I clench my jaw, my hands shaking as I try to calculate how fast I can get the pistol out of her hand before she accidentally fires it. “Stop this. I know you don’t want to die. You’re not thinking clearly. Put the gun down, and we’ll get some sleep and discuss this again in the morning.”
She barks a dry laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re not listening to me.”
“I am listening!” I shout, the last of my patience burning to bits. “You’re not making sense, Elena! You’ve spent two months fighting to stay alive, so I know you’re strong enough to handle this. It’s why I chose you. It’s why this will work. If you weren’t strong enough, you would have begged me to kill you weeks ago.”
“How the fuck would you know what I want? You didn’t ask me when you drugged me, or when you locked me in that room. You didn’t ask me what I wanted when you announced to dozens of strangers that we’re getting married! Now you care about what I want?”
“I know you want to survive. I know you want to get back to your boutique and your friends. Marrying me—”
“Kill me!” she screams, thrusting the gun closer to me. “Fucking do it!”
I strike without thinking or hesitating, clenching my fist around Elena’s wrist and twisting until she drops the gun with a sharp cry. I take hold of her other arm and yank her toward me. She bumps into my chest and tries to backpedal, but I tighten my hold and lean down until we’re nose-to-nose.
“I don’t want to kill you, goddamn it! I want to keep you!”
Elena goes still, staring up at me with confused, unfocused eyes. “You … you what?”
“I want you, Elena. I want you so badly it fucking hurts. I know you want me, too.”
“Wanting your cock doesn’t mean I want to marry you.”
“No, but it gives us something to build on,” I argue, releasing one of her wrists to swipe the tears from her face. “This marriage doesn’t have to make us miserable, gatita. You can have your life back, as much of it as I can give you. You’ll have protection, money, security. I can give you things no other man can. I can fulfill your every desire.”
Elena’s face twists into a sneer. “Everything except for a husband I can like and respect.”
“I don’t require either of those things,” I tell her with a shrug. “Not at first.”
“But you’ll require obedience.”
“Absolutely.”
She snorts. “You’re an arrogant asshole, you know that?”
“Yes. But once we’re married, I’ll be your arrogant asshole. There isn’t a thing I wouldn’t give you, and there isn’t a soul who could touch you without going through me. If you want your freedom back, this is the only way you can have it. Marry me and you can have Belleza, and whatever kind of life you want.”
“As long as I let you keep me here and shadow my every move … oh, and fuck you whenever you want. Did I get that right?”
“Not entirely, but it will do for now.”
This time when she jerks against my grip, I let her go. She sniffles and uses the sleeve of her cover-up to dry the last of her tears.
“I won’t do it. You can drag me down that aisle kicking and screaming, but I won’t say the vows and I won’t sign anything. I will embarrass you in front of all the people you’re trying to fool into thinking this is real. Is that what you want?”
Now that the pistol has been removed from the situation, I feel better—steadier. I smirk and chuck her beneath her chin. “That’s never going to happen. When the day comes, you will go through with the ceremony.”
“That’s what you think,” she says with a scoff.
She goes to take a step away from me, but stumbles with a sharp inhale. The glass embedded in her foot has finally made its presence known, and Elena glances down at the bloody stains she left on the rug in clear shock. She wobbles on her feet, and I sweep her off them before she falls.
“Put me down,” she grumbles, pushing against my chest as I carry her to the bathroom. “I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can, gatita. But I’m going to take care of you for just a few minutes.”
Either she realizes there’s nothing to gain by continuing our fight, or she’s exhausted after a long day. Regardless, she goes limp against me and stops arguing. There’s still a hell of a lot of animosity coming off her. It radiates from her eyes while I sit her on the counter and go to my knees to inspect her foot. The glass didn’t embed too deep, but it might have injured her worse if she kept trying to walk on it.
Going into the cabinet beneath the sink, I retrieve one of several supply boxes filled with first-aid items. After the first time I took a bullet, I started keeping the necessities on hand.
Elena watches me with suspicion as I use a pair of tweezers to ease the glass from her foot. She winces but doesn’t pull away when I start cleaning the cut.
“What are you, a part-time doctor?” she grumbles.
I can’t help a small smile over her breaking the silence first. I was content to let her pout, but this is much better. “Not really. But one of the first things a young mafia soldier learns is how to patch up injuries until the real doctor arrives. Knowing how to stop bleeding or tie a proper tourniquet can mean the difference between life or death.”
Elena wrinkles her brow, looking less angry now and more curious. “You say that like you’re an old man. You can’t be any older than thirty-five.”
“I’m thirty-two, but men in my line of work age fast. It’s the stress and the danger of the lives we live. I’ve experienced more than normal men who live into their eighties.”
She lets out a squeak when I use clean gauze to apply pressure to the cut, and I pat her thigh in reassurance. She doesn’t pull away.
“If it’s so hard, then why do it?” she asks. “You have a choice, you know.”
I shake my head. “It’s adorably innocent of you to think that. No, gatita, I don’t have a choice. I was born into this, molded for it. I can never be anything else.”
