by L Neil
Perhaps I would fit perfectly into his family after all.
Gently, he kisses my forehead and it feels as though a tide has come in, washing away all my anxiety.
“If you knew,” my voice cracks, “you wouldn’t want to marry me.”
“That is simply impossible,” he assures me.
Maybe it's the genuine acceptance of my horrifying crime or maybe it’s because this might be the last time that I see him before I flee the country anyway; I lead him to the chaise and tell him my deepest, darkest secret.
About how I had just started college and couldn’t believe that I got to study music. I was over the moon; music was going to be a big part of my whole life.
About how I met a guy in class named Tommy, who played piano but looked like a football player. He was handsome and mysterious and doting.
So quickly, he had made an impression on me, claiming all my attention with his relentless pursuits.
And boy, how thrilled I was to go on my first date ever! Manny told me to report back to him because if this guy hurt his older sister, he would surely beat him up.
And this guy did hurt me.
The two hours at the movies was uncomfortable, to say the least. I had shut down all of his physical advances, but they just kept coming. And I felt too awkward to tell him that I would find my own way home. I didn’t expect it to get worse.
I tell Frank about how Tommy missed my turn and drove me instead to the abandoned lot a few blocks from home.
I explain how he wouldn’t let up with grabbing at me and got tired of me trying to exit the car. Then, I describe how terrified I felt before the world went dark. How I woke while Tommy was still inside of me. How he kept his hand over my mouth to silence my screams. How much it hurt. That I didn’t know how much longer it would go on or if I would ever make it home again.
I recount how when I woke next, it was at the sound of Tommy's wheels screeching after he dropped me on the lawn at the front of our house.
Frank takes my shaking hand with a firm grip and continues to listen. His eyes had not left mine, even through the most graphic parts of my story. They are like wells with no bottom – I can’t help but feel like he would let me fill him with my words, my sadness, for as long as it takes.
I tell him about how my father wanted to take matters into his own hands, that he wouldn’t allow me to tell the police. And how Manny would search all day and night for Tommy but he had simply disappeared.
Afterwards, I dropped out of college. But it wasn’t that I was too scared to go – I knew that he wouldn’t be there. It turned out that he wasn’t even enrolled in the first place, which doesn't make any sense to me. But...I just couldn’t listen to music anymore. I dropped out because I was just this broken...thing. I wouldn’t leave the house for days at a time and I started smoking to kill my nerves.
Eventually, I had built the courage to go to the police. My father wasn’t getting anywhere and it wasn’t his choice. It happened to me, not him and most importantly, it could happen to someone else.
I had spoken with Officer Campbell and he took notes, said he would follow up.
I contacted him often and he never had any updates for me.
Eventually, I realised that he wasn't doing anything about it. When I talked to another cop at the precinct and they couldn’t find a case file on it. They dismissed me, told me to come back tomorrow when some other cop was in.
Frank begins to breathe more heavily, face grave. The knuckles on his tanned hands are white. He looks absolutely murderous but he keeps his thoughts to himself. His empathy is solid.
I had gone straight to Campbell's house. By chance, I had once spotted him leaving for work one day, so I knew where he lived, and I knew he lived alone.
I confronted him and he called me the worst of names – I couldn’t believe what he was saying to me – and he told me to drop it.
Normally, the name calling would have hurt but I had found myself truly numb by this point in the whole ordeal.
I returned later that night and through the window, I watched as he fell asleep. I didn’t plan what I was about to do, it just...happened.
I was a regular smoker and my zippo was in my jeans pocket. I found the gas cans in his shed and splashed each window and the front and back doors to his shitty little house.
“Tommy got away with it and... Campbell allowed it. It wasn’t fair - someone had to pay,” I say, voice breaking. “That’s the way I justified it, anyway.”
I had always thought that when I confided in someone about what happened, I would feel dirty and ashamed. Although it still hurts, I feel…kind of relieved.
“And the boy?” Frank enquires, voice low and menacing, “He is...alive then? Still?”
I nod. “As far as I know.”
Tears roll down my face and he pulls me into a tight hug.
“I get that what I did doesn’t phase you very much. I know who you are. But...” I sob into his shoulder, “…and I know it’s unfair to myself to even think this but surely you don't want me after...” I know I had just explained what happened to me in detail but I can’t bring myself to say it again.
He pulls back and grips my arms, tightly. He grates, “What happened was not your fault. You must know that.” He lifts my chin higher and makes me meet his eyes. “How could you have expected something like that to happen? Sweetheart, I wish I could take this away from you – the memories, the pain.”
