Saved: a dark romance

by DD Prince

  It’d be nice if I slept better at night because Delgado isn’t breathing. It’d help me sleep to know these Ferrano men aren’t plotting on how to get Holly away from me.

  No one better dare try. I’d burn the world to the ground to stop that from happening.

  I’ve never been someone who fears things, even when we were on the run from him, even when he caught us. Until her. Now there are two things that claw at me. She’s the only thing in my possession right now that I want.

  She fell in my lap, thanks to a man I’m about to help kill, and from the day she came to me, she was mine. A pure untainted light in the fucking dark place I live in.

  I’m not a good guy in a bad situation. No one would mistake me for that. I kill without remorse. Anything that gets in the way of what I need gets flattened. This is how it has to be. And if it dares to fight back, I’ll not only stomp on it, I’ll piss on it, and then paint it with gunfire.

  It’s a cruel reality that I live in and this is who I need to be. I don’t have the option to be anyone else. Forget what I want, forget everything but my goals. I do know one thing. She’s the only thing that stops my soul from becoming as black as the soul of my father. She’s a tether and if someone cuts that strap, I won’t be able to stop the plummet into that dark abyss.

  I equally cannot wait and wish I could edge forever. The idea of what I’ll do to her makes my gut flood with something acidic. Because that pure beauty will be tarnished. Once a fresh snowflake gets dirty it’ll never be pure again. But despite that, I know I won’t be able to stop myself. I’m edging, but I’m near the end of my game.

  What the fuck will I have once I tumble over the cliff and ruin her? Nothing to look forward to. Nothing to stop any remnants of who I am from slipping away. Or, who I was before my fuckup meant that my father found my mother and me and dragged us back to Mexico, then installed me as the man to take over the Romero flesh and firearms empire. Even though it was the last thing in the world I wanted.

  Meeting Tommy Ferrano

  Alessandro

  Rocco and I drive up a long driveway to a beach house outside San Jose, Costa Rica. This is Tommy Ferrano’s beach house and as me and Rocco get out of the rental car, I see a beautiful dark-haired girl in the upstairs window, half hanging behind the drapes, eyeing us suspiciously.

  I knock on the door. Rocco stands behind me. No one answers but I hear noise inside.

  I wait.

  After a good three or four minutes, the door opens and a tall built guy with brown hair and brown eyes stands there, murder in his eyes, a scowl on his face.

  He’s got a gun pointed at us.

  I lift my hands in surrender. “Just wanna talk, man. I’m Lex. You might also know me as Alessandro Romero.”

  “I know who the fuck you are,” he clips.

  “Rocco waits here on your doorstep. I come in and chat. Neither of us are packin’. Keep the gun on me the whole time we talk if you want. Just wanna talk about an understanding. A treaty.”

  He lifts his chin in assent but with a look that warns he will not hesitate to fuck me up. I follow him inside, but just barely inside. He’s keeping me backed against the door. He’s also watching Rocco through the window on that door to make sure he’s not moving.

  I state my case, starting with the fact that I hold no ill feelings about Juan Carlos or Jesse. I admit that I know he made a deal with the Fuentes Cartel that took down my uncle.

  “I was also in an accord with that Cartel at the time. I gave it the nod.”

  He raises his eyebrows in surprise.

  “You did me a favor. Your brother did me another favor when he eliminated the pain-in-the-ass that was my half-brother Jesse. But I gotta ask you for one more favor.”

  “What?”

  “Get your brother to lay off on the Holly issue.”

  He shakes his head, “Not sure that I’ve got any sway over him on that.”

  “I hear you and your brother are close.”

  “We are.”

  “Talk to Zack Jacobs about me. I’ll give him the green light to give you plenty of information to help you make a decision. It’s my understanding that you came into possession of your wife in an unorthodox way.”

  His eyes warn me to be very careful about what I say about his marriage.

  I raise my hands. “I make no judgements. I’m just here to say I’m not giving her up. From what I understand of you, you’d feel the same way if someone tried to take your girl. I don’t want to be enemies with you two. I think we can help one another. I can help your brother with his problem in Thailand. And perhaps, you two can count me as a potential ally should you need help with any fallout that results from your problem in the east.”

