Damage: an Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance

by Natasha Knight

  “I don’t believe you.” I pull myself up to a seat as far from him as possible, draw my knees up and wrap my arms around them.

  I don’t know what hurts worse, the fact that I’m going to lose my brother—because I will. My father, Stefan, men like them, you don’t win against them, I know that.

  But it’s not that that’s twisting my insides.

  It’s Stefan’s betrayal.

  I rest my forehead on my knees and close my eyes. My head hurts, and my heart hurts and I didn’t think it was possible to feel any worse than I did in that well. Alone in that darkness and cold and stench. But it is.

  “Gabriela—”

  “Get out. Just get out.”

  His eyes narrow, jaw tightens. I know he wants to say something but I just bury my face again and I hear him walk to the door, open it. “She’s not to leave this room until I send for her,” he says to the man outside.

  I wasn’t going to leave. Where would I go?

  The door closes.

  I just sit there, and I feel more alone than I’ve ever felt in my life.

  13

  Stefan

  By the time I get downstairs, the paperwork’s been updated. I sign and, fuck, what I’d give to punch the stupid grin off Waverly’s face. To slam my fist into it and knock out his over-bleached teeth.

  But I force my hands into my pockets, fisting them there, thinking about her upstairs.

  Doesn’t she know me by now? At least a little?

  “Mr. Marchese will be in touch,” Waverly says.

  “Mr. Marchese can go fuck himself,” I reply, never taking my eyes off him.

  He closes his briefcase, gathers it up and is smart enough not to extend his hand for me to shake.

  “I’ll see myself out,” he says.

  Like hell he will. One of my men accompanies him to his car and follows him out the gate. I pour myself a whiskey.

  Over the next thirty minutes, Paulo prepares another form, one Waverly and Marchese won’t see until it’s too late. He straightens, smiles awkwardly as if he didn’t just witness what happened.

  A single heroic act does not a hero make.

  No. No hero here.

  I run a hand through my hair, unable to get the way she looked at me out of my head.

  “Finished?” I snap.

  “Yes, it’s finished. She just needs to sign this. I’ll pick it up and file it once everything is in order.”

  Once we’re man and wife. And then only after I’ve greased many palms.

  “Thank you,” I force.

  “You’re welcome. I’ll be heading home, then. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  I nod, shake his hand and when he’s gone, I close my office door and study the papers.

  How will she feel about this? Will she see it as a heroic act or a heinous one?

  I know the real answer. I know myself.

  I tell one of the guards to bring her downstairs and get up to switch on the stereo. Mephistopheles sings, brokering Faust’s deal with the devil. Fitting.

  Gabriela walks into the study not five minutes later. Or, more accurately, she’s walked inside. And what I see in her eyes is betrayal. Hopelessness. And hate. And all I can think is she’s too young and too innocent for this.

  To know so much despair.

  But she is who she is. The devil’s daughter. And I just brokered my own deal.

  I’ve stolen her.

  And I’m not finished yet.

  “Sit down, Gabriela.”

  She folds her arms across her chest and shakes her head, eyes accusing as she presses her back to the wall.

  “I said sit.” I think about last night. About this morning. Hell, about a few hours ago at the pool. That girl is gone. This one, she’s the one from before. The one who was hauled into her father’s study to sign away her life.

  “Fuck you, Stefan. You’re a liar.”

  I study her, take in the words. Feel her hate.

  “Sit down before I make you.”

  She swallows. She knows I will.

  Her hands are fists as she walks toward the couch and perches on the very edge.

  “After everything, you trust me so little?” I ask.

  “You lie constantly. You play games with me.”

  “I haven’t lied to you. I’ve been fairly straight forward, in fact.”

  She snorts, shakes her head. “Really? Sneaking my father’s attorney here while I wait for you upstairs. While I wait for you to fuck me upstairs, that’s straightforward?”

  “This is my house. I wasn’t sneaking anyone in. I needed to get this done before I could tell you what—”

  “Save it.” She’s on her feet, hands at her sides. “Tell it to someone who cares. Who gives a fuck what you say. Every single word that comes out of your mouth is a fucking lie.”

  My hands are fisted too and I’m trying to be patient. To see from her point of view. She’s young. A girl. And she’s emotional as fuck. Marchese is trying to drive a wedge between us. I know it. Doesn’t she see it? What’s happening between us now, it’s exactly what he wants.

  And I realize something.

  I don’t want to lose her.

  But fuck, my patience is running thin.

  “My eyes are open now,” she continues. “See, where you get me wrong is that you think I need to choose between you and my father. That I need to make one of you the angel so the other can be the monster. I don’t. Because there are two monsters in this doomed fairy tale.” She takes a breath. “You’re right about one thing, though. A single heroic act does not a hero make. A hundred wouldn’t make you a hero, Stefan, because you aren’t that. You will never be that.”

  She turns on her heel and almost makes it a full step away before I catch her by her hair. She fights me when I spin her around and march her to my desk.

  “Your eyes are far from open. And this thing, Gabriela, this thing between us, it’s no fairy tale.” I push her over the desk. I hold her face about two inches from the piece of paper there. “Read.”