Then he begins to tremble and looks away. “Your father,” he swallows, “he caught on that I had men watching you. He came to me and threatened that he would move you away if I didn’t stop.”
He looks haunted when he says, “I shouldn’t have listened. I could have spared you this if I had kept my eyes on you.” He shakes his head in dismay.
“He moved you away - even after I pulled the boys back. And I was devastated, fuming.” He looks at me, “But now I know why he did it.”
Wiping my wet cheeks, I say, “This is just so…bizarre.” My voice sounds slightly nasally and childish after crying.
He looks puzzled and it makes me chuckle.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
I can’t help but to laugh again. He really doesn’t get it.
“You’re talking about stalking me like it’s a completely normal thing to do.”
Turning in his seat, he faces the room and rests his hands on his parted knees, recomposing himself. He seems so awkward and for Frank Mariano, that just isn’t quite right.
Meanwhile, I tuck my legs beneath me and wrap my arms around my stomach. Strangely, I miss his closeness.
“I saw you.” He smiles, warily. “My contacts in London informed me that you were to perform at the Secret Garden Dinner. You sang Summertime by Billie Holiday.”
I try to recall how long ago that was and then I remember. “That was five years ago. You flew to the UK to watch me?”
“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
When he grins, my heart flutters in my chest.
“That was when I decided that I wanted you for myself,” he ponders, quietly.
The doubt starts to creep in, as it always does. I shuffle back on the seat, uncertain. “You want another son, someone to pass your legacy onto.” Why do I feel disappointed?
“I will admit, that was the plan…until I saw you on Friday night in that wicked, black dress.”
He rolls his bottom lip in to wet it and his eyes pour over my body in the thin camisole.
He had been planning this for so long.
He croons, “Baby, you were something else.”
He grabs one of my hands. “Back in London, when I laid my eyes upon you, it felt like cupid struck me. There was only you.”
He stands, only to kneel on the floor before me.
“When I saw you Friday night, cupid didn’t use no arrow. He slammed into me like a freight train.”
He places a hand on his chest for emphasis. “Really, I couldn’t believe my fortune.�
�
I remember the dancing, the protectiveness, the cheekiness, the way his eyes were always on me.
“You are all I want. And now that you are here, in my home, right in front of me...” he cups my knees with his hands and his breath is hot on my exposed thighs. His eyes roll up, eyebrows arching. “...I am never letting you go.
“I do not want or need a child or a grandchild anymore. In fact, I refuse to share you with anyone.
”
CHAPTER 4
Yes
Manny yells over the phone, “You’re what?”
“I’m gonna marry him,” I say again, matter-of-factly.
“Hel. Please don’t do this,” he pleads. “We can move. I can find a new job…in…Alaska. We can change our names-
“No, Manny,” I chide. “I am doing this.”
Frank told me that he would give me time to consider his proposal and it turns out that I didn’t need much.
Before he left the room, he showed me the wardrobe and told me that all the clothes were for me. Everything was a perfect fit and I don’t think I want to know how that is possible.
After I showered in the guest bathroom, I chose a deep green blouse to match my eye colour and black, skinny, cropped jeans.
“Dad is going to be so pissed,” Manny says.
“I don’t care and why should you? He’s the one who got us into this mess. And Manny, you don’t know Frank. He’s…”
“…A homicidal mob boss who skins people alive?”
“Apparently.”
The rest of the conversation pretty much circles back to the same thing. Manny doesn’t want me to marry Frank – or any other Mariano – and I think of different ways to defend my future husband.
The thing is, I was willing to marry one of Frank’s sons - men I have never met and had only ever heard scary stories about.
The way Frank has treated me so far, well... if I hadn’t known who he was, I would say he is the most caring man. Even if the rumours about him are true, he seems like the lesser of three evils.
I said I would do anything for my family, and I wasn’t bluffing. While I am certainly aware that I am rushing into something that may sting me later, if this is what keeps my family safe then I cannot say that I will regret it.
I have certainly made worst decisions in my past.
After I hang up the phone, I brush my teeth, noting again that all the toiletries are new and unopened. The room and adjoining bathroom both feel unused.
I apply what little makeup I carry in my backpack, not taking much notice. My mind is in a million places at once.
What is life going to be like living here? I once imagined being a princess in Frank’s castle, but would I be the Queen now?
Stepping out of the room, I can see that his house is just as nice as I remembered. It’s as extravagant as the venue on Friday night, with white panelled walls and dark, polished wooden floors. I hadn’t taken much notice of anything last night but looking now, I am taken back to when I was a little girl, holding Manny’s hand, being dragged into our dad’s mess yet again.
