Saved: a dark romance

by DD Prince

  Alessandro sucks on his teeth, a disgusted look on his face.

  “Get her pregnant, son. Have lots of babies.”

  “That’s the plan,” Alessandro says, “An army of my sons. Eh, Papa?

  I get a belly flutter that I ignore.

  “To carry on my legacy?” Alessandro adds.

  Mr. Romero’s face goes sour and I don’t know what that meant but it looks like Alessandro has scored a point.

  “Yes, little Senora. Have lots so that if one or two disappoint you, there are others to carry on the legacy,” Mr. Romero says and downs the contents of his drinking glass.

  Alessandro snickers.

  His father whips his drinking glass and smashes to shards against the fireplace.

  I startle and Alessandro’s mother grabs my hand and holds it with strength she doesn’t look like she possesses.

  I give her hand a little squeeze. She squeezes back, gives me a sharp look, lets me go, and her eyes dim out again. Alessandro caught that. His eyes narrow on me for a split second and then his attention turns to his father, who is pacing the room and I don’t think his father saw that exchange. Thankfully.

  I decide to try to mirror Alessandro’s mother’s body language.

  “We need to talk about the future. About how you’re going to make this bullshit up to me. But go on up to your room. Rest a bit. Have a think. Then we’ll have a nice meal together.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. I don’t need a rest.”

  He glares at Alessandro.

  “Are operations going at our other locations?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “What about the people waiting for stock?”

  “They can go fuck themselves.”

  Mr. Romero mutters something in Spanish and the two bodyguards move forward toward Alessandro.

  “I wouldn’t come closer,” Alessandro says, calm as can be.

  They freeze and look to his father for direction.

  “Okay. I’ll give you a minute to think. Let me give you some time. Let me give you some time with these thoughts. You rethink. You tell me all of what you did and you help me fix it. We leave here and go to Chacala to the other compound and maybe I let your mama and your wife live.”

  “We don’t leave these premises. And there’s nothing in Chacala.”

  “Nothing?”

  “It’s gone. It’s all gone, Papa.”

  Alessandro’s father gets up and says, “Let’s go, little Senora Romero. Come have a visit with Papa upstairs.” He lets out a big laugh.

  “Don’t move,” Alessandro says to me.

  I sit, hands in my lap, eyes on my hands. Trying to not shake.

  Alessandro says something in Spanish and it sounds like a warning.

  “Ha! Speak English so your wife understands.”

  Alessandro glares at him.

  “Go to your room. Rest. Your mama and me need to rest, too. We meet for dinner tonight. Have Floriana make caparrones.”

  “Renata,” Alessandro says, as if bored.

  “Renata!” Mr. Romero shouts.

  The maid comes in and he barks out some Spanish. Alessandro speaks in Spanish to her through clenched teeth. She nods and leaves.

  He then holds his hand out over me. I take it and rise.

  He leans over and kisses his mother on the forehead and says something to her in Spanish.

  She blinks at him and looks away.

  “Don’t fucking do that!” Sandro shouts, “No fuckin’ Italian.”

  Oh. Not Spanish then.

  “Vaffanculo, Papa.” Alessandro says with a smile.

  And then he leads me out of the room.

  ***

  We’re in his bedroom. He locks the door and then takes off his blazer and kicks off his shoes. He starts rifling through drawers, cussing under his breath. I stand there, just watching.

  “Shower,” he says, finally.

  I watch him go toward the bathroom but then he looks over his shoulder, “Both of us.”

  I quickly follow him into the bathroom. He’s got a big open shower and sunk-in tub with a long vanity, and there’s a smaller room off to the side with a toilet and sink.

  I point at it. He nods. I go in and close the door and take a big breath. I hear the water go on.

  I use the bathroom and then I come out and he’s standing there, texting on an old flip style phone. He lifts the lid off the toilet tank and then puts it into a Ziploc bag that’s inside the tank. He begins undoing his shirt buttons. His socks are off. He moves to me, he takes my hair by the bun and then undoes it, eyes on mine. Eyes fierce.

