Saved: a dark romance

by DD Prince

  I wrap her up in my arms. She twists, then curls in and puts her head on my chest.

  “No one’ll see it when it’s just us, two doing that, right? Because…”

  “It’s possible. You stay in character just in case. When I fuck you in that house, I’ll give you leeway. Looks like I’ll have to give you lots. As much as I can. But you have to try not to draw attention. I don’t know what the fuck he’s gonna pull. I’ll keep you in my bedroom as much as I can until we can get this over.”

  “Not my room?”

  “No.”

  “Is there still a girl in my room?”

  “Not likely, since he showed up and figured out she wasn’t you.”

  “Are you sure he knows it’s not me?”

  “He ordered I show up with you, so no.”

  “Ordered?”

  “Don’t wanna talk about him, here with you naked in bed. Much rather do other things.”

  “More things like we just did?”

  “Things like sleep.”

  “Oh.” She’s looking at me, starry-eyed.

  “Oh.” I pull her closer and close my eyes. So fucking much for being hard on her tonight.

  I roll my eyes. I’ve gotta get my shit together so I don’t get her hurt. She’s making me weak.

  Great, now I fucking sound like my father.

  For tonight, though, I’ll sleep. Sleep good with her beside me with stars in her eyes. I’ll figure the rest out tomorrow. After what I’m about to put her through, it might be the last time I see those stars.

  “Alessandro?”

  “What?”

  “It usually turns me on when you pull my hair. So, you…uh… might not wanna use that as a punishment.”

  I laugh. I can’t help it. This fucking girl. She’s supposed to be scared of the monster, not poking fun at it.

  I kiss her and laugh against her mouth. She laughs with me.

  What a pair we are. Only my little flower could make me laugh at a time like this.

  “I like it when you laugh,” she whispers.

  “I don’t laugh much,” I admit.

  “For good reason,” she says.

  “You, too. You haven’t had a whole lotta reasons to laugh yourself.”

  “Nope. I plan to make you laugh a lot when we get through this.”

  We? Listen to her. We.

  I blow out a breath and try to go to sleep.

  Home Sweet Home

  Holly

  The two of us are driven in a black stretch limo toward big iron gates that are covered in ivy. There’s a plaque on the gates that says Casa de Romero in gold lettering. The gate slides open and I see Rocco there, watchful. He and Alessandro have some sort of quick non-verbal exchange and I wonder where Rocco came from, what his story is.

  I’ve never seen this entrance during the day before. It’s late afternoon now and the first time I’ve come or gone in the day. When I came the first time, it was dark. When I left with my sister and Dare, it was dark. It looks beautiful as we approach the gate, but when we get to the other side, beyond that ivy that disguises the place, I’m shocked to see rubble. Large piles of ruins.

  He wasn’t joking when he said he leveled his father’s place.

  I have memories of the last time I drove out of here, with my sister and Dario. The home in front of those gates wasn’t Alessandro’s, it was larger and it was a mansion. There were fountains outside. Lion statues. Fancy animal-shaped topiaries. Now? Rubble and dirt. A big pile of ruins. It feels very symbolic.

  We drive beyond that, down a winding road past tennis courts, a very large pond with flowers around the edge of the entire thing. It has a fountain in the center. It looks like the grass hasn’t been cut in weeks.

  The winding road takes us to another gate that opens as we approach. Inside, there are more piles of brick. This used to have several buildings, including the stone barn that leads to the elevator down to those slave barracks. I don’t see it. I see rubble where it used to stand.

  There’s no debris where the servants’ building used to be. That’s got a cement foundation that looks newish but no signs of the building that used to be there. Even the brick wall is gone. It used to separate this set of buildings so that you couldn’t see the back of the big mansion, the pond, or the tennis courts.

  I see a long building that I know houses vehicles and lawn care equipment. I see a smaller utility building that, if I remember right, is another place for gardening supplies. There’s no longer the building that housed Dr. Jimena’s office or the dentist’s office. Piles of brick and wood and other rubbish are there instead.