  “Let me go.”

  “I said read.”

  “I’m not interested—”

  I haul her up, get in her face. “Do you need me to lock you up in a tower, princess?” I spit. “Is that it? Because you need me to be your monster? Is that the only way you know how to deal with men? Are we all monsters?”

  I watch her eyes water but I don’t let go.

  “You’ve proven yourself over and over again,” she says, still fighting even though she knows she’s lost.

  “Read,” I say, turning her face back to the desk

  “Let go of my hair! You’re hurting me!”

  “But isn’t that what monsters do? Fucking read. Get all the fucking facts before you cast stones and once you have them, I may allow you to beg for my forgiveness. Of course, you’ll have to do it on your knees.”

  “I will never kneel to you.”

  I chuckle. “Before the night is out. Read.”

  She pushes against the desk to raise herself up, but I keep her down over it and smack her ass hard. She grunts, reaching back to cover the spot.

  “Read.”

  “I don’t want to!”

  “That’s too bad. You had some leeway with me but that’s finished. Don’t push me now. I’m very close to losing my temper with you. Fucking read.”

  I only release her when she moves the sheet of paper a little, and I know she’s reading.

  She flips one page, then another. It’s a few minutes before she turns to me, eyebrows knitted together.

  “You can’t do this,” she says, straightening. “My brother isn’t a part of this.”

  “Your father made him a part of it.”

  “You can’t—”

  “I can. And you’ll sign. Because it’s the only way to save him.”

  “No.”

  “Think, Gabriela.”

  She looks away, her forehead furrowing as she thinks hard. She shakes her head, opens her mout
h but she’s like a broken record. “You can’t.”

  “You compare me to your father, yet you tell me you want to trust me, but you know what I think? I think you’re full of shit. I think you need to be locked away in that tower you’ve built for yourself because that’s the only way you know how to survive.”

  “He can’t be a part of this.”

  “This agreement will save your brother. It will save you both.”

  She stares up at me and I can see her battle to make sense of what she’s seen. “It will deliver him to you,” she says.

  I force a deep inhale, count to ten. “And what exactly do you think I’ll do with him?”

  “I think you won’t only bury my father, but you’ll bury my brother and me along with him.”

  My hands fist. “You believe that? Still?”

  “Punish me if you have to but leave my brother out of it.”

  “What would you have me do? Put cigarettes out on your back? Cut you? Is that the same deal you made with your father? Let him hurt you to save your brother?”

  “That’s not…My brother…he’s already lost so much.” I see in her face she knows this is going to happen. And her pain, it twists something inside of me.

  “I don’t do this to hurt you,” I say, cupping her face. “Can’t you believe that?”

  “But you do hurt me.”

  “Only because you refuse to see.” I smear a tear across her cheek. “You’re a sad little thing and I don’t want you sad. Don’t you understand?”

  “Then change it. Take your name off it.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Because you don’t trust me and yet you expect me to trust you. I’ll do whatever you want, Stefan. I will.”

  “I know you will.”

  “Please just change it. Take your name off it.”

  With my hand at the back of her head, I pull her to me and lean down to kiss her forehead, keeping my lips there for a long moment. I then kiss her temple, move to her ear.

  “He’ll do anything to take you from me. He’ll do anything to get you back. He thinks I’ll give you up when he pulls his little trick—”

  “What trick?”

  “But he doesn’t know about us. He couldn’t understand. You’ll sign the papers. Tomorrow. After we’re married. And you’ll have your brother back.”

  “And we’ll both be at your mercy.”

  “Am I so terrible?” I step backward, away from her. “Have I mistreated you, Gabriela? What have I done but try to make you happy?”

  “Happy? So this is you trying to make me happy? You’re deluded.”

  My jaw tightens. “You want your brother. I’m getting him for you.”

  “By taking guardianship of him yourself!”

  “It’s the only way.”

  “Liar!” she screams, slapping both hands against my chest and trying to shove me away.

  “Gabriela.” I catch her wrists, pull them off me and the moment I do, she spits at me.

  I turn my face away in time and from the look in hers, I get the feeling she’s more surprised than I am by the act.

  For a long moment, we stand like that, staring at one another, tension so thick between us that it’s hard to breathe.

  “You learn nothing.” Rage burns me from the inside, coming to a boil. “Go to your room,” I order through gritted teeth.

  “I won’t sign.”

  “You will. Now go.”

  “I hate you. I will always hate you.”

  I swallow, squeeze her wrists, fury churning inside my gut. “I’m warning you to go. Now. Before it’s too late.”

  “It’s already too late.”

  “You know what?” I exhaled, shake my head. “You’re right.”

  14

  Gabriela

  I see the switch flip inside him. It’s the strangest thing. The scariest thing.

  Because just like that, he’s the man from that first night again. The crazed one.

  There’s a single moment where time feels like it’s suspended over us. Where it’s like we’re both locked in place, and the instant I gain control of my legs, the instant I tell them to move, to run, to carry me away from this monster, he tugs me so hard, I bounce off his chest and I’d fall if he didn’t have me.