  He flicks the switch on for the bathroom fan.

  “Look at me,” he demands, and I look up into his eyes as he unravels my hair and runs his fingers through it. He kisses me softly on the lips and holds my face with one hand, his other hand still in my hair.

  “You did good,” he says against my mouth, “Good girl. Undress me.”

  I unbutton his shirt the rest of the way and push it over his shoulders so it drops.

  “My fly.”

  I finish undoing his zipper. He undoes the zipper on the back of my skirt. It falls to the floor. I step out of it. He pulls off my blazer and undoes my blouse. I take the rest of my clothing off.

  “On your knees,” he says. He reaches into a drawer and pulls out a hair dryer and sets it on the vanity and plugs it in and turns it on, too. It sounds like we’re in a subway station.

  I move to my knees, taking his suit pants down with me. He steps out of them. His underwear are tented.

  “Suck me.”

  I peel his underwear down and his big thick cock bobs.

  I lick my lips and look up at him. He’s looking down at me with a hungry expression that sears a fiery hot trail straight to my clit.

  As messed up as that situation was, I need to be what he needs right now. I take his tip into my mouth and twirl my tongue around it. I see a swallow move down his throat. His eyes close. His teeth sink into his lower lip.

  My fingers graze up his hip, and then up to the flowers tattooed on his torso and he looks down at me with a fierce expression. He grabs my hand and holds my hand there. Tight. Too tight.

  I focus on my task of sucking, licking.

  He tugs my hand and pulls back. I rise and we get into the shower. He lifts me by my butt cheeks and wraps my legs around his waist and puts me against the wall. His forehead touches my forehead and our eyelashes touch.

  I whimper as his cock pushes inside me.

  He moves fast and hard and holds me very tight. I run my hands up and down the powerful muscled back, the hot wet skin, and see gunmetal grey piercing eyes on me, scorching a trail straight through me, like they own me. They do own me. Every bit of me.

  Near the end, when I sense he might be close, I grab his jaw with both hands and put my mouth to his. He kisses me back fiercely, possessively, and then thrusts hard, too hard. My back is banging against the tiles. He comes, finally, with a roar, and then sets me on my feet. He turns his back on me and gets his face under the stream of water.

  I reach for the shower gel and pour a bunch into my palm. I rub my hands together and start moving them up and down his back. His body is so tense. I try to help that with a sudsy massage.

  He braces his hands on the wall and lets me.

  I rub suds everywhere on his upper body from throat to belly button. And then I soap up again and go from hips down to his knees, including rubbing between his legs. This seems like it partly wakes up his dick again and he’s looking down at me with lust. I go right to his feet, rubbing the lather everywhere with my hands, and then I move back up and he’s shampooing his own hair.

  He rinses and then he grabs the shampoo and puts it in my hair. He’s lathering it up.

  It feels so good, his hands in my hair, that I face-plant into his chest. He keeps going. And then he soaps up with body wash and lathers my whole body straight down to my toes an
d then as he’s coming back up, he parts the lips of my pussy with his thumbs and he leans and licks right between my folds. I stumble and go back against the wall. He pins me there, hands to my hips, and sucks on my clit, his hands holding me captive, until I cry out, “Oh baby. Baby, baby, baby.”

  He lifts me up and slides back into me and fucks me some more, slow but deep, with long kisses, nibbles to my throat, and his tongue licking my neck, his teeth tugging on the ridge of my ear. I’m nothing but nerve endings.

  He holds me, under the water, for a long time, and then whispers into my ear.

  “You hear me? Nod.”

  I nod.

  “Anything happens to me? Drawer under the washing machine. Lock box. 77803. Blue syringe will take him down. Orange will kill him. Take him down with blue and call Zack. Nod if you heard all that.”

  I nod. That was why he turned all that white noise on. He’s hoping his father doesn’t have the room under surveillance, wants to try to mask what he’s saying.

  “77803, baby.”

  I nod again and commit that number to memory.

