by T Steele
I slide under the covers and pull them up to my chin. I don’t want to fall asleep, especially not with someone watching. But after the shocking events of the day, exhaustion finally wins, and I feel myself being pulled into darkness.
Chapter Three
As I wake up the next morning, I'm vividly aware that I'm not in my own bed. Images of the day before flash through my mind, and I jerk up, gasping, as everything comes crashing back. John still stands in the corner, barely glancing at me. It's as if he hasn’t moved at all. There's a discomfort in my chest, and my heart pounds against my hand forcefully as I rub it consolingly.
I suddenly feel self-conscious and have the urge to run.
Get over yourself, Ruby, my brain says.
Even though it's silly, I still swipe my fingers under my eyes, and through my hair. They come back black with yesterday's mascara and I grimace to myself.
"There’s towels and clothes in the bathroom for you." John's voice cuts through the silence, making me flinch just when my heartbeat was starting to return to normal.
"Do I look that bad?" I ask, trying for a joke, but it comes out more self-deprecating than I meant.
John's stare is intimidating, and I'm proud when I hold his gaze, but then he shrugs and turns away from me, indicating our conversation is over.
I inwardly cringe at the awkwardness and slip out of bed, walking into the bathroom. The bathroom is beautiful, with white walls and a jacuzzi tub and shower. The bedroom and bathroom alone are bigger than my entire apartment.
I think about the past twenty-four hours as I scrub my body raw. As if that will help things. Mom used to say, "You can't wash your problems away, but at least you'll smell good."
Pressure builds in my eyes, and I let the tears fall. I won't be able to show weakness once I'm out of the shower and, apparently, this is the only place where I'll have privacy.
I bite my lip and cry silently, watching my tears mix with the bathwater and fall down the drain, escaping. I find myself wishing I could escape with them.
Water sprays and drips down my body, rinsing away the soap. Steam fills my lungs as I take a deep breath.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
After one last deep exhale, I get out to dry myself off. As I'm patting myself, I turn to the clothes lying on the bathroom sink. It's a pair of black leggings with a plain white t-shirt and a pink cardigan.
Pink again, really?
Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I look like a scared child, if a scared child had boobs. The bra they gave me is too small, so I put on the thin sports bra I wear under my baggy work clothes. In the thin, white t-shirt my nipples show through clearly. At least the clothes are a little big, so I’m hoping no one will notice.
Yeah, like a house full of hot-blooded men aren't going to notice your nipples.
I sigh to myself. I honestly can’t see how anyone would find me attractive at this moment. My blonde hair is wet and limp against my pale face. My brown eyes are wide, and with no makeup on, my freckles stand out starkly. And, the outfit, although cute and casual, makes me look even more naive. I hate looking naive.
A knock on the door jars me out of my thoughts. "Your father wants to see you," John's low voice comes through the door.
"Be right out," I say.
I hurriedly finger-brush my hair, not seeing any hair utensils in sight, and use my other finger as a toothbrush.
I open the bathroom door, and John's a lot closer than I expected. His eyes do a quick sweep over what I'm wearing, but he doesn't react. Even though there is no heat in his stare, my cheeks still flush and I avert my eyes.
Suddenly, John walks to my bedroom door and opens it. My father stands there with his fist in mid-air, ready to knock.
What the hell, is he a ninja?
He smiles at John. "This is why you're the best, my boy," he says, patting him on the back. I actually see John's lips twitch in a half-smile. "You're relieved of your duty for now. Go to bed, John."
"Thanks, Boss," John says before leaving the room.
My father's eyes turn to me. "You look beautiful, my dear. I'll have John take you shopping to get more clothes, but for now, I'll introduce you to everyone.”
My father gestures for me to follow him out, and I do. He leads me down a bright hallway to an elevator.
My eyes bug out of my head.
Who has an elevator in their house?
I feel my father's eyes watching me. I turn to him and notice he's grinning. He wants to impress me.
"My old house had two elevators," I say.
He rolls his eyes. "You lived in an apartment."
I sigh. "Alright, alright, the elevator’s cool as fuck."
My father smiles. "Wait till you see inside."
There's a spiral staircase that the elevator is in between, and it has a glass cylinder shape, so we can see different views of the house as we go.
As we descend, I see hallways with closed doors, most likely more bedrooms. I see a beautiful library, everything vintage yet modern and new. The word clean comes to mind. Everything looks immaculate and fancy. It’s intimidating.
Eventually, we stop on what I assume is the first floor, and I see a huge kitchen and dining room.
We step off the elevator, and I'm surprised to see it continue downward.
There are more fucking floors in this house?!
I'm about to ask when I notice millions of people staring at me.
Well, okay, not millions, but the flip in my stomach makes it feel that way.
All the men from the car last night minus John are there. Plus some older men and women, a younger woman probably about my age, and two twin boys most likely around the age of seven.
They’re all wearing beautiful clothing, dresses and suits. Even the twins have little suits on.
I feel like a slob.
Luca looks me up and down appreciatively and I scowl at him.
Suddenly, a knife is thrown through the air, landing right at Luca's feet. I let out a gasp and stare up at my dad in shock.