  Beyond that, Alessandro’s pretty mini Spanish castle and a three-car garage is in view. But, that’s it.

  Where is it all? Where are all the people? Rocco was at the gate but we’ve seen no one since.

  The limousine stops in front of his house and everything looks as it should there. I try to erase the shock from my face. I’ve failed, I’m sure, based on the scowl on his face. I take a big breath.

  All he said that morning was, “Wake up. Go time. Game face. Now.” And then he laid a hot and heavy kiss on me that took my breath away. He smacked my butt, and went to the bathroom.

  He emerged shortly thereafter in just his boxer briefs and said, “Shower, now. I’ll have a dress laid out for you. Wear make-up. Heavy. I had some sent up.”

  After my shower, he watched me dress in a pale blue blazer and skirt, with a cream blouse and cream-colored high heels. As he drank his coffee and talked on his phone in Spanish, he had a lustful expression on his face.

  This isn’t what I normally wear. After I get it on, he tells me, “Wear your hair up. No ponytail unless it’s low.”

  I go to the bathroom and put it in a big low bun and put make-up on my face. I wear lots of black mascara and eyeliner and do my lips in red. I look at least five years older. Like I work in an office. Maybe that’s what he wanted.

  I try to behave as if we are being watched by the bad guy. I’d decided in the shower that this was how I’d behave until face to face with the bad guy.

  And now we’re here. And I’m frightened. What if I say or do the wrong thing. What if something bad happens to him in front of me? What if something bad happens because of me?

  “Walk behind me.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “In his presence call me Alessandro or Sir. Use Alessandro sometimes. That’ll have impact.”

  I nod, “Okay, Alessandro.”

  “He addresses you, look to me for approval before answering him.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  The driver has opened the front door for us. A housekeeper, younger than Maria, who I’ve never seen before greets him and gives me a nod.

  I give her a tight smile.

  They converse in Spanish and I hear the word papa come from the housekeeper’s mouth.

  I follow behind him and see the tension in his walk, in his posture. I don’t know how long since he’s seen his father, but I feel the tension just rolling off of him. I want to reassure him. I want to give him comfort. But what he needs right now from me is for me to be practically invisible. We walk down a hallway past the dining room I had lunch with Tessa in over a year ago, to a large library-like room with one wall that’s all window, overlooking the grounds.

  Two men step out into the hallway, machine guns slung over their shoulders. They say something to Alessandro in Spanish and he glares and snaps something back in Spanish. One holds up his machine gun and laughs a little bit. Alessandro stands and puts his hands to his head and the guy pats him down.

  The other guy reaches for me and Alessandro looks like he’s gonna flip his lid.

  The man looks at me with a creepy expression, eyeing me up and down and then grabs me and pushes me against the wall, face first. I gasp.

  Alessandro grabs him by the throat. The other guy puts his gun to Alessandro’s temple.

  Oh God. That escalated quickly!

  They speak in Spanish an
d then the guy pats me down.

  I just about crap myself when his hand darts under my skirt and he grabs my butt.

  Alessandro snaps something at him in Spanish and throws him against the wall, despite the gun to his temple.

  I’m shaking in fear.

  I hear a shout from the other side of the closed door, “Alessandro. Come here!”

  The guy backs away and Alessandro grabs my hand, looking like he’s seething.

  We go into the room and the two men move behind a man sitting in an armchair by the fireplace.

  The man sitting there looks a whole lot like Alessandro, only thirty years, or so, older. The two men have their backs to the big picture window. They both look mean. They both glare at us.

  Alessandro’s father has silver hair with just a touch of dark near the temples and the front. He’s large and muscular although he’s gone a bit soft and has just a bit of a belly.

  He’s wearing a black suit with no tie, his black shirt is open half way down his chest. A big gold medallion necklace sits in a nest of silver chest hair. He stands. He’s not quite as tall as Alessandro but he’s probably over six feet. He smiles and opens his arms. And then he laughs. Sort of… maniacally. A shiver trills up my spine but I steel myself against reacting outwardly.

