by Bella J
I turned to face him. “You keeping an eye on Raphael?”
He nodded. “The dumb fuck is so bad at keeping a low profile, he’s probably the easiest person to keep track of.”
“You have no idea how close I came to planting lead in his skull. Just thinking about Mila driving off with him…fuck, I wanted to tear him apart.”
James got up and joined me as we both stared out over the ocean. “There’s a lot of blood on your hands because of her.”
“Yeah. And I have a feeling there will be more.” I took a deep breath. “Anyway, we’re sure my father hasn’t bought Raphael’s shares yet?”
“He doesn’t want it if it doesn’t give him the majority shares. With you adding Mila’s ten percent to your shares, and the other five still tied up, he’s not interested.”
“He knows,” I muttered. “My father knows about the newest version of Torres’s will, and about the added clause.”
James remained unfazed. “Doesn’t matter whether he knows. He can’t do shit about it.”
“Oh, but he can.” I weaved my fingers together. “He still has Raphael on his side.”
“But Raphael is gay.”
I snorted. “He can still do it, whether he’s gay or not. Question is, how far is that fucker willing to go to get his greedy hands on my father’s money?”
“Then you need to do it.”
I eyeballed the man. “As easy as that?”
“As easy as that.” He nodded. “If there’s a chance Raphael might step up, then we have to make sure you beat him to it. It’s simple.”
I scoffed and rolled my eyes. “Simple, you say?”
“Yup. Simple. If beating your father and getting the truth out of him is still your number one goal, then there’s no doubt about what you need to do here.”
James’s pointed stare and furrowed brows painted the picture of a man who was serious as fuck. A man whose only concern was getting the results we wanted—no questions asked.
“I’ll just leave this topic hanging over your head like a ten-ton truck while I go check in on the younger Torres sibling, see what the little SOB is up to.”
I watched as he walked out, shutting the door behind him. What James suggested wasn’t something that hadn’t crossed my mind before. In fact, I thought about it many times. Pondered the idea ever since I found out about that extra goddamn clause in Mila’s father’s will. It’s been grating at my spine every goddamn second.
I wasn’t new to the world where money meant power, and power meant you could do whatever the fuck you wanted. Going to bed at night with blood on my hands and another brick laid on my paved path to hell wasn’t new to me. It wasn’t something that kept me up at night. But this—this was a very thin line to cross, even for a man like me. It meant a whole new level of deception, and I wasn’t sure if I was strong enough to carry that burden.
8
Mila
I showered and slipped on a comfortable pair of tights and a t-shirt two sizes too big for me. Something told me this new addition to my designer wardrobe was thanks to Elena’s pity. It was neatly folded and laid on top of the chest of drawers, easy for me to spot and be thankful for.
While towel-drying my hair, I sat down on the bed and stared at the now empty chair Saint had sat in when I woke up that morning. Usually, I’d find a man watching me sleep creepy as fuck. But Saint was so good at acting his part, he even made creeping look attractive.
I huffed and blew a wild curl from my face then fell back on the mattress. My thoughts were all over the place as I glanced from the ceiling to the walls around me. There was a time not too long ago that I hated this room, this yacht, him. I wanted nothing more than to get away from him and wake up to this entire situation being nothing more than a bad dream. But now, while I lay there on top of the silk sheets, surrounded by his wealth, my body craved his touch. My hate which was previously aimed at him had now turned to myself.
I hated that I suddenly felt confused.
I hated that I liked the way it felt when he carried me onto the yacht.
I hated that I now felt the need to decipher him and uncover his secrets rather than fighting to escape him.
Was this how it felt to be brainwashed, going to bed feeling one way, then waking up feeling something completely different?
“Goddammit!” I buried my face into my palms.
“Is that what confusion sounds like?”
“Jesus.” I shot up and held my chest as I glared at Elena. “Does no one knock around here?”
She smiled and stepped inside, closing the door behind her. “I just wanted to check and see how you’re doing.”
I toyed with the seam of my oversized shirt. “I’m much better since I can breathe normally in these clothes. Thank you.”
“For what?” She slanted a brow.
“The tights and T.”
She regarded my clothes with a disapproving frown slowly appearing on her face. “Oh, dear Mila. I’m not sure who gave you those,” she pointed first at the tights then to the shirt with mild disgust, “but I can assure you it wasn’t me. In fact, if it was, someone needs to call my therapist because I clearly lost my mind.”
“You didn’t—”
“No. I definitely did not.”
“Then who—” But I figured it out before I finished the sentence. “Saint.”
Elena pursed her lips, placing a hand on her hip. “What have you done to my nephew?” Her amusement was evident in the smirk on her face.
I sighed. “The better question is what your nephew has done to me.”
The grin on her face remained as she sat on the couch under the cabin window, leisurely crossing her legs. “I get the feeling the dynamics between you two have changed. Am I right?”
“I don’t know how to answer that.” I pushed my hair back and roughed my fingers through the ends. “I have never felt this confused. Ever. First, he’s this total monster. Cruel. Brutal. Merciless. And I hated him.” I stared into open space. “But then—”
“He changed?”
