by Remy Landon
“Hello, Cassandra,” he said, his lips curling into a smile as the door clicked shut. “I've been waiting for you.”
Brock.
chapter forty-one ~ Carlo
Carlo hadn't planned on going anywhere tonight, but after a long run in the rain and a hot shower, he decided his house was too quiet and his thoughts were too loud. He would drown them out with a few drinks and the background noise of Frankie's, a popular watering hole for Elizabethtown sports enthusiasts. He usually went out in Lititz or Manheim, but his best friend Mick from high school had moved back to E-town, bought the bar and had been asking Carlo to stop by and have a drink. Carlo supposed tonight was as good a time as any; the Flyers and the Red Wings were playing, and there was a chance—however fleeting it might be—Cassandra might show up with her friends.
The rain had slowed to a drizzle as Carlo parked his Mercedes. Opening the door of the bar, he was met with a barrage of heat and raucous cheering—most likely a goal scored. As he was unzipping his jacket, he saw Mick coming toward him, smiling broadly. He still had the gangly look of a teenage boy, with his dark hair curling underneath a Flyers cap. He grasped Carlo's hand warmly, and the two men shared a quick man-hug.
“Hey, I'm glad you could finally make it,” Mick said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You're looking good, buddy. Driving all the girls crazy?”
“You have no idea.”
“I trust you're getting laid on a regular basis?”
“I can't complain.” Carlo looked around the bar, nodding appreciatively. “The place looks great. Except the owner needs a haircut.”
“Guilty.”
“And I need a beer. Several, in fact.”
“We can take care of that. I've got a seat for you at the bar.”
Carlo followed Mick through the maze of high-top tables, customers staring fixedly at the big screen TV's.
Mick turned to talk loudly over his shoulder. “I'm not sure how long it's been since you've been here, but I've upgraded the menu. Anything you want, it's on the house.”
Carlo nodded and grinned. “Thanks, I appreciate that. I'm really impressed with what you've done. More TV's and new seating, it looks like?”
“Yep. Total of fifteen high-def plasmas, and I added a few leather couches.” He patted an empty barstool. “Here's the best seat in the house. I'll be right back—there's some issue with the credit card machine, and I've got to take a look.” Calling to the burly bartender, he introduced him to Carlo. “Kyle, this is my high school buddy. Give him anything he wants, and then charge him double.” He winked. “See you in a few.”
Carlo ordered an IPA and looked around. This was what he needed: the distraction of people who were enjoying themselves so he could lose himself in it, feel like he was one of them.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed someone walking toward him. He turned to see a heavy-set, balding man in large eyeglasses who looked vaguely familiar.
“Hi, Mr. Leone.”
“Hello...I'm sorry, I know I've seen you before, but I can't seem to remember where.”
“I'm Norman—the maintenance man at Cassandra's apartment. I've seen you visiting her a few times. I never forget a face, or a name,” he said proudly, tapping the side of his head.
“Oh—got it. Yes, I remember. I see you're a Flyers fan.” Carlo smiled and pointed at Norman's t-shirt.
“Sure am! Great game so far.”
“Yes, it is. Things at the apartment complex keeping you busy?”
“Yeah, always stuff to do. Cassandra was just driving in as I was leaving. She must be really excited to have her big brother home.”
“Her brother?” She didn't have any siblings that Carlo knew of.
Norman nodded. “Uh huh. He just got back from Afghanistan. Said he wanted to surprise her, so I let him in her apartment to wait for her. She's probably having a nice visit with him right now.”
“You let him...” Carlo felt his heart plummet to the ground. He forced his lips to form the words. “What did her brother look like?”
Norman chuckled. “Nothin' like Cassandra—he's tall and blond. Real good-lookin' guy. Seemed nice and really excited to see her.”
A thick, cold fear enveloped Carlo as his mind raged. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins as he bolted from his barstool amidst the curious stares of others. Racing to his car, random thoughts exploded in his brain: Mick...will wonder...an emergency...raining again...call 911...ten minutes from here to her...