  Alessandro’s eyes are carbon copies of his father’s. But I see a difference immediately. Have you ever looked at someone’s eyes and known, on instinct, that there’s something just not right? I see it immediately with barely a glance. My eyes dart to the floor but he’s already caught me looking and his eyes have already traveled the length of me.

  From my periphery, I see a woman sitting off to the side, on a brown tufted leather sofa with brass studs running down the front of the arms. She doesn’t look too old but she looks almost like she’s mourning. Her face is pale, almost ashen. She’s definitely the woman in the locket. Alessandro’s mother. My heart aches at the idea of what she’s been through.

  This room is a large office slash library-like room and it’s filled to the brim on one wall with books. There’s a big stone fireplace, several big leather chairs, and the long sofa she’s on.

  She has dark straight hair that falls around her shoulders. It’s heavy and thick, but looks a little bit lifeless. She’s thin. She’s wearing a navy-blue cardigan and black dress pants. Flats. She has a little bit of make-up on but not enough to hide a skin tone that makes me think ‘ill’. Her skin tone is almost grey. Despite that, I can see she’s a beauty. Or, she was.

  I see Alessandro has both of his parents in him. I’m trying not to look too closely, but I could easily pick them out of a crowd as his parents.

  He stops in his tracks. I stop behind him.

  The housekeeper is behind me. She says something and Alessandro and his father both answer her in Spanish.

  She leaves.

  “Good to see you, Alessandro,” Mr. Romero says in English, “Welcome home.”

  “Papa. Mama.”

  The woman looks up at him and blinks. Her chin trembles and it hits me right in the stomach how much pain she looks to be in.

  She fights the tremble and looks away.

  “Go to your Mama, if you want, boy. Then you can both have a nice cry before I tell you how fuckin’ disappointed I am in you.”

  Alessandro ignores that.

  “My wife.” He reaches behind and wiggles his fingers. I take his hand and step forward, to his side, my eyes to the floor.

  “Say hello to my parents,” Alessandro says softly.

  “Hello,” I look up briefly at his father.

  The man is eyeing me assessingly, his head tilted.

  I glance at his mother and nod. “Mrs. Romero. I’m happy to meet you.”

  She’s looking off to the side. She doesn’t make eye contact with me.

  “Go to the bedroom,” he says to me and then looks back to his father and lets my hand go. “Now, you’ve met my wife. What the fuck do you want?” Alessandro says, through clenched teeth.

  “Don’t go. Stay!” Mr. Romero says exuberantly. “Sit, Holly. Get to know your new family.”

  Alessandro glares at his father and grabs my hand. I stand there, not sure what to do. I stare at my feet.

  He lets out another maniacal-sounding laugh.

  Alessandro’s body is tense.

  “What the fuck do you want, old man?” Alessandro snarls.

  Mr. Romero’s body language changes in an instant and he mutters something in Spanish and one of the men behind him reaches into his inside pocket and passes him a cigar. He then passes him a box of matches.

  “What do I want?” His father’s voice has a dangerous tone. I don’t know the man, but my blood runs cold.

  Alessandro stands there, cool as a cucumber.

  “What. Do. I. Want?” Mr. Romero hisses.

  “Are you back, then? From the dead?” Alessandro asks.

  “Si.” He lights the cigar and smiles.

  “Well, I’m done here.”

  “Done?”

  “Done.”

  “Done, Alessandro?”

  “Did I stutter?” Alessandro snaps.

  “You’re only done if your Papa tells you that you’re done, mijo.”

  There’s loaded silence.

  Mr. Romero sits, trying to look casual. “I want to spend time with you. I want to talk about the future.”

  “There’s no future, Papa. I’m done. As you can see.” Alessandro gestures to the window, likely referring to what’s beyond the grounds.

  “We’ll have dinner. Then we’ll talk.”

  “No. We’re not sitting down at a table together. I told you. I’m not gonna keep repeating myself. We are done.”

  “I wanna know some things,” Mr. Romero says with a wave of his hand, “But we’ll talk later. I want to sit down to a meal first. Do this for your mama.”