  “I love you,” I whisper against his lips, “Please don’t let anything happen to you. Please.”

  He squeezes me affectionately, which makes my heart swell because it feels almost like a declaration of love back from him. He turns the shower off, and pulls me out, by my hand.

  “I got this,” he gives me a wink and my heart lifts.

  77803. Blue takes him down, orange kills him. 77803.

  If anything happens to Alessandro because of that horrible man, can I keep a promise or will I have to give him the orange?

  I shiver a little. I’m limp and sated and sad and scared. I’m on the verge of an emotional outpouring. He wraps me in a towel and lifts me unnecessarily, like he wants to take care of me. My heart is so full as he carries me to bed, putting me under the covers, climbing in, and then he lays on his side, pulling me tight to him. I burrow in to his chest, tears streaming but keeping myself quiet. He’s taking care of me right now. He’s doing what a good husband does. Holding me, letting me cry it out. He covers me with the blankets, almost over my head. Like he knows I need a moment to just have these strong emotions. He lets me have them.

  And then I get a kiss against my forehead.

  I’m a lousy slave. And thank God he seems to be okay with that.

  I’m not tired. I don’t think I could sleep under the same roof as that crazy man, even if it was nighttime, which it isn’t. I’m sure Alessandro isn’t sleeping either, but neither of us talk. We just hold one another for a really long time.

  I finally roll to my back and what I see makes my heart stop. Until my mouth opens and I let out a blood curdling scream.

  Alessandro jolts and looks up, seeing what I’ve seen.

  A naked blonde girl is suspended from the canopy of his bed. She’s up high, tight against it, those velvet ropes tied around all her limbs, around each of her breasts, between her legs. Her throat has rope coiled tight around it and her face is completely purple. She’s dead.

  He yanks me out of there. I’m hyperventilating. He moves, with me to his armoire. He grabs a shirt from it and puts it on me. He pulls on underwear and gets into suit pants and a black tailored shirt. He gets socks on and shoes and I’m just standing there, frozen, in shock.

  He buttons a few buttons, enough to cover me, and reaches into his armoire and opens a drawer filled with wristwatches. I’m staring, dumbfounded, as he takes the time to put a wristwatch on. What the heck?

  He ushers me out of the room, out of the adjoining sitting room, and out into the hall. He reaches for the doorknob to my old room and opens it and pulls me in.

  I’m trembling all over. I might vomit. The horror just keeps washing over me over and over, like waves crashing relentlessly over rocks.

  “Shhh,” he has me against him. I’m trying to Shh. I really am. But, my heart hurts, my breathing is so loud, and I’m shaking all over.

  “Was that supposed to be m-me?” I ask.

  He squeezes me tight. That was an affirmative.

  “Get dressed,” he tells me, “Now.”

  I stare blankly at him.

  He goes to the white armoire and pulls out a dress.

  Did that dead girl wear it? It’s mine. He bought this dress for me after my stuff got ruined in the fire. Did she wear it?

  I see the bed, the art easel. My big bookshelf of movies and puzzles and more art supplies. It looks the same. It looks like it did the day I left. And it has been over a year. Did she use my stuff? Did she sit here pondering her fate? Did she wish she had stuff of her own? How old was she? Who misses her? And the other girl. Alessandro told me he’d already killed a Holly decoy.

  This Holly decoy was purple and dead, with her eyes open too wide and her tongue sticking out just a little bit. She was a person. Someone’s daughter. Maybe someone’s sister.

  I can’t stop crying.

  He gives me a shake and snaps fingers in front of my eyes.

  “Holly. I need you to pull your shit together.”

  I choke but I nod.

  “Hear me?”

  I nod again.

  “He’s not gonna touch you. No one fucking touches you. You hear me?”

  I nod vigorously. I’m running my hands through my still wet hair, trying to compose myself.

  “Get dressed. Find shoes. Comb your hair and put make-up on. Game face. Two minutes. Yeah?”

  I nod.

  He grabs my face with both hands and holds it tight and looks deep into my eyes.

