by J. L. Beck
The day she died, the evil inside of me spread like a fucking cancer, and it hasn’t stopped growing since. There are times when I think that’s all that is left. Darkness is the only thing remaining, it’s all I am and all I’ll ever be. Today, I have my doubts about that theory, because right now, I’m feeling something I haven’t in a very long time… remorse.
Elena is sleeping in my arms, her body curled up into itself, trying to get away from me even in her sleep. As she should be.
I lost control yesterday, and I broke my word. I told her it was just a shower, but I couldn’t keep my lust for her in check. I asked for more, knowing damn well that she couldn’t give me what I wanted.
I keep telling myself that I’m angry with her, that I’m angry at how this is messing with my plan, but the truth is, I’m angry with myself. This is on me.
Peeling myself away from her, I move slowly, so I don’t wake her up. After the fiasco from last night, I won’t make her take a shower this morning. I’ll let her sleep in, I don’t need the torture of watching her and thinking about how to fix this shit.
Walking into the closet, I get dressed quickly. When I head out of the room, she is still deep in sleep. I stop and take a moment to look at her. Her eyelashes are crusted together, and her cheeks are a hue of red. I know she cried last night, cried herself to sleep while I was holding her.
Shaking my head, I quietly walk out of the room, shoving all those unwanted feelings down. I need to get back in the game, Concentrate on what’s important. Her feelings should be the least of my concerns.
Quietly, I close the door behind me and turn the lock. I need to clear my head. Which means, I either need a drink, or I need to kill something. Pulling out my phone, I check the time. It’s seven-thirty… too early to start drinking. Killing it is.
Blood looks different when it’s splattered on the ground, draining from the bodies of your victims. The thrill I get from killing is fucked up, but something I’ll never give up. I was only fourteen when I killed my first man. My father placed the gun in my hand and told me to put a bullet between the guy’s eyes. I didn’t hesitate, didn’t second guess myself. I just did as I was told. Since that day, I’ve grown to enjoy the kill. Enjoy the adrenaline hit I get out of it. It’s like doing drugs, but better. What does it say about me morally that I don’t even care about the life that I rip from the earth? Killing comes with the job, sure I don’t have to do the dirty work myself. I have men to do it for me, but I’m not lazy. I love a good hunt, a chance to sink a knife into some fucker’s chest.
Arriving back at the mansion, the endorphin high of torturing my victim all day slowly fades away. Looking down at my blood-stained hands and shirt, I’m reminded that a serious amount of blood covers my hands.
Elena’s face pops into my head, and I know if I enter our bedroom dressed like this, there will be a plethora of questions thrown my way. Business is business, and it has nothing to do with my marriage to her. I’m not obligated to share with her what I do during the day.
Walking into one of the guest bedrooms, I take a shower, washing away the blood, watching as it swirls down the drain. Today was a good day, frustrating because I had to track a shipment of drugs that disappeared but fulfilling when I sunk my knife into the traitor’s throat and watched blood spray across the pavement.
Finishing my shower, I feel drawn to check on Elena. Leaving her this morning was hard, even though it shouldn’t have been. Drying off, I sling a towel around my waist and grab my phone, entering the app for the security camera on my phone.
I watch the day’s events through the camera. She looks like sleeping beauty as she remains in bed nearly a full hour after I left. Then she wakes up, looking around the room, disoriented as if she’ll find me lurking in the shadows. Her fear of me makes me smile.
I watch as she pushes from the bed and goes into the bathroom. A short while later, she leaves the bathroom naked, and raw, primal hunger pushes through me at the naked image before my eyes. I cannot wait for the day to come when I take her without care, without mercy.
She scampers into the closet, dresses, and then walks over to the chaise lounge where she remains for the better part of the morning. There is something about her, something I can’t pinpoint. She uses the paper and pencil to write out math problems and solves each one back to back. Yesterday in the library, I had fully expected her to go for a romance book, or maybe a thriller, but like everything with this girl, she shocks me into silence.
Her adaption to change, and the way she remains strong even in her weakest moments. She is fierce and bold, and she doesn’t even know it.
She does the math problems for a while until Martha appears in the bedroom with her lunch. Elena’s face brightens with joy at seeing her, and she gets up, moving toward her. I gave Martha explicit instructions when it came to bringing Elena her lunch.