And rising up from the discord, one mantra, a harsh and fervent plea emanating from the deepest part of his soul. Please be all right...please, don't let me be too late.
chapter forty-two ~ Cassandra
He was leaning against her closed bedroom door, grinning broadly. “Aren't you going to say anything?”
Cassandra pulled her robe tightly around her, crossing her arms over her chest as she took a small step backwards. Everything—her heartbeat, her breathing, her thinking—seem to hang suspended in time, hinged on what Brock would do next. She could hardly stand to look at him, yet could not look away. He was dressed as though he were attending a business luncheon, in a pale green V-neck over a white Oxford shirt and tan khakis, his thick blond hair neatly parted and combed.
His facial expression was pleasant and relaxed, but his gleaming green eyes chilled her to the very core. “You keep staring at me, Cassandra. I'm flattered.”
She managed to find her voice, though it sounded hoarse and weak. “How—how did you—”
“Get in here?” he finished. “It was rather simple, really. Although I should clarify: it's your maintenance man who was simple, and that helped a great deal. I met him yesterday, told him I was your big brother home from Afghanistan, and asked him to let me in to your apartment today so I could wait for you. I'm sure the hundred dollar bill I slipped him helped, but who could say no to a returning military hero wanting to surprise his little sister? And my plan has been a success. You look absolutely stunned. And stunning, I might add, even in your robe.”
Cassandra's mouth had gone completely dry, and it almost hurt when she swallowed. Calm down, she told herself fiercely. You have to be calm and assertive with him. He can't know how scared you are. Straightening, she cleared her throat and spoke again, this time with resolve. “You may have surprised me today, but I knew it was you who was stalking me. Carlo and I both knew.”
His voice was soft but icy. “You may have known that, but you are both fools for not taking me seriously. Carlo is a fool for betraying me, and you are a fool for falling for him.” He chuckled. “For those reasons, I thought it would be perfect to have my denouement fall on April Fool's Day.”
“You need to leave. Your little game is over, Brock.”
“Leave?” He chuckled. “I haven't even gotten started yet, Cassandra. Besides, you need to show your big brother just how glad you are to see him. And speaking of games, I have to tell you how much I've enjoyed that video. I've watched it over, and over, and over. I've jacked off to it more times than I can count. Your perfect, spankable ass gets me every time. It's a shame that the camera angle didn't show your pussy, but I'll be seeing that very soon.”
Repulsion made her stomach lurch. “You need to get out of my apartment,” she whispered. “I have someone coming over soon.”
His eyebrows lifted in amusement. “Oh, really? In that case, I better get started, then. You've kept me waiting long enough as it is. I hope you don't mind that I helped myself to your cheap wine. Your rich boyfriend apparently doesn't know how to take proper care of a woman. But,” he paused, smiling, “I do.”
Brock moved toward her lithely. She took a few steps back, shrinking away from him as she racked her brain for ideas. There were scissors in her desk drawer, if she could get over there. She could stall him, keep him talking...
His lips parted as he came closer. His breathing seemed to have intensified, and there was the distinct smell of alcohol. At the very second Cassandra realized she had no more
room to retreat, her bed hit the back of the legs. She gave a small gasp as she struggled to stay upright. Brock's eyes glowed with satisfaction as he saw his chance and pushed her down on the bed, climbing quickly on top of her and taking each of her wrists in his hands.
As she opened her mouth to scream, he mashed his lips over hers, thrusting his tongue in her mouth and yanking her arms painfully over her head. There was the strong, bitter taste of alcohol and she struggled against him, but he was lying with his full weight on top of her, and she could not break free. Now he was taking both of her hands in one of his, using his free hand to loosen the belt of her bathrobe and yank it open. Sliding cold fingers up to her naked breast, he pinched her nipple hard, and she whimpered against his mouth, loathing that this seemed to excite him further. He pushed his tongue against hers, squeezing her nipple as she fought to keep from moaning in pain.