  He eyes me with suspicion and then says, “I’ll have a word with Jacobs.”

  “Good,” I reply.

  “How the fuck did you know about this place?”

  I tell him Zack sent me. He calls Zack while I sit there and Zack confirms this. Tommy Ferrano tells me he’ll consider talking to his brother after he gets more information from Zack. He then walks me out. I reach out to shake his hand. He eyes me assessingly and tells me he’ll make no promises about anything. He doesn’t shake my hand.

  I walk away thinking the guy is someone I’d like to have on my side in a fight. I hope he can talk his brother down.

  Eighteen

  Holly

  Happy birthday to me.

  It’s my eighteenth birthday. I know this because yesterday, Maria wished me Feliz Navidad in the morning when she brought me a breakfast tray and packed sandwiches and snacks to cover me for the rest of the day.

  When it got dark, I sat in my window sill, looking at the pool instead of snow, and sang Silent Night, Away in a Manger, and Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer. I burst into tears during the Rudolph song and then said, “My life sucks” and went to bed.

  Christmas was such a big deal when I was a little girl.

  As I grew and after our circumstances changed, it became all about my mother’s misery.

  And then when Ang came, she tried. She really tried. She tried so hard to make Christmas and my birthday special. Mom sucked out as much joy as she could. We nicknamed her Felicia Dyson. She could drink her face off and not lose that suction power of extracting the joy from the house.

  I was gone before my sixteenth birthday, so I didn’t celebrate it. I also didn’t celebrate my seventeenth birthday. But according to my captor, he’ll be celebrating my eighteenth with me.

  I woke up today with trepidation. Times a hundred. My heart wanted to beat out of my chest before I was even out of bed.

  I’ve spent the past several days in my room. With him away, he didn’t want me out of these four safe walls, I guess, because Maria hasn’t said a word about me swimming or walking. Maybe with Esmerelda gone, so are my outings.

  Today, Maria delivered a breakfast of muesli cereal, milk, and a bowl of raspberries, plus a cup of coffee and a glass of orange juice. She put a paper bag down, too, and I peeked inside at a sandwich, a bottle of juice, and a bag of grapes.

  She must be going out again. Sometimes Esmerelda would bring a packed lunch with my breakfast if she had to go out during the day. And thinking back, maybe the past two Christmases came with packed food for the day, too.

  “Thank you, Maria,” I say and she gives me a tight smile before she leaves.

  I notice again that the door does not lock and fear instantly pierces my veins. She’d been locking it.

  Is she setting me up? Or is she following orders?

  I glance out the window and see him. He’s swimming laps in the pool. I don’t know when he got home, but seeing him makes me feel both elated and filled with dread at the exact same time.

  I watch until he gets out and dabs his face with a plush towel. He looks up at my window.

  I clutch the drapes. The look in his eyes? In my non-existent experience with men, I shouldn’t know a thing. But, I do know. I can see it. I see carnal lust
and warning and anger all at the same time. And for some reason it feels like a match is struck right against that magical spot between my legs.

  He’s furious with me. Still. He drops the towel and strides to the door, muscles rippling, in absolute command of his body. He disappears from my view as he enters the house.

  Is he coming up here? Am I in trouble again? Still?

  I stand, waiting, for what feels like forever. Finally, I sit down and put the television on, putting on an episode of The Vampire Diaries and I half-watch while I eat. I’m in the last season of the show and I want to savor it. But my mind isn’t on it, so I turn it off and stare out the window, deciding I’ll re-watch it later.

  Or maybe I won’t. Maybe I won’t be back here after tonight.

  Maybe he’ll take my virginity and my life. Or send me to the basement so that I can be trained. And sold. To someone else. Sending me away would solve the problem of Angie’s powerful husband looking for me, wouldn’t it?