  “I need your help. I’m counting on you here. Keep it together so I can keep you safe. Yeah? Words, Holly.”

  “Yeah.”

  Alessandro

  We’re dressed. We’re heading down the stairs. We’re composed. Well, I am. Holly? She’s still shaken. She’s trying to hold it together. I need to get this shit done before she comes unglued completely.

  This is almost over and it’s gonna be easier than I thought. He came with just two men. We were prepared to take out many men on the property but heat detectors and other surveillance put here by the men who helped demolish my father’s buildings have confirmed that there’s just these two. I got word from Rocco just as we got here and sent a text to Zack with further instructions just before our shower.

  The maid is hovering near the bottom of the stairs, looking like she’s waiting for me.

  “Where is he?” I ask her in Spanish.

  “Same place,” she answers back in Spanish.

  “My mother?”

  “In the guest room down the hall.”

  “Which one?”

  “The one painted blue.”

  “Right. Go outside and wait by the gate.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Shit is about to get ugly. Go out by the front gate and wait until I tell you. If shit goes south, hide until you can run.”

  “Floriana!” my father bellows.

  My father calls every single maid Floriana. Floriana was his maid when he married Mama. She was his favorite slave before Mama.

  “Go,” I tell Renata and she hurries out.

  I put my hand to my wristwatch and lift the face of it and push the panic button inside. I close it back up again and straighten my shirt. Holly’s eyes widen as she sees me do this. She knows I’ve pushed a panic button. I give her a wink. She nods at me with understanding. That’s my good girl.

  We step into the room.

  We’ve gone into the study again. My father is sitting there with a notebook computer, a look of anger on his face. Mama’s not here, thankfully.

  I step in and block Holly. I can’t let her out of grabbing distance or I won’t be able to focus.

  “You ready to end this?”

  He’s watching, looking for a reaction about the Holly decoy. I’m not giving him one.

  He stares a beat and then leans forward. “Tell me all of what you’ve done so I can instigate damage control, boy. Leave nothing out and maybe I
’ll be lenient. Defy me and not only will your mother suffer, but your little girl here will suffer, too. I don’t like what I’ve just seen in some of my bank accounts, son.”

  “I don’t leave these premises. Neither does my wife. If either of us do, or if something happens to either one of us, there will be a chain reaction that will mean the rest of your accounts get drained. You’ll have not a fucking peso to your name. Including the accounts I set up for you when you left here. And your secret accounts, too.”

  His eyes go wide and his face goes red.

  “Do you think I wouldn’t come here with a plan, Papa? Do you think I haven’t had a plan for a long fucking time? Login to your secret account. Look at the balance.”

  “You would not dare. You just want me to login so you know where it is.”

  “Wouldn’t I? Fine. Don’t look. You’ll find out.”

  He lifts a tablet off the table and does something for a minute and then drops it roughly on the table.

  “What do you want, you fucking shit?”

  “I want you dead.”

  He barks out laughter.

  I continue. “But since that’s not likely, I want out. You release me from the business, from your life. And I take my mother with me. You leave us be. I’ll move the money back.”

  “Not happening.”

  “Which part?”

  I see flinches from one of the two men behind him at the notion his money is gone. That’s the guy who speaks English. The other guy doesn’t. I know both these guys. They’ve both been with him since I was a kid. I’m surprised at this, given all the bullshit they’ve likely had to suffer if they’ve been with him while he’s been in hiding.

  I ain’t bluffing. I’ve had Jonas, my hacker, working in the background and he found the rest of my father’s money when my father flew out of Kinshasa.

  He’s lost his leverage. I’ve managed all his business relationships for almost four years. In the past six months, I’ve slowly phased everything out in a careful and controlled way that wouldn’t put a price on my head.

  There are no more girls. There are no more guns. I’ve slowly filtered money out, giving him less and less access. Last week I emptied what was left of the other compounds and fired the remaining staff members with very healthy severance packages. I flushed out four informants and they were all put to death last week.