind my ear. “I’m
sorry. It wasn’t my intention—”

  “I know that.” He rested his hands on my shoulders and squeezed lightly. “But just think about it. If it wasn’t for Saint, you would have gone through your entire life not knowing about this ten percent shares. It’s not like you’re losing anything by selling it. In fact, that ten percent is worth a lot of fucking money, Mila. The way I see it, by selling it, you have nothing to lose and a lot to gain. Give your statement. Get your shares back and sell it.”

  My gaze remained downcast. I didn’t want to look in his eyes while my thoughts raced and pulled me in a thousand different directions at once. It was clear why Raphael was so desperate for me to sell my shares. It was the only way for him to sell his. But I couldn’t explain it, this sense of ownership and responsibility I felt to my miniscule ten percent. One would think for a woman with my background, money would be the factor important enough to weigh while I considered all my options. But it wasn’t. Money was the farthest thing from my mind. It wasn’t even on the scales. It was something else, but I needed more time to figure out what it was.

  I looked him in the eye and desperately tried to see him for who he was. My brother. My own flesh and blood. But I couldn’t. Raphael was still just a stranger to me, and until the day that changed, I couldn’t trust him.

  “No,” I replied simply. “For now, my answer is no.” I brushed past him and headed to the bathroom to the left of the bed that hid behind the elegant room divider.

  “Mila,” he called after me. “Think about this. Goddammit!”

  I heard what sounded like a hard slam against the wall. Raphael was angry, and he probably had every right to be. His sister who was supposed to be dead stormed into his life after breakfast and ruined all his future plans before lunch. But I couldn’t allow myself to think of it that way, to feel sympathy toward anyone. Right now, I needed to put me first, do what I felt was the right thing for me—especially since I had no way of knowing how all this would play out from one minute to the next. I needed to protect myself because there was no one else to do it. No one else who took my best interest to heart. It was me…and me alone.