She felt Brock's erection poking at her leg through his pants. Her heart was beating so rapidly at the thought of what he would do, she thought it might explode. He was fumbling with his belt, and she struggled beneath him as he slid his pants down, his cock warm, stiff and heavy against her thigh.
Oh, God, please...no... She was whimpering uncontrollably now, twisting, writhing...
His breath was pungent, hot as he pulled his mouth away from hers to rasp in her ear. “You're going to know what a real man feels like, Cassandra. Carlo couldn't finish the job that night of the video, so I'm going to do it for him...little sister.”
Still grasping her wrists in his hand, he got up on his knees to prepare to enter her, and Cassandra saw her chance. With all of her strength, she freed her foot and drew up her leg to jab her heel at his crotch. He turned his pelvis away from the kick so it didn't hit him square, but it was enough to make him grunt with pain. His face colored with rage, Brock leaned over her and backhanded her, hard, across the cheek. Stunned by the blow, she could only look up at him dazedly as he quickly stroked his cock to regain his erection and climbed on top of her again. She felt a cool rush of air as her robe was pulled completely open, and then Brock's thick fingers thrusting forcefully between her legs...
Suddenly, the door...bursting open. Lying rigidly on her bed, she was keenly aware of Brock leaping off her—No. He was yanked.
There was a roar of outrage from a familiar voice, the dull thud of a fist pounding into flesh, and the soft groans of pain that followed. Weakly, she pulled herself onto her elbows as relief washed over her, flooding out the terror. Carlo. Carlo was here.
He drew back his fist and punched Brock again, a clean uppercut to the jaw, followed by a swift knee to the groin, causing Brock to double over and crumple to the floor.
Cassandra scrambled to her knees on the bed, pulling her bathrobe around her and shrinking into a shivering ball, just as two police officers burst into the bedroom, guns drawn. Backing away from Brock, Carlo was at Cassandra's side in three strides, gathering her into his arms as she burst into tears. He buried his face in her neck, kissing her hair, murmuring her name, holding her as if he was holding on to dear life. Over his shoulder, she could see an officer putting handcuffs on Brock, the other policeman coming toward them, his face kind and concerned. “Are you all right, miss?”
She nodded, feeling Carlo's arms tighten around her.
“I'll give you a few minutes, and then we're going to need to ask you some questions.” Tactfully, he stepped away and stood near the door as his partner finished reading Brock his Miranda rights.
Carlo leaned back to look at her, brushing his fingers tenderly across her cheek. “Cassandra—did he hit you?”
She nodded, and Carlo's face darkened. His eyes were blazing with fury, but there was something else there as well—wild, raw fear. The muscles in his jaw were trembling. “He's fucking lucky the police showed up when they did. Did he hurt you, other than your cheek? Did he...” His mouth twisted around the ugliness of the words. “...rape you?”
“He was just about to.” She took a deep, shuddery breath. “Thank God you got here, Carlo.”
His eyes were glistening as he brushed the hair away from her face, cupping her chin in his hand and kissing her forehead softly. “I'm going to go get you some ice for your cheek.”
“No...” She put her hands on his muscled upper arms, wanting to feel his strength. “Stay with me.”
He hugged her, his lips against her ear, his one-word answer warm and reassuring. “Always.”
chapter forty-three ~ Carlo
The late April sea breeze tugged at Gianna's long, dark hair, tousling it, and when it grew tired of playing, set it back down in disarray. She tucked it behind her ears and smiled up at Carlo as they stood upon the flat black ledges, prevalent along the Maine coast. They had flown to their summer home in Surry for a weekend getaway and for Jordan to finalize the shot list for the photographer and videographer.
Carlo raised his eyebrow. “You do realize you'll have to contend with this wind for the wedding?”
“Yes...that's why I'm wearing an updo with hair spray.”
“Better plan on extra cans, then.”
“Carlo. It will be fine. You're not talking me out of having it outdoors. I want it right here, right near the water.”
“First weekend in May could be a bit chilly, cara.”