  He walks me backward to the wall, pushes me roughly against it. Holds me there.

  Music swells, opera, a soprano. Marguerite, I think. It’s Faust and Marguerite.

  They’re doomed. They were from the start.

  I watch Stefan unbuckle his belt as he mutters under his breath. His eyes are fierce, dark, and hard and burning.

  With a swoosh, he tugs the belt free and the sound, it fills me with fear.

  “Tomorrow,” he says, doubling the belt in his hand, taking the buckle in his palm. He takes both of my wrists into one of his hands and stretches my arms over my head. My dress rises, exposing my thighs.

  He raises the belt.

  “Stefan don’t!”

  He brings it down across the fronts of my legs and I’m shocked by the sudden, searing pain. Silenced by it.

  “Tomorrow, you’ll marry me.” He brings it down again and this time, I do scream, and I realize how dark it is in here. How loud the music is. Was it this loud when we were screaming at each other?

  The scene reaches its crescendo.

  The execution is coming. Marguerite will be beheaded soon.

  “You’ll wear what I tell you to wear and you’ll smile and look pretty, and you’ll do exactly as you’re told. And if you don’t, I will strip you naked and lash you from the tops of your shoulders down to your ankles.”

  Another lash and another and another. My thighs are on fire.

  “Please! God. Please stop. It hurts!”

  “And once we’re man and wife, you’ll sign the petition for guardianship. Am I clear?” he asks, punctuating with another stroke.

  “It hurts!” I’m crying. Sobbing. Fuck.

  He lashes me again, three more strokes before gripping my jaw in his belt hand, fingers digging into me. “Those won’t scar,” he says, his face so close to mine our noses are touching. “I’m sure your father would do much worse. Now do you understand, or do you need me to whip you properly?”

  “I hate you,” I manage.

  “I don’t care.”

  “I will always hate you.” My throat closes up as hot tears streak my cheeks.

  He forces me to my knees, keeps me down there. I guess he’s making good on his threat of earlier.

  “You sound like a broken record. This is bigger than your hate. Now answer my question. More strokes or do you understand?”

  He watches me and I see the blur of him through my tear-filled eyes. “I understand,” I spit. Because what choice do I have?

  He nods and the belt clangs to the floor beside me. When he releases me, I sag backward. I guess it’s good I’m already on the floor. My legs wouldn’t hold me upright. I look down at the exposed part of my thighs. See the thick, angry red welts on them.

  Stefan looks at me for a moment longer, but I can’t read his eyes and my brain, my stupid brain, goes to the other night. To how he was on Skull Rock. How he talked to me. How he held me. How he kissed me.

  I watch him turn, watch him walk away. Pour himself a drink.

  With the heel of one hand, I wipe my eyes as he looks back at me down on my knees. He swallows the contents of his glass. And when he stalks toward me, I press my back against the wall, as if I could disappear into it.

  He ignores my whimper but leans down to cup my chin and he’s almost gentle when he tilts my face up to his and I watch him watch me for a long moment.

  “You’re a sad little thing,” he says.

  And I think he’s never been more right.

  15

  Gabriela

  The papers I’m to sign are a petition for Gabe’s guardianship. And it would be a good thing. But there’s a catch. There’s always a catch.

  How long has Stefan planned on t
aking guardianship of my brother? While he was lying on that beach with me? While he was kissing me?

  A knock on my door interrupts my thoughts.

  “Are you ready?” Miss Millie asks, peering her head into my room.

  Does she know what happened last night? Does she know I don’t want this? That I’m being forced to do this?

  I shift my gaze back to my reflection. I don’t look like I did the night of the engagement party. Not elegant and sophisticated. I’m wearing minimal make-up. Just some cover up, mascara and lip gloss. My face is pale, and I can’t hide the puffy redness from all the crying.

  My hair falls loose to my shoulders, the bangs tucked behind my ear. I’m not wearing the pretty hat that comes with the dress Stefan chose but I am dressed. It was delivered this morning, my replacement wedding dress. And with it came a note:

  Remember what will happen if you make me come up there to dress you.

  S

  No ‘x’ this time.

  And I am dressed.

  At least it’s not the hideous gown.

  “Ready,” I say, standing, the skin of my thighs tight, a painful reminder of last night’s whipping. A taste of what will happen if I disobey.

  No women to prepare me today. No need. Today is a decoy. A means to an end. Just like I am a means to an end. If I was forgetting that, he reminded me of it last night.

  “You look beautiful,” Miss Millie says.

  I don’t want to look beautiful.

  I’m wearing a white lace off-the-shoulder dress that comes to my knees. Black would have been more fitting. A thick satin belt cinches my waist and the sleeves come to my elbows. A pair of high satin heels finishes the look.

  It’s simple, I guess. At least compared to the other one.

  Miss Millie is wearing a pretty navy-blue suit and for the first time since I’ve known her, makeup.

  “Stefan is waiting downstairs,” she says and opens the door wider.

  I nod, glance back at my reflection but I don’t recognize myself.

  What a sham this is. What a sham my life has become.