We go silent again, and this time it’s strained. My skin itches at the idea of spilling my guts to her, and I can feel the urge to dig deeper coming from Elena. Convincing her to marry me without a fight might be easier if I let her know things about me that few others do. But I can’t do it; not yet. There are some wounds that are still too tender to rip open.
Elena doesn’t speak again until I’m finished wrapping her foot. When I stand to wash my hands, she turns to look at me, her expression solemn.
“And here I thought all this time that I was the prisoner.”
“Gatita, you have no idea.”
19
Elena
The wedding ceremony has been planned for two weeks from the day of the pool party. For the first few days I feel like I’m living in some kind of nightmare. I wake up every morning to the realization that life as I once knew it is over. If Diego has his way—which he always does—I will go from one form of imprisonment to another. It doesn’t matter that he’s promised me more freedom, or to buy me anything I want. In the end, I’ll still belong to him—only now it will be permanent. Rationally, I know this new arrangement won’t be much different than what I’m living right now. But a part of me isn’t ready to accept such an unchangeable twist of fate. Even if I run and find a safe haven, I will always be tied to him. Also, I know I could never run for long before he finds me.
The entire household is in an uproar over the plans for an upcoming engagement party, and the wedding reception. Mariana arrives in my room on the second day with a wedding planner who will be responsible for the logistics. Diego requires the ceremony to take place at Gesu Church in Miami, but leaves all the other decisions up to me. It’s all I can do not to hurl the dishes off my breakfast tray and scream for them to get the hell out of my sight. Instead, I fake a headache and ask the planner to come back another day.
I retreat into a state I’ve tried to avoid since I was brought here—one of passive denial and depression. My days are
spent in bed, hiding from Diego and everyone else who lives in this house, from the truth of what my future will be. When the planner returns a few days later, I numbly look over swatches of colors and fabrics, photos of cake designs and floral arrangements, and seating charts for the reception. The names on the list I’m given are unfamiliar aside from Jovan, Marcella, a few of Diego’s men I’ve encountered, and Oleg and his family. It’s just another reminder that none of this is what I want.
Dress fittings start on the fourth day, when Diego takes me to one of the sitting rooms to look over a rack of obscenely expensive designer gowns. Even the fashionista in me can’t get excited over the white silk, satin, and tulle. Each gown might as well be a different style of prison jumpsuit as far as I’m concerned. Still, I choose something elegant and beautiful and stand still for the alterations while staring unseeingly across the room.
Diego is treating me like I’m a porcelain trinket—or more like a bomb he expects to go off at any moment. He’s polite and mostly silent. He keeps his hands to himself, even though I notice him watching me with the fire in his eyes that hints at how badly he wants me.
I want to keep you, he said the night of our so-called engagement. Keep me, like I’m a piece of property instead of a person with wants and needs of her own.
Isn’t that what I already am to him? Not just a prisoner, but a toy to be used how he sees fit. Apparently being under his thumb isn’t enough anymore. I need the title of ‘wife’ to cement my place as his permanent plaything.
The more those thoughts swirl around in my head, the more I return to my old self. The indignation I pushed aside to keep from losing my shit starts to resurface, and my determination returns. Diego dealt a painful blow, but I realize it isn’t something I can’t overcome. Nothing is final yet, and this isn’t over until I’ve done everything I can to escape. My days of laying low and trying to seduce Diego into lowering his guard are over. It might have been effective with more time, but he’s made it clear that there is no more time.
I go through the motions to avoid suspicion, and even emerge from my room for meals and to swim in the pool. Diego seems pleased with the change, so I even stop giving him the silent treatment. Our conversations aren’t meaningful or anything, but it’s just enough to keep him from watching me like I’m a dynamite stick with a short fuse.
On the night of our engagement party, I wear a dress of my own design—an evening gown in shimmery silver, with thin straps and a plunging back. The hired beauty team returns to doll me up, pinning my hair into a soft up-do and performing another spectacular makeup job.
Diego is waiting for me in the hallway when I emerge, and his gaze turns positively molten when he catches sight of me.
Taking one of my hands, he spins me in a slow circle to take it all in. “You look exquisite, gatita.”
“Thank you,” I reply, keeping my head high in the face of his perusal. I can’t show fear or uncertainty. I will get through this party tonight, but by morning I’ll be gone.
“The guests are just arriving,” he informs me. “Before we go downstairs, I wanted to give you this.”
I notice the jeweler’s box he’s holding for the first time. It’s square and flat—too big to be a ring, much to my relief. Having him push a ring onto my finger just now would crack my resolve. It would be nothing more than a heavy shackle weighing me down.
Diego opens the box to reveal a stunning wreath necklace. The design looks vintage, and a sparkling white-gold setting is the perfect backdrop for several perfect, sparkling diamonds. I can’t control my reaction, my mouth dropping open as he lifts the necklace from its velvet casing and motions for me to turn around. The box hits the floor, and the cold metal slips around my neck. Diego’s fingers are gentle as he works the delicate clasp.
“This belonged to my mother, and her mother before her,” he says, his voice low and stroking down my spine. “I would be grateful if you’d wear it for special occasions.”