My father stares Luca down with a snake-like smile. "You best remember this is my daughter, boy. You get anywhere near her, and your dick goes in the meat grinder."
A muscle in Luca's cheek twitches, but he nods anyway.
The girl who looks to be about my age grabs the knife at Luca's feet and comes forward. She’s wearing a sharp suit with a bow tie, and she has dark skin and dreadlocks pushed back away from her face. Her face is extremely beautiful, with long lashes and sharp cheekbones. She’s intimidating, and even though she probably only stands at around five foot eight, it feels like she's towering over me.
She hands the knife back to my father. "Here's your knife, Boss."
She smiles and then bows dramatically at the waist. "Oh, what a pleasure to meet the beloved princess we've heard so much about." She stands up and winks at me. Her eyes do a quick sweep of my body, and I feel a flush grace my cheeks despite myself.
"You know, you really can't blame Luca. You bring us a new painting and don't even let us admire it. Come on, Boss. We'll obey the rules." She stands straighter and puts on a serious face, lowering her voice. "Don't touch any of the paintings here, only admire from afar, or there will be consequences."
My dad shakes his head, but I see his lips twitch. He turns to me. "You really are as pretty as a painting, Ruby." But then his face hardens, and he meets the eyes of everyone in the room. "Don't make me say it again. Anyone comes near my daughter wanting to be anything more than friends, know I won't fucking hesitate."
Everyone nods once, but the girl still turns to me and winks before going to sit at the kitchen table to eat a bowl of cereal.
"That was Liz," my father says.
He gestures for me to follow him to the table where there is food laid about everywhere: eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns, toast, and cereal.
My father goes down the line of people, introducing me to everyone. Eva
ngeline, Lorri, and Suzanne are the older women who are married to Frank and Todd, and Antoine who I haven't yet met. He gives me a polite nod and goes back to his breakfast.
Liz and her brother Ryder’s parents are Todd and Lorri, and the twin boys, Asher and Jax, belong to Frank and Evangeline.
Ryder sits with the two younger men by Luca's side, the ones my father scolded—Zain, and Eli.
I’m never going to be able to remember all these names.
I smile politely and speak when spoken to, but otherwise, stay quiet and eat my food.
After we all finish, my father takes me back through the elevator and into his private study.
The walls are a dark, wooden color with a fireplace behind a mahogany desk, and some bookshelves. But what really stands out are the weapons all over the walls.
Guns, swords, knives . . . is that dynamite?
I feel skittish being around so much firepower. I start rubbing my chest anxiously, a nervous tic I’ve always had. My father notices, and I force my hand to my side.
"You've lived a very normal life, Ruby," he says quietly.
Our gazes lock, and neither of us wants to ask what's going to happen next, but we know we have to talk about it.
I swallow thickly. "I have," I say.
My father stares at me, and I note genuine concern in his eyes. My father may be a mob Boss, but I think his love for me is true.
I sense he's trying to give me time. He's a controlling man, used to getting what he wants when he wants it, but he's trying to be patient, trying for me.
Finally, I voice what's on both our minds. "So, what's next for me? How will I fit into this life?”
Chapter Four
A week has passed since the 'incident'. My routine has pretty much been the same every day.
John watches me sleep, and I'm still not used to his piercing stare. He gives me anxiety, but I still want him around. And, if that weren't insane enough, I actually do feel safe around him. Everything I feel for him is a contradiction. He's so quiet, and he never wants any attention. Yet with just one stare, I feel the breath leave my lungs, and I'm suddenly a fourteen-year-old again wondering if I have something in my teeth.
We don't talk much. Mostly, it's just me trying to start conversations or making jokes, and he sometimes replies or shrugs or ignores me completely.
Other than that, I hang out with Liz at breakfast. She pretends to hit on me every time she sees me, but I know she's just joking around. I've come to realize I can't take a lot of what she says seriously. But I like being in Liz’s presence. She’s funny and she takes my mind off Daphnee. Suzanne has taken an interest in me and seems to genuinely enjoy our conversations. The other women and men are nice, too. Just quiet. It feels like I’ve started at a new school. I’m like the new girl no one wants to sit with to commit social suicide, but my dad is the big, mean principal so everyone has to be nice to me. It’s awkward, but at least no one is cruel.
My father and I avoid each other. At least, as much as we can while living under the same roof. It’s a big mansion, with many hiding places, but when your mob father wants to find where you are, then he does.
My mind keeps returning to the argument in his study last week. I’m playing it on a continuous loop in my head, contemplating better comebacks than what I’d come up with then. And isn’t that just relatable as fuck? Thinking of all the better things I could’ve said that would have hurt him more and made him angrier.
After I asked him where I fit into this world, he smiled kindly, the kind of smile a father gives their six-year-old when they learn to ride a bike without training wheels, and said, "right here with me. You're finally where you belong."
And, of course, the little girl in me who has daddy issues wanted to run into his arms, yelling, "Yes! Finally! Some weight off my shoulders and comfort and security!" But, the adult in me knew it wasn't that simple.