I looked up at Elena. “No. I think I have.”
The revelation was starting to become clear, yet I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Like my mind wasn’t wired to understand something as complex as what I was feeling.
“He murdered my friend in front of me. He kidnapped me, forced me to marry him.” My gaze dropped to the floor, and I was no longer talking to Elena but rather trying to figure it out for myself. “At first…his touch burned. It hurt. I wanted to get as far away from him as possible. But when Saint came for me, when he held my brother at gunpoint after slitting some bodyguard’s throat,” I closed my eyes at the memory then opened them to look at Elena, “I wanted to go with him. Not because I was scared or afraid of him, but because…I wanted to be with him.”
Elena’s expression didn’t change, yet I saw a glimmer in her eyes as if she had known this all along.
I stood and started pacing. “What kind of person does that make me? Does that make me crazy, the fact that I want to be with a man like Saint? A man who has shown no redeeming qualities, yet has proven repeatedly what an asshole he really is?”
Elena tittered, a delicate sound of sophistication. “I love my nephew, but yes, he is an asshole at the best of times.”
I paused and shot her a sideways glance. “And why does it feel so damn easy to talk to you as if I’ve known you all my life?”
Her smile was warm as she patted the seat next to her on the couch. “Sit, Mila.”
I plopped down beside her, leaned my head back, and covered my eyes with my arm. “I’m so screwed.”
“Oh, stop. Don’t be so melodramatic. You just need to learn how to play your cards right, and when to play them.”
I turned my face in her direction and narrowed my eyes. “What do you mean?”
Her coy smile had me intrigued. “Men like Saint, they thrive on power. Control. All this,” she waved her hand in the air, “it’s about authority, influence. The
more a man dominates, the more they witness their own supremacy—”
“The bigger their ego gets?”
“The more they keep their guard up. The heavier the pressure becomes for them to remain at the top.” She shifted. “Now, imagine you’re at the top of a raging war about power and money, blood and revenge. You constantly have to cross lines, push the boundaries of society’s morals, never allowing yourself a moment where your most basic human emotions can come to the surface.”
I sat up, listening intently to her every word.
She brushed a blonde streak of hair from her cheek. “The burden becomes a weight you just can’t carry alone, and you start to feel vulnerable because no matter how hard you try to fight it, at some point the humanity that pulses through your veins will break you.” Elena reached out and placed her hand on mine. “Now, imagine having someone you can share that burden with. Someone who won’t judge you when you shed that hardened skin you’re forced to wear when looking the world in the eye. Someone who brings a balance to your life and accepts the person you are in the privacy and confines of the bedroom, but who also supports you when you need to face the war outside. Someone who stands at your side with poise and pride, and who completes your worldly image by reflecting the power you work so damn hard to own.” Elena grinned. “A man like Saint needs a woman who basks in his power, Mila. A woman who shines with the confidence as if she had been touched by God himself and stands at his side beaming with entitlement because he worked fucking hard for you to be able to.”
She leaned back in the seat, not taking her eyes off me. “Be that person for Saint, and I can promise you will have more power over him than you can imagine, and he won’t even realize it.”
I pushed my hair back. “So, what you’re saying is I should become—”
“The strong, confident woman who deserves to be at his side. You need to be who he needs you to be, and I swear you will never meet a man who would take better care of you. But first,” she stood and straightened her blouse, “first, you need to take care of him. The rest will follow.”
It was one of those moments when your mind just shut down due to complete information overload. I was trying to wrap my head around what Elena had just said, tried to make sense of it. Basically, she was telling me to do whatever Saint expected of me, to be the perfect trophy-wife who was a mere accessory that complimented his image when it came to the public eye. But by being what Saint needed me to be meant there was a chance he’d end up being what I needed him to be.
I heard Elena’s heels click across the floor, and from the corner of my eye, I saw her hovering in front of my closet. But I was too busy rummaging through my thoughts trying to wrap my head around what Elena had just said.
“This will do.”
I looked up, and Elena stood in front of me holding a bright red dress, and I frowned. “Why am I about to wear a dress?”
“Because you are going to join Saint for dinner out on the deck,” she held the dress out to me, “and my best friend, Alexander McQueen, is invited too.” Her coy smile and beaming brown eyes told me she had something up her sleeve—something that included Saint, me, and a red off-the-shoulder dress.
I straightened and eyed her suspiciously as I took the dress from her. “What are you up to, Elena?”
She shrugged. “I have a knack to give a push when a slight nudge is needed.”
“Uh-huh, sure looks like it.” I sneered and stepped in the bathroom, leaving the door slightly open. “Have you thought about the fact that by playing Cupid you might be pushing me into the deep end with the sharks?”
“Oh, I can assure you, I’m not. The cards have never been wrong.”
I peeked around the edge of the door. “What cards?”
Elena twirled to face me, the sun shining through the cabin window beaming off the white knee-length dress she wore. “Tarot cards.”
“You read tarot cards?”
She nodded, lips pressed together.
I hastily slipped on the dress, shimmying the fabric over my hips, and stepped out. “And you believe in all that?”