  Sadness creeps through every inch of me. I climb back into bed and close my eyes. Sleep doesn’t come. I just lie there for hours, telling myself that he won’t do terrible things. But it nags that maybe I’m wrong; maybe he will.

  ***

  It’s early evening and my door opens. I’m painting at my easel. It’s a snowy mountain scape from a camping trip I remember from when my dad was alive. In the center of the scene is a small cottage and there’s a lit and decorated Christmas tree in the window.

  Alessandro is here with a tray in his hand. It’s covered by a silver dome.

  “Dinner.” He puts it down on the desk.

  I tuck my hair behind my ears.

  He’s glaring at me.

  “Happy birthday,” he practically spits, like he’s furious it’s my birthday.

  “Thank you. And Merry Christmas. Belatedly. Did you have a nice Christmas, Alessandro?”

  He shakes his head, an incredulous look on his face. Like I have a whole lot of nerve or something.

  “Why are you bringing me my dinner? Maria packed me sandwiches.”

  “No one’s here but you and me. I thought you might like a hot meal after sandwiches yesterday.”

  “Oh?” I raise my eyebrows in surprise, “Why is she gone?”

  “That’s how I wanted it,” he says dismissively and moves toward the easel and looks at my painting.

  He lifts the page and throws it over the top of the easel so that he can see what’s underneath. The paint was wet so it’s probably ruined now. I’m not about to complain. My heart starts racing.

  It’s a sketch of a snowy owl. I’m quite pleased with how it turned out.

  He flips that sheet over the top, too, and I wince, knowing what’s next. My face is going red; I can feel it.

  Underneath that page is a sketch. Of him and me. And I’m more than pleased with it, although I’m not pleased about him seeing it.

  It’s just in profile, of him and half of my face as he’s overlapped it, his hand holding my jaw. It’s a sketch of that anticipatory breath right before a kiss. And the way I captured the moment, it’s crystal clear that the two people about to kiss are ready to abandon everything else so they can get lost in each other. Their eyes are closed and they’re so close that tips of their eyelashes are almost touching, looking like they’ll weave together in a perfect fit.

  He lets out a cold gust of laugher. It’s so icy cold it chills and freezes the center of my chest.

  “Eat your food and then take a bath and get ready for me. When you’re done, come to my room in a robe wearing your bra and panties underneath. Wait for me there. At the end of the bed.” He heads for the door.

  “Alessandro.” I say, not sure how I’m going to communicate appropriately what I want to say, but I’m going to try.

  He turns around and looks at me expectantly.

  “I want this. I want you. I’m not scared.” I shake my head, filled with resolve. “I know there’s no way that you’d keep me safe all this time only to hurt me. I think you’re a tormented soul who needs to know that another soul will accept you for who you are. I---”

  He moves fast, faster than I’ve ever seen anyone move, and I’m up against the wall, my throat in his grip. His eyes are hard. His jaw is clenched in fury, like he’s fighting to control his anger.

  “You aren’t scared? Don’t be stupid, little girl.”

  I swallow against his palm. I put my hands on his chest. The heat seeps through his dress shirt. I feel the hardness of his muscles. I also feel his heartbeat. Steady, strong. I swallow and blink a couple times and then focus on his eyes.

  His eyes are filled with wrath. The smile on my face is long dead.

  “After tonight,” his lips move to my temple and the fury in his tone forces icicles through my veins, “you’ll know fear. And you’ll know who your fucking master is.”

  His hand sifts through my hair and then he cups my face and leans down, looking deep into my eyes, his dark gunmetal eyes so close his lashes briefly tangle up with mine. Like my drawing.

  I draw in breath, breathing him in. There’s nothing else I can do; I’ve melted into the wall already. And there is nothing else I want to do.

  He smells so good, so right. I barely breathe because all I breathe is him, in my face, in my space.

  “I already know. It’s you.”

  His eyes flare with anger, “You don’t get it.” He tightens his grip. “I suggest you stop dreaming these childish fantasies right now and brace yourself for the monster beneath this mask.”

  I close my eyes tight and feel the absence of his body heat as he backs away.

