by Sam Mariano
"Rodney Gellar."
He thinks about it for a moment, then his expression clears. "Ah, Rodney." Then, changing to a curl of disgust, he adds, "Wow, really?"
My face flames. "Yes, really."
"Terrible poker player, that one. Eyes told his every bluff. He owed me a lot of money. I didn't kill him. I did issue the hit," he adds. "But I didn't get my own hands dirty, no."
"Like there's a difference. You took my daughter’s father from her."
He shrugs as if unconcerned. "You ask me, I did you both a favor. That fucker was a train wreck."
He’s not wrong, but I can’t exactly agree with him and justify what I tried to do tonight. “Yeah, I somehow doubt our three-year-old sees it that way."
Again, he shrugs as if he gives zero fucks. "We could ask her.”
“Leave my daughter out of this.”
“Give me the lipstick.”
I hesitate a second, then I clutch my purse, reaching inside and digging around. My fingers close around the second tube, the lipstick I’m actually wearing, but it isn’t cylindrical, it’s boxy, with edges; if he actually noticed the shade on my lips is a different color from the one I’d flashed him for a split second back at the bar, he’s smart enough to know if I give him the wrong one.
It won’t serve me to piss him off any further, so I release it, finding the lipstick Antonio gave me instead.
He takes the tube and drops it on the ground, smashing it with the heel of his loafer. When he lifts his foot, we both see the white residue of the powder on the ground. He looks almost disappointed.
“I’m so sorry,” I say quietly.
He manufactures a look of surprise. “Are you? I thought you wanted to avenge your beloved husband? Over that already?”
“I changed my mind.” I shake my head, wishing I could just tell the truth. “I really didn’t want to, after tonight. I wasn’t going to go through with it.” I don’t know if that’s true or not, but I want it to be.
“Right,” he says, clearly not believing me.
“If I die… My daughter… You killed her father. If you kill me, too, you’re orphaning my little girl and she will be truly and completely alone in this world. I’m not asking for me, I’m not asking because I deserve it, or because my own life is so valuable, or because I believe there’s good in the world. But I am just begging you, please, no one can hear us, there are no witnesses to you changing your mind, please do not kill me. If you let me leave, you’ll never have to see my face again. I’ll never say a word about or against you to anyone else, I swear to God. Please, just please let me out of this. I know I fucked up, I’m sorry.”
Despite my best efforts, he is visibly unmoved by my plea. “If you’re not, you will be.” Then he puts a hand at the small of my back to nudge me forward, and my heart slams forward in my chest.
An image of my honey-haired little girl crosses my mind, memories of her as a baby, lying in my lap, grinning her toothless grin. The first time I fed her green beans and the awful look of betrayal on her adorable little face as she tried to shove them back out with her tongue. Her first, excited, unsteady steps. Her face the previous Christmas when she saw the presents I had busted my ass working two jobs to put under that tree. The way she would trick me into reading her favorite bedtime stories three times by insisting, “Wait, just one more” with her cute little finger extended so convincingly, even though I knew she’d insist on one more all night if I let her.
God, how I wish I’d let her.
I’d give anything for another night of baby cuddles and bedtime stories. To hear her tell me she wanted to hug my tummy.
Tears spill over the rims of my eyes, moving down my cheeks. I sniffle, my breath hitching as I think of how I didn’t even get to put her to bed tonight; I’d been too busy getting ready to do this stupid, stupid fucking thing. My mother had her, and she definitely wouldn’t have read her a bedtime story. Lily wouldn’t know what happened. She wasn’t going to understand why Mommy left and never came back.
I should’ve run. I should’ve never come here tonight. I should’ve put Lily in the car, abandoned everything, and just disappeared. Maybe Castellanos would’ve found me, but maybe he wouldn’t have.
I’m outright crying at this point, scrubbing at my cheeks with the palms of my hands.
“Momma!”
My whole body seizes at the sound of my daughter’s voice. Mateo slows to a stop behind me. I look across the dark patch of land, see the men standing around the concrete slab, note the yellowish light pouring down on them, illuminating everything…including my daughter’s face, lit up with pleasure at the sight of me.