“It should be in the low sixties, but if not, it's a short ceremony, and people can wear coats.” His sister folded her arms in exasperation. “Is there anything else you want to be pessimistic about? Maybe a seagull will relieve itself on my head.”
He chuckled, pulling Gianna into his arms for a quick hug. “I'm sorry. I'm just in a mood. And I want everything to be perfect for you.”
“Nothing's perfect, fratello. But it will be as close as it can be. I'm marrying the man I'm madly in love with, surrounded by my brother, my family and friends, and we have the Atlantic Ocean for a backdrop. What could be better?”
“You're right.”
“Have you heard from Cassandra lately?”
“A few days ago. We had a good talk on the phone.” Carlo had chosen not to tell Gianna, or anyone, about Cassandra's attempted rape. He wanted to guard her privacy as she had asked, and he, too, wanted to put it behind him and move on. Dall was being charged with attempted rape and assault in addition to the lawsuit against him for corporate espionage; Carlo was more than happy to turn the motherfucker over to the judicial system. Brock would hopefully be put away for a long, long time.
“Did you happen to ask her to be your date for my wedding?” Gianna's face was hopeful.
He shook his head. “I don't want to pressure her. She's asked me for space, and I'm giving it to her.” He had felt extraordinarily close to her, comforting her that awful night. Seeing her in that vulnerable position had given him the strength of ten men. He had been filled with more rage than he had ever felt in his life—so much that it scared him. He'd wanted to beat Dall into a bloody pulp, but once the police took over, his anger vanished, and all he could focus on was making Cassandra feel secure and protected. She had clung to him, and he had held her tight, planting gentle kisses on her forehead, her cheek, her fragrant, damp hair, wishing she could climb inside him and stay there. Always. And she hadn't pulled away.
After the police had finished their interview and left, Carlo had stayed with her for a long time. She had changed into cotton pajamas and decided she wanted to sit in the living room, so he had brought blankets from her bed and wrapped her up in them, pouring each of them a glass of wine and sitting beside her on the sofa. As she began to get drowsy, he watched her eyelids close, the lashes dark and thick against her pale skin. She had bunched up the blankets in her hands, and he studied her small, delicate fingers, flawless face, her cheekbones dusted rose from warmth. He watched the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, her auburn hair, messily beautiful as it spilled across her shoulders, and his heart and mind were full. He wanted to take all of this in, because he didn't know when—or even if—he would see her again. Even though she was
sleeping, he whispered, please forgive me and hoped that her subconscious would hear it.
She had woken shortly afterwards and seemed to be cooler, calmer, thanking him for being with her and telling him gently that she wanted to be alone. He had been hesitant to leave, but she told him she would call Teal if she needed someone. This had stung, but he quickly banished the feeling. He had no claim to her, as much as he wished it were otherwise, and there was even the chance—as horrible as it was for him to think about—that she held him partly responsible for Brock's attack. If she hadn't been involved with Carlo, none of this would have happened.
I need to get strong again on my own, she had told him, her eyes large and luminous. I don't know how long that's going to take, but I want to be just me, so I know I'm okay. Do you understand?
He did. And it terrified him. Selfishly, he wanted her to need him. He wanted to dominate and protect her; he wanted her to see that she belonged to him. He wanted to love her.
But right now, he was not in control. And unsettling as this was, it was truth.
He was snapped out of his reverie by the arrival of his future brother-in-law who was walking toward them across the flat rocks, the hood of his sweatshirt over his head. He slung his arm around Gianna's shoulder, and she looked up at him adoringly.
Jordan shook his head, smiling as he looked over the sea. “I know I've been here before, but man, this place...every time you come back, it's like seeing it for the first time.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” Gianna beamed. “Do you have the shots all figured out?”
“Got all my notes right here.” He patted his breast pocket. “Kinda wish I was shooting this event myself, but then again...I wouldn't get to be the groom.”
“You're a lucky man, Jordan.” Carlo winked. “And don't you forget it.”