I had smiled at him, and relief flickered across his face before I cleared my throat. "So . . . I'll be working . . . for you?" I asked.
I assumed everyone in a mob family works, right? I assumed everyone needs to bring in money. Again, there's that word: assume.
My father's smile was gone at once. "You won't need to work. I can give you everything you could ever want and need."
I frowned. "Well, I have to do something. I can't just stay cooped up in this house forever."
"You will not leave this house."
I flinched back from his no-nonsense tone and hated myself for doing so.
My father continued, "Ruby, it's not safe for you to leave. I have a lot of enemies, and some of them must know you're my daughter, even though your mother and I have done everything to hide you from them!” He pounded his fist on the desk.
"How long?" I whispered.
"We'll find you some hobbies, and as long as John or myself is with you, you can go shopping, but I don't want you working on your own again."
"SO, I'M BASICALLY A PRISONER HERE!" I screamed, causing my father's eyes to widen.
I make myself come back to the present. Every time I think about the conversation, it gets my blood boiling again.
I sit at the vanity in my bedroom, staring at myself in the mirror. Today's outfit consists of another thin, plain white t-shirt and black leggings, but this time I have a red cardigan.
Wow, how daring am I? I think sarcastically. This is basically what I've been wearing all week.
I at least have a blow dryer and straightener now so that I can style my hair.
Sometimes I catch John staring at me in the mirror. I find myself wondering what he sees in me, but whenever I try to get a closer look, he turns away. Does he think I’m too short, too naive?
What if he finds me attractive?
I squash those thoughts immediately.
You already have enough complications, Ruby.
And, besides, I can’t see an assassin getting into a serious relationship anyway. He probably only goes for taller and more mature women. And why the hell am I thinking of serious relationships when my life is a total and complete mess? With an assassin, no less.
He literally kills people, Ruby. For. A. Living.
He probably only has one night stands.
The thought sends a deep flush to my cheeks and through my body and I give up on arguing with myself.
My eyes dart to his hands, long and slender. I imagine what they would feel like against my breasts. Between my legs. And there’s his hair that always looks artfully messy. It looks so shiny and soft, and I think about what it'd be like to run my fingers through it. How the stubble on his jaw would feel if we kissed. Or how it would feel between my—
A throat clears, cutting off my line of thinking, and my eyes zoom up to John's, who’s staring back at me through the mirror.
My face is even redder now, and I hurriedly busy my hands and pretend to brush my hair. Again.
"Come on, let's go," John says.
"What?"
"I've been ordered to take you shopping for new clothes."
"What! Shopping?"
John nods.
"But are you sure?"
John gives me a droll stare. "Do I look like someone who would joke?"
I look back at him. "Good point."
I follow John out of my bedroom, down the hall and into the elevator. As we get in, I notice he pushes the G button, and I'm curious to see what “ground” it's taking us to.
"Where are we going?"
"Shopping."
I sigh. "I got that, but what store? Will it just be you and me?"
"We're going to the mall." I see him side-eye me. "And yeah, it'll just be us."
"The evil villain finally lets the fairytale princess out of the castle," I mumble.
"Only half of that sentence is true," John says just as low.
I look at him, confused. "What?"
"Malcolm isn't the villain here, but in the mafia world, you are the princess."
"Oh, and what does that make you? The bi
g, bad knight who comes to my rescue, and leads me to town for eggs and milk?"
"No, I'd be the man the knight was trying to keep you away from."
"Well then, why does my dad trust you so much with me? He's letting you take me out all alone, and I remember him literally threatening to put Luca's dick in a meat grinder for looking at me."
His lips twitch in an almost smile, and I find myself smiling in return. "Any mob father would be insane not to be protective of his heir, and I'm sure Luca deserved it."
By this time, we've reached the ground floor, and the elevator opens up to a garage.
A huge garage, that is. There have to be fifteen cars in here.
I follow John through the garage, passing new and vintage cars, but the one that stands out the most is the Bugatti Chiron.
I run over to it, running my hands over the smooth exterior—silver and royal blue on the outside, leather bucket seats on the inside.
"My dad has a fucking Bugatti," I say calmly, trying to ignore the confetti and balloons going off inside my skull.
"Not your dad," John says, hopping into the driver's seat.
I stare slack-jawed at him as he starts the ignition.
"Can I drive it?" I ask breathlessly.
All John does is raise his eyebrow, and I know the answer is no.
I get in the passenger seat, trying not to act too disappointed.
I admire everything about the interior. I run my hands over the seat and seat belt. Finally, I work up the nerve to turn on the radio and am not surprised to hear hardcore screamo rock.
"Just a little light jazz, huh?" I ask with a cheesy grin. "I pictured you as more of a country music kind of guy."
John rolls his eyes, but not before I see his lips twitch.
"Be careful, or I might just make you smile," I say.
Being a fan of rock music myself, I sit back and resist the urge to throw a full-on rock concert, headbanging and all, as Korn’s “Got the Life” blares through the speakers. I love singing and don’t think I’m half bad, but I’ve always been nervous about singing aloud in front of others.