I can’t breathe. I can’t think. Nothing makes sense. Why is Lily here? Fear grips me, and my body kicks into motion. I’m flying toward her, stumbling, twisting my ankle and not caring, not slowing down, but I’m not fast enough.
Adrian’s holding her, and as I start running, he turns his back to me.
Then I watch him lower my three-year-old daughter into the wooden crate. Her arms fly up over her head, barely visible over the tall side of it, asking to be picked up. My mind can’t make sense of it—why did they put her in my crate?
Adrian peers inside at her, says something I can’t hear to make her put her arms down, and then he drops the lid on top of the crate, securing it with a latch.
“No.” My stomach pitches. “No!” I scream mindlessly.
Adrian glances in our direction, then shoulders his way past another man, out of sight.
That’s when I realize what the other men are doing. Three men, three gas cans, two red and one orange. I watch a red gas can lurch and liquid spill out of the yellow nozzle, and it still takes me two full seconds before I understand what’s happening.
My legs give out, my body dropping.
No. This can’t happen.
He can’t be this much of a monster.
I grab at the ground desperately, trying to find purchase, to stand, but I can’t; my whole body quakes, my stomach churning violently. My mouth opens and the noise that comes out is something beyond a wail, piercing and high. My throat burns from the sound’s eruption and I crawl until I can get to my feet again, finally hitting the pavement. I shove the man nearest me, still dousing the wooden crate with gasoline. I shove him, then shove him harder, all the while screaming, “No!”
A pair of arms fasten around my waist and yank me back against a slightly protruding belly. I kick, still screaming. My arms swing wildly and I try to dig my fingernails into whatever they connect with. The bastard holding me swears, barking at me to stop. I bring my heel down as hard as I can on the inside of his leg, pushing down with all my weight and gouging into his leg.
“Jesus Christ!” he screams.
I never stop screaming. I can’t control it. A red haze clouds my vision, and breaking free, I fling myself against the crate, grabbing the latch, but there’s a padlock and I can’t get it off.
“No!” I scream again, fingernails digging into wood. I fling around to look at Mateo, my body draped protectively across the crate.
Appearing somehow indifferent, he slowly opens what I realize is a book of matches. Ripping one off, he turns it over and swipes it across the rough patch on the bottom.
From inside the crate behind me, my daughter cries. “Momma, where are you?” she asks accusingly.
“Oh, my god.” Another sob tears from my body, and I began to whimper uncontrollably. I thought I’d felt desperation at other moments in my life, but I haven’t, not until now.
If he’s going to set that crate on fire, he’ll have to have to set me on fire, too, but I’ll sell my soul to Satan himself to keep it from happening.
I start toward him slowly and he doesn’t move, not until I fall on my knees in front of him—then he takes a slight step back.
I crawl that step closer, tilting my head back and looking up at him, tears still streaming down my face. “Please, Mateo. Please don’t do this. I’ll do anything. Please.”
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He doesn’t say anything, so I grab onto his leg, leaning my forehead against his thighs and sobbing as I chant, “Please, please, please don’t do this. Please. Please. I’m so sorry. Please, I’ll never betray you again. Please,” and other various debasing pleas for him to spare my daughter.
He doesn’t speak, and his silence terrifies me, but at least he’s still holding the lit match. I’m sick with dread at the mental image of him dropping it, of the crate catching fire, and me losing my goddamn mind as I try to rip it open.
Finally, he squats down to my level, looking me right in the eye. “Do you realize you were very foolish tonight?”
My head bobs forward, tears still dripping from my face. “Yes. I’m so sorry.”
“But are you sorry enough?”
“Yes,” I say, the word launching out of me with the velocity of bullet. “Yes, I am. Please, I’ll do anything, I’ll give you anything. You want my body? You can have it. You want my soul? I’ll give you that, too. I’ll do work for you. I know it’s usually men who do it, but…I’m a woman, there are things I can do that men can’t.”