There are more rooms behind numerous wooden doors but Frank said that he would be downstairs, so I stroll over to the staircase.
The mahogany balcony and railing are smooth and shining and overlook the grand foyer downstairs. The floor down there is tiled, white and shiny and open and…covered in men. There are about eight of them standing about, looking quite serious.
I slow my step.
One of them nods to another one who is standing near a set of doors further into the house.
The man near the door knocks but stays in position.
“Ma’am,” the first man motions to me to step ahead of him, sounding rather annoyed at me. I hesitate but end up doing what he says. If I were in danger, it would be too late. Besides, I get the feeling they are not here to hurt me. This guy is probably in his mid-forties and wears his hair in a long, black braid. His tall, muscular body looks like it was honed from years of physical training.
The doors burst open and Frank strides over to me, his aura fierce but playful. “Woman, I have missed you.”
I grin in return. We have become so familiar, so quickly. I like it.
“It’s only been forty minutes,” I reply.
He moves in close and kisses my cheek, slowly, deliberately. My skin warms and my tummy tightens.
The smell of cigar clings to his clothing, his skin, like his own magical aura.
“Forgive me, darling,” he whispers, “I am just so very happy to show you something.”
His breath on my neck feels way too nice. Surely, he can’t know that it’s my spot - the part of me that when touched, it disturbs the butterflies in my stomach and makes me want more.
I may as well tell him that I’ve made my decision.
I whisper, so close that my lips lightly graze his ear, “Yes, Frank.”
He pulls back slowly and eyes me suspiciously. When he speaks, it’s careful and low. “Do I dare hope this means what I think it does?”
Do I say, “I will marry you” or “I want to marry you”? It’s a bit of both and I’m so nervous, it would probably come out wrong. So instead, I kiss him on the cheek with a, “Mm-hmm.”
“Out,” he commands the men so loud and suddenly that it startles me. All but two of them make themselves scarce - the one who guided me to the room who I now assume is the one in charge and a black man, who hesitates before he turns around to also give us privacy.
When I look back to Frank, he grabs my face in his hands and kisses me so hard and desperately that I can barely breathe.
I gasp when his mouth leaves mine to hungrily cover my neck and chest with his lips and teeth. Dizzy, I work hard to contain the moan that threatens to escape my lips.
He pulls in my hips, to press me to the front of him. He is hard and his movements are frantic.
This is all happening so fast; not that I’m complaining.
When his lips make their way back up to the side of my neck – please no, not there – he finds that spot again.
My breath comes out in a rush and I push myself into his hardness, almost involuntarily. Almost.
His free hand grabs the back of my head and he tilts me to expose more of my neck as if he knows what he is doing.
His breath is so warm and his teeth graze me so lightly, teasingly making me tremble and grow weak. It's almost too much.
The sound of crashing billiards slows him down. No. Not yet...
We catch our breath and as he retreats, I can see his struggle to re-focus himself.
Jaw loose, he breathes in deeply and regains his composure. On the exhale, he smiles - so big, so wickedly.
Chuckling, he holds out his hand and says, “I almost forgot…we have a guest,” and then leads me to the doors.
I wish he could give me more time to recover.
“Fourteen!” A man’s voice shouts in excitement. “I got fourteen and now I go for the eight.”
I pause in the doorway. It’s Simon Briggs.
“Simon,” Frank attempts to grab the man's attention.
But Simon is high on happiness, pleased to be winning this game. His shoulder-length dreads bounce as he flicks them out of his way. He obviously only wore the suit because he was visiting Frank. It swims on his thin, lanky frame.
He looks silly and out of place here, but Briggs is actually one of the richest men in the South.
“Yo Frankie, I gotta get this black ball down the hole and then we can talk.” He doesn’t look up at Frank, or me. “I get this, you owe me 100 G.”
He lines up another shot and sees me in his peripheral vision. “This your lady? Or the entertainment? ‘Cause I didn’t know you rolled like that.” He chuckles and it grates my nerves.
Personally, I would have wanted to watch that last shot if I were betting one hundred thousand dollars. Also, what the fuck is going on?
Frank clears his throat and motions for me to come over. As much as I don’t wa
nt to go, I trust him, so I follow his order and take his hand.
His thumb strokes my hand to calm me down, slowing my racing heart.
Until recently, I had been so independent, so unafraid. This threat to my family has made me realise how fragile and powerless I actually am. And I have never clung to anyone for help before but I am clinging to Frank now, the most powerful man that I have ever met.