“Oh, Mila, that color is exquisite against your complexion.”
I glanced at my reflection in the mirror, the red cotton and silk-blend chiffon fabric falling leisurely around my curves, the hem teasing against the skin just above my ankles. Elena walked up behind me and gently took my curls in her hand, lifting to expose my neck.
“I think you’ll be wearing your hair up tonight. The off-shoulder neckline and scalloped ruffles are screaming to be the center of attention.” She winked lovingly and straightened one elbow-length sleeve’s bow at the end. “When I saw this dress, I knew it had to be kept for a special occasion.”
I glanced over my shoulder at her. “What’s the special occasion?”
She smiled. “That is yet to be discovered.”
“You like speaking in riddles, don’t you?”
“Not riddles. But some things are better left to be discovered when the time is right, rather than exposed prematurely.”
I turned as Elena took her seat on the couch again. “Do you really think it can predict the future?”
“The cards?”
“Yeah.”
She clasped her hands together in front of her. “It’s not about predicting the future. It’s about seeing past, present, and future elements that in the end can determine the destination of the path you are currently on. Have you ever had a reading?”
“No.” I turned back and stared at my reflection as I started toying with my hair, pulling the curls up into a messy bun. “I’ve always read about it, saw it in movies, but never had any experience with card readings. I guess I’ve been too scared to see what the future has in store for me.”
Elena got up and opened a crystal box on the cabinet, pulling out some bobby pins, and swept the rogue curls up, tidying the bun I was half-way done with. “It’s good to tread on the side of caution when one is not ready to hear the truth.”
Our eyes met in the mirror, and I swallowed. “Will you…will you do a reading for me?”
Elena looked away and busied herself with my hair. “Perhaps, when the time is right.”
“And it’s not right now…why, exactly?”
She fixed the last pin in my hair and stepped back, admiring the final product. “Let’s focus on tonight for now, okay?”
I turned to face her. “I know what you’re doing, Elena.”
She feigned a look of innocence. “Mila, dear, I have no clue as to what you are insinuating.”
I slipped the black Jimmy Choo heels onto my feet. “Of course, you don’t. You’re just an innocent bystander in all of this.”
“That I am.”
I narrowed my eyes at her and sauntered out of the room.
“Mila,” she called after me, and I glanced over my shoulder. “Remember what I told you. Be the reflection of his power, his confidence, and he will give you what you need to thrive.”
“Right now, I’m not even sure I know what I need.”
“You will.”
“Let’s hope.”
I walked toward the exit to the deck. The knots inside my stomach reminded me of the feeling I had when I went on my first date. I had snuck out of the foster home I’d been living in and walked three blocks alone in the dark to meet this guy at some twenty-four-hour diner that served the worst pecan pie, but made a decent chocolate milkshake which I ended up having on my own since the douche stood me up. When I got back home two hours later, I paid for those two hours with a two-night stay in a closet where I was forced to piss right there where I sat. What was supposed to be one of the best nights of a young girl’s life turned into one of those moments I wished I could compartmentalize and forget it ever happened.
My heels clicked as I stepped onto the wooden deck, the gentle summer breeze warding off the humid summer air and welcomed against my heated skin.
I scanned around when I heard his smooth baritone voice, the richness of his
tone causing my heart to hiccup. “I’m up here.”
I looked up and saw him leaning against the barrier on the upper level of the yacht. He indicated the spiral stairs on the left, and I realized I’d spent weeks on this yacht and never once gone up to the top level.
My pulse beat like a drum while a thousand butterfly wings set off a flurry of excitement, anticipation, as well as a gust of uncertainty. There was no logical reason for me to feel the way I did, for me to be this eager for the night ahead. It was surreal how my heart raced with fear a while back because of this man, and now it was soaring without fear just like it did the night of my first date. A part of me prayed it wouldn’t end with me paying dearly for feeling just a sliver of hope.
My Jimmy Choo heels touched the top deck, and my heart hiccupped when I found Saint standing by the barrier, wearing an open collar light blue dress shirt which made the color of his eyes pop under the moonlight.
With his sleeves rolled up mid-arm, I could see the thick veins that pulsed with strength. Roped muscles veiled beneath flawless skin. The dark navy and perfectly tailored pants he wore rested on his hips and reminded me of the perfect V that hid behind that belt, the part of his body I had in full view when I had him inside my mouth, forced to take every inch of his length. One would think the memory should nauseate me, disgust me. But it didn’t. Back then, I saw the monster, but now I saw the quintessential classic alpha male that hid behind the mask of a beast. Marcello Saint Russo was the epitome of perfection. The lack of a tie and suit jacket didn’t wane the authority he radiated. Complete dominance rolled off him in waves, and it crashed against my every bone. It was unsettling how, from a single glance, my body yearned to obey him. And while he focused solely on me, arm flexing as he took a sip from the champagne flute in his hand, it was painfully obvious that he saw it too. My attraction to him. This surreal pull I felt toward him—the man who had once been my cruel captor, and maybe still was. But if I had to be honest with myself, I’d admit I was no longer here because I was forced—but rather because I wanted to be.