His eyebrows rise a fraction of an inch and he tilts his head just slightly to the side.
He rises. “Stand up,” he says calmly.
My eyes flicker to the match between his thumb and index finger, but I rise, my knees still wobbling.
“I own you now,” he informs me, his empty eyes peering into mine.
My eyes widen, and I nod my head vigorously in agreement.
“Adrian,” he calls out, his eyes not moving from mine.
The man with the burned face comes around the back of the crate, scowling at Mateo.
“Open the crate.” With one expelled breath, he extinguishes the tiny flame between his fingers and signs the metaphorical deal we just struck.
Gratitude oozes from my pores, relief bubbling up inside of me and streaming down my face. Adrian lifts my daughter and hands her to me, and I sink to the cement pad with her in my arms, sobbing uncontrollably as I place kisses on every spot my lips can reach.
Lily throws her arms around my neck so tightly it almost hurts, murmuring something about witches. My head is spinning and I can’t focus. I never want her to let go.
I’m vaguely aware of bodies moving around us, Mateo moving in to speak with Adrian. I hear, “Get her a sedative,” and Adrian’s grunt of assent. As my daughter’s small arms squeeze tightly around my neck, I breathe in the sweet scent of her baby shampoo and close my eyes. I’ve just sold my soul to the devil, and I’m afraid to find out what kind of hell awaits me the moment my daughter lets go.
Chapter Six
The sound of ice cubes clinking into a glass followed by a steady stream of liquid does little to ease the tension in my body.
The sight of Mateo’s broad, impressive shoulders hugged by the fabric of his sharp, expensive suit makes me feel insanely attracted to this monster, even knowing I should run as fast as I can toward the door. It’s hard to reconcile all the sides of him I’ve seen tonight—the dream date, the monster, my new master.
I don’t really know the man before me, regardless of how I felt about him just an hour ago. The catalogue of his sins was read to me by Antonio in an attempt to make me feel better about the colossal mistake of trying to put down an animal like Mateo Morelli, but the reality of him isn’t so cut and dry.
I tug at the extremely short hem of my skirt as he turns around, offering me the small glass of amber liquid.
My hand trembles as I take it. “Now what?” I ask quietly, since he doesn’t seem inclined to speak.
“Now you belong to me,” he reiterates, as if I hadn’t been there the first time he said it.
“I got that part.” My gaze drops to the glass. My whole body feels so heavy, all I want to do is curl up with Lily and sleep, but apparently, we have to do this first. “What does that mean? What do I have to do?”
“Anything I tell you to do,” he replies silkily, lifting his own glass and taking a sip. It’s funny, after all this, now he’s finally drinking with me.
I don’t say anything. I still don’t know what that entails. Will he take me up on my offer to do dirty work for him? Does he even want my body at this point? After seeing me a sobbing mess with scraped knees, my skirt riding up my ass at an unflattering angle and snot dripping out of my nose as I clutched my toddler in my arms and rocked, I sort of doubt it.
There are plenty of other terrible uses he could have for me though, and my skin crawls just considering them.
“Your old life is done,” he tells me. “You’ll quit your shit job. Contact will be cut with your family and friends. I’ll take care of your lease.”
“What do you—what does that mean?” I frown.
“You live here now,” he states, like that should be obvious.
My mouth inches open, wanting to protest. I literally have nothing but the clothes on my back and the items in my purse. “I—I have—I have a—Lily, what about my daughter?”
As if I’ve lost my mind, he drawls, “Obviously your daughter will live here, too. I have a nanny for my own daughter; she’ll take care of yours when you’re working.”
“I thought I had to quit my job?”
“Yes, you work for me now.” He says it so matter-of-factly, and my heart drops at his words.
Nodding uneasily, I lift the glass of amber liquid to my mouth and take several long gulps. “Okay,” I say, covering my mouth until I’m sure I won’t projectile vomit at him.
It’s what I offered, but somehow hearing him accept feels scarier.