  “I’ll meet you in my bed. Be waiting. Bra and underwear only. Happy birthday, mi pequeña flor. Wear whatever it is that makes you sometimes smell like peaches.”

  He closes the door.

  ***

  I can’t eat more than three bites of the roasted turkey dinner that I’m guessing was supposed to be a substitute for Christmas dinner, so I have a bath and take my time shaving, shampooing, conditioning, and after drying off, lotioning up with the body lotion he must be talking about.

  I also couldn’t stomach that dinner, because it reminded me of birthday dinners when I was little. I almost always had Christmas leftovers for my birthday, until Mom stopped bothering with Christmas. Now it just tastes like sadness to me.

  I quietly pad to his rooms and drop my robe and get into his bed. The doors are opened to show the glass leading to my room. It’s odd to see that, to see his view of my space, to see his admission of what we both already know: his choice to tell me he has the power to watch me whenever he wants.

  I don’t think this is having the effect he wants. Because, for some reason, it’s kind of…comforting. It makes me feel safer, rather than invaded.

  My heart is racing. I’m quickly under the heavy blankets and I smell him on the pillow. The room has a soft and romantic glow with just the lamp on.

  After I’ve been here what feels like half an hour, I hear noise. My heart hammers and after a full body shiver, I haven’t stopped trembling. Is this really happening?

  The doors open and he is here with me. He’s bare-chested, wearing a pair of black silky boxers and not a stitch of anything else.

  He’s holding a cupcake with swirly pink frosting and a lit candle on top.

  “Blow it out. Make a wish.” He is right here, at the bedside, and I’m clutching the blankets to my upper chest.

  This is really happening.

  The pretty pink frosted cupcake is now in front of me.

  “You’re very cruel,” I say.

  “Now she’s getting it,” he snickers.

  I close my eyes and make a wish and that wish is his name. It’s a prayer in my mind and I know that it’s entirely self-explanatory to the God who knows what’s in my heart.

  Please be good.

  Please be gentle.

  Please love me and continue to keep me safe.

  Please keep treating me like I’m your treasured
possession.

  Please let me show you that you really aren’t bad.

  I blow out the flame.

  “What did you wish for?” he asks softly and the timbre of his voice? It sounds gentle, sweet, caring. How can I read so much in just five words? I just feel it.

  “You.”

  His expression darkens. He puts the cupcake on the table beside the bed and sucks a tiny speck of frosting off his thumb.

  “I guess you aren’t getting it.”

  “I get it. I understand more than you realize,” I tell him.

  “Wishes don’t always come true. But sometimes, they do. Only, they’re not what you thought you were gonna get.” His eyes are on me. “I’ve kept you too sheltered. You have an unrealistic view of who I am.” He reaches under the bed and produces a box. He puts it on the end of the bed, then pulls the blankets back. He freezes.

  Because I’m naked.

  His eyes darken and he snarls at me while his eyes are simultaneously raking over me. I’ve surprised him.

  “What the fuck is the matter with you?” He thrusts his hand through his hair. He doesn’t look away. His eyes are on my body.

  I’m quiet.

  His eyes move to my face.

  I’m not saying anything and I’m not sure what my expression ‘says’. But my heart is loudly reminding me that I’m alive. For now.

  Why did I defy him? I don’t really know. Or, I guess I kind of do. Maybe I don’t want him to hesitate and if he sees me naked, maybe he won’t. Maybe he’ll see I’m not afraid and stop feeling like he has to be a bad guy with me. Maybe I can be his solace, his happy place. I’m stripped down. Maybe he’ll strip down to who he really is.

  “Holly,” he says my name, his tone lethal.

  “Yes?”

  “Why didn’t you fucking follow my directions?” He’s looking at me. I’m just lying there, my hands at my sides, fists filled with the sheets, my legs closed, the blankets thrown down below my knees.

  “I think you know why,” I answer softly, looking straight into his eyes.

  He moves and I think for a second that he’s gonna leave, but he stops at the bottom of the bed, his hand in his hair and I see that his boxer shorts are tented. He’s hard. For me.