I frown, running my fingers over the diamonds. “You … you want me to wear this because it makes us look more authentic?”
It’s a ridiculous question at a time like this, but I have to remind myself what I’m running from here. Standing in the dimly lit hallway while he looks so devastatingly handsome in his tuxedo is almost enough to trick my mind into seeing this party as something it isn’t. Diego isn’t being romantic; he’s marking me as his property.
“Well,” he murmurs, his hands dropping to my bare shoulders. “Oleg is sure to recognize it, so I guess it will help in that regard. But that isn’t why I’m giving it to you. It isn’t just for you to occasionally wear, gatita. It’s for you to keep. You will be my wife, and that means nothing is too good for you. If you would just surrender and let this happen, it will be easier for us both. I could be good to you. I want to be good to you.”
“Right,” I snap, fighting off a wave of desire as he traces his fingertips down my spine. “Because you’ve been such a prince so far.”
He chuckles and places a kiss on the side of my neck. “Maybe not the prince you want, but still the prince you’ll have. Everything will be all right, Elena. You’ll see.”
Instead of arguing, I let him take my hand and lead me to the stairs. Instead of putting my arm through his like he usually does, Diego intertwines our fingers and holds on tight. Another ruse to make us look like a real couple in front of his guests.
Diego leads me deeper into the first floor of the house, to a room I’ve never been in before. It’s large and open with marble floors, smooth white pillars, and a skylight letting in the glow of the moon and stars. I can’t think of it as anything other than a ballroom.
“This is where we’ll host our wedding reception,” he whispers while leading me through the wide double-doors and under an archway decorated with fresh flowers.
The room is decked out with white cloth-covered tables, china and silver, candles, and even more of the flowers. A band plays sultry jazz music, and a space is cleared on one side of the room for dancing.
“I hope you like it,” he says. “Marcella did most of the planning.”
I swallow past a knot in my throat, wrestling with the unwanted reactions running through me. I don’t want to be charmed by the look on his face, as if he actually cares what I think. He’s made it clear he doesn’t, and I won’t forget that.
“It’s nice,” I say nonchalantly.
Diego doesn’t get the chance to reply, because we’re suddenly surrounded by people wanting a word with us. I spend the next several hours smiling, sipping champagne, and making small talk. Diego and I separate at some point, him gathering with the men and leaving me in the company of the women. I do my best to answer questions about the wedding details and keep from looking as annoyed as I feel.
Dinner is served and I eat light, my stomach too upset to handle much food—even if it’s some of the best I’ve ever tasted. The party goes into full swing once the meal is finished, and everyone heads for the dance floor. Of course, Diego leads me through several dances, surprising me with how skilled and graceful he is. But then, I shouldn’t be surprised. I haven’t yet discovered a thing that the man is bad at. It wouldn’t be annoying if he weren’t also so good-looking and hung like a fucking horse.
After hours of champagne, I whisper to him that I need to use the restroom. He directs me to a side door leading to a set of bathrooms and tells me to hurry back. While I make my way there, I start turning over various plans of escape in my head. I’m determined to get out of this house come hell or high water. If caught, I’m prepared to die for it. I no longer have anything else to lose.
I linger in the bathroom for several minutes, pacing the floor and trying to figure out which of my plans has the best chance of success, and thinking over all the ways each one can go wrong. None of them are foolproof, but each one is better than passively accepting my fate.
I’m halfway back to the ballroom before I spot a sliver of light from a door farther down the hall. The murm
ur of a male voice comes from beyond it, speaking a foreign language. As I edge closer, I recognize the voice as Viktor’s, but the language isn’t Russian. It isn’t Spanish either, which makes me curious about who he’s talking to, and whether all mafia men are multilingual. In their line of business, it would certainly make sense.
Sure enough, when I peek through the crack in the door, I find Viktor pacing the floor and talking on his cell phone. Diego’s warning about Viktor echoes in my mind, and I can’t ignore it. When the scariest man I’ve ever met tells me I should be afraid of another scary man, it makes sense to listen.
I’ve just decided to go back to the party when Viktor glances up and notices me hovering in the doorway. A wolfish smile spreads across his face, and he says a few more terse words in the foreign language before ending the call.
“Elena,” he purrs, motioning for me to come inside. “I’m sorry to be so rude, leaving your party like this, but the call was important.”
I take a step into the room but leave the door hanging open in case I need to make a quick exit. “It’s no problem. Honestly, I wouldn’t blame you if for needing a break. The parties and events, all the mingling and smiling … it’s exhausting.”
Viktor laughs, taking a few steps closer to me but keeping a safe enough distance. Apparently, Diego’s threat was taken seriously. “You must really love Diego, to put yourself through all this for him.”
I hold his gaze, answering the clear challenge in his words. “I do. He’s worth it.”
Viktor’s smile is knowing, like he knows I’m lying through my teeth. “Well, I shouldn’t hold you up. Wouldn’t want your fiancé to get jealous. Not that I fault him for it. If I had such a precious jewel in my hands, I would want to protect it, too.”
Marrying the Mobster: American Gangsters 1 (Leave Me Breathless) Page 15