“You won’t be paid, not in the traditional sense, anyway,” he tells me. “Everything you and Lily need will be provided for you. If you want something in particular, you’ll ask me for it. You can choose to think of yourself as a prisoner, or you can make the best of it and put a more positive spin on things. Up to you.”
I blink, but all I can focus on is what he isn’t saying.
“And what’s the nature of this work I’ll be doing?”
“Anything I need you to do, anything I want. If I tell you to make me a steak dinner at 3am, you ask how I’d like it cooked. If I tell you I want to fuck you, you spread your legs. My wish is your command.”
I fight down the surge of humiliation, but my earlobes burn—a telltale sign. Nodding, I swallow the lump in my throat. “You tell me to whore myself out to someone, I ask you which someone?”
Frowning slightly, he says, “No. Well, if I asked, I suppose, but I won’t; I don’t share what’s mine.”
I’m not exactly thrilled at the prospect of doing anything for him now, let alone spreading my legs, but I’m above all else pragmatic. Even if this doesn’t feel like a victory, it is. My daughter and I are both safe, and that’s what matters.
If I have to spread my legs for the monster who would’ve killed her tonight, so be it. At least it’s an exclusive deal.
Taking another sip, he places his glass down and leans back, lacing his hands together across his torso. “We have another maid, Maria. She’ll show you the way of things tomorrow.”
Brow furrowing in confusion, I ask, “Wait, a maid? I’m just…I’m going to be a maid? I don’t have to do anything bad?”
A slow smirk tugs at his mouth. “Depends on your definition of bad.”
Sinking back into the chair, I breathe a sigh of nearly overwhelming relief.
Mateo cocks his head curiously. “You thought I needed you to bust some kneecaps or what?”
“Well, I didn’t think you were hard up for domestic help,” I say honestly, shrugging a shoulder. “I was picturing… I don’t know, seducing a senator and slipping a knife between his ribs during sex or something.”
Mateo snorts, bringing a closed fist against his mouth, his brown eyes dancing with mirth as he gazes at me from the other side of his desk.
I feel a little silly, but definitely not enough warmth to share in his amusement.
“I mean, I don’t think I need to ta
ke out any senators just yet, but if that changes, you’ll be the first to know,” he adds.
Ignoring his joke, I voice my greatest concern. “Is it safe for Lily to be here?”
Sobering, his expression turns more solemn. “As long as her mother doesn’t try anything stupid, yes.” Then, leaning forward on his arms, he meets my eyes. “Do not mistake my mercy tonight for tolerance. I promise you that if you even think of betraying me again, if you even begin to hatch some foolish, pseudo-heroic escape plan, I will not think twice about snuffing you out.”
I feel cold all over. Shrinking into myself, I say lowly, “I thought I wasn’t a prisoner; why do I need to escape?”
“You’re only a prisoner if you choose to be,” he maintains. “I can’t promise I’ll be nice to you. You did try to kill me, after all. You won’t be permitted to leave the premises without permission and an escort.”
Right. So obviously not a prisoner, just a really untrustworthy guest.
Left with no other choice, I nod my head. He’s wrung all my energy from me, and all I want now is to curl up with my baby and sleep forever.
“I need diapers,” I say quietly. “Lily still sleeps in diapers. I imagine my mother probably put a fresh one on her before bed, but I can’t guarantee it.”
Nodding once, he says, “I’ll send someone to get them. What size?”
“Four,” I say, watching him extract his phone from his pocket and tap out a text.
“Done.” He looks back up at me. “The room that will be yours isn’t ready, since obviously I didn’t expect any of this when I left the house tonight.”
Guilt wallops me, but I offer only a tired nod.
“Tomorrow, once we’ve all had some rest, we can get you settled in.”
“Will I be able to go back to my house? I need to get some of Lily’s things, at least. Some toys and clothes, her favorite bedtime stories, her baby doll, her blanket. She needs to have some of her own things so at least something feels familiar to her.”
Mateo seems to consider that. “Maybe Adrian can drive you over there. We’ll see. If you need a book for her tonight, I can show you where the nursery is. You can use one of Isabella’s.”