  Alessandro rolls his eyes.

  “I’m gathering my thoughts. So, go. Rest if you like. At dinner, we talk.”

  “What do you wanna know?” Alessandro asks as if he’s got the patience of a saint.

  “Push me? You wanna push? Or you wanna go, think it over before we sit down for a meal and talk about the future?”

  “I’ll push.”

  I see Alessandro’s mother wince. I didn’t know if she was even with us, really. But I can see that she is.

  “I want…” Alessandro’s father takes a breath and then continues. “I want to know why you got married. I want to know how you’ve been. What your plans are. I want to know why…” he rises, “THE FUCK YOU MAKE IT LOOK LIKE MY EMPIRE CRUMBLED!”

  The roar that came out at the end has made my blood run cold.

  No one in the room seems affected by this exchange and it takes everything in me to hold it together. I’m willing my body to not shake. I’m willing my eyes to not betray me. Alessandro once told me I don’t need words; my eyes say it all. I’m hoping they’re not saying anything right now.

  “Am I scaring your little pet?” The man asks, his voice so soft and gentle that you’d never know he just roared like an angry alpha silverback gorilla, all but pounding his chest.

  “She’s fine. She’s just not used to your lunacy like the rest of us. Sit beside Mama.” He tugs my hand and lets go. I make my way to the sofa and sit beside his mother.

  “Much to discuss, Alessandro.” He sits down in the chair. Alessandro sits in another chair facing it. Both men lean forward, resting their forearms on their thighs, mirror images in body-language.

  “We’re remodeling. Yes? This is all being rebuilt. That’s right. Where are all our assets?” Mr. Romero says.

  “In the rubble out there,” Alessandro says quietly, smiling at his father.

  Mr. Romero slams his fist on the arm of his chair. “Why? Why the fuck are you playing with me? You should know better. Have I not taught you?”

  “You taught me. You taught me all right. You tried to take my wife. I learned from you, Papa. Someone hits you. You hit them where it
hurts. What could hurt you more than that?”

  “Taking my wife is the only thing you could do to hurt me more than this. Taking my wife and taking my son away. You already took you away. But you didn’t get my wife.”

  “Ah, yes. You won at Hide and Seek, Papa.”

  “I did, didn’t I? Shall we drink a toast? Where the fuck is the maid? Floriana!” Sandro shouts, making me jolt. I try to hold it together.

  “Her name is Renata,” Alessandro says, as if he’s bored.

  “Renata!” Sandro hollers.

  The maid bustles in, red-faced, apologetically, with a tray that has a bottle of booze and two glasses on it.

  She serves both of them.

  Sandro switches glasses with Alessandro and takes a healthy swig from his glass. Alessandro does not. He holds his glass, smiling, as if to try to screw with his dad’s head about whether or not the drink has anything in it.

  “Where is it all?” Sandro demands.

  Alessandro snickers.

  “Where the FUCK?”

  “There’s nothing here. It looks like your empire crumbled because Papa… it did.”

  “So, the way to hurt me most. What would hurt you the most?”

  “We’ve already established that. Haven’t we?”

  “But have we?” Mr. Romero challenges.

  There’s an eeriness in the room. And then Mr. Romero laughs. And the laughter goes on for so long it’s as if he’s never going to stop. Alessandro’s mother is still. Alessandro has a sour look on his face, like he smelled something foul, and his eyes are filled with molten lava.

  “Where you been, Alessandro?” Sandro asks, wiping his eye after the raucous laughter.

  “Looking for you.”

  “Where she been?” he gestures to me.

  “Safe from you.”

  “She’s pretty.”

  “I know.”

  “You gonna give him babies, little Senora Romero?” he asks.

  I look to Alessandro.

  He jerks his chin up. “Answer him.”

  “Yes, Sir. If that’s what he wants.”

  “You call me Papa. You pregnant?” he asks.

  “I don’t know, Sir.”

  “Papa,” he corrects.

  “I don’t know, Papa,” I say.