Don’t speak to her, and don’t offer her any type of help or you’ll pay with your life.
It appears Martha is listening until I see her lean forward, and her lips move slowly. It’s subtle, and I almost miss it, but Elena looking down at Martha’s extended hand does it for me, and I see her pass the small scrap of something into Elena’s hand.
Red hot anger rips through me, and I growl, squeezing my phone in my hand. Nothing is as horrible as a traitor. I find a spare suit in the closet and dress quickly, my hands shaking with pent up rage as I leave the bedroom and head for the kitchen.
Martha has been a long-time employee and one of my father’s favorites. Killing her is going to hurt, but there is no way around it. If she has betrayed me, then she cannot live.
As soon as I enter the kitchen, Martha looks up from the pot she is stirring and faces me.
“Mr. Moretti.” She looks at the ground as she speaks like most of the staff in this house do.
“Cut the shit, Martha.” I crowd her, forcing her back against the counter. My hand is on my gun, waiting for me to draw it. “What did you give Elena when you dropped her lunch off?”
Her lips tremble, and she wrings her hands in her apron before looking up at me. Fear fills her eyes, she knows what’s to come.
“It was just a note, sir,” she says, and my teeth grind together, my jaw clenching and aching. Her piece of shit father found a way inside and infiltrated my home.
Curling my lip, I circle my hand around Martha’s throat and squeeze. “From who?” I ask, even though I already know. I merely want her to confess it out loud.
“Her father,” she whispers, her weathered face contouring with shame. “Just a note from her father.”
“You know what your betrayal means?” I squeeze her feeble throat a little harder.
She nods. “Yes, sir. It means death.”
11
Elena
I stare at the crumpled-up paper in my hand, reading it for the hundredth time, and still, I’m not sure if it’s real or not. And if it is real, what am I going to make of it?
Elena,
I will come for you, sweetheart.
Be strong, Dad
The note is handwritten, the lettering tells me that it is indeed my father who wrote this note. The question is, why? Is he really coming for me? Do I even want him to come after he sold me like an object? I’ve had days to think about how cruel he was in letting me go, giving me away like I was nothing.
My life here is worse than the one spent at my father’s place, but honestly, not by much. I had a few more things to do at home, but not many. According to Julian, I will have more freedom at some point, so being here seems like the better option.
Julian expects things from me, things I’m not sure I can give him, but what are my other choices? If I somehow manage to get back home, I will either be alone for the rest of my life, or my father will marry me off to someone else. Are there any men in my father’s world that will treat me differently? I doubt it. Every man is a hardened mafia man with hate and rage burning through his veins.
So, which one is the lesser
evil?
Folding the paper until it’s only a tiny piece of scrap. I walk into the closet and shove it into the bottom of my underwear drawer, hoping that whichever path my future will lead, I will one day be free.
The rest of the day, I busy myself with math. Julian doesn’t come and get me for dinner today. Instead, a different maid brings me food to the room. I wonder why he isn’t here yet, but I try not to think about that. Instead, I bury my face within the pages of the textbook.
Julian was surprised by my choice, but there was really no question for me what book to take. If I had chosen a romance novel, I would have read it within a few hours. After that, I would have been back to square one with nothing to do.
I don’t know if I will get a chance to pick a second book, so I had to make this one count. This book will keep me occupied for a long time.
I have only one issue. Even with me writing as small as I can, the paper is about to run out. I’ve already used the front and back. Without paper, I can’t solve these equations, and I don’t want to write in the book.
I fill the last space on the paper, feeling a small wave of accomplishment. That feeling is quickly drowned out by less pleasant feelings.
Putting my pencil down, I look around the room and find that I once again have nothing to do.
Spending most of my life alone, I’m used to being by myself, but this is different. This is next level isolation. I wish I had a radio, at least then it wouldn’t be so quiet.
I entertain the thought of taking a shower, but that just reminds me of the shitshow that happened last night. I know I owe him nothing, and yet, I feel like a disappointment, not even being able to give him a simple hand job. I wonder if he regrets buying me yet.
My thoughts and questions are quickly forgotten when I hear heavy footfalls approaching the door. The door is unlocked, and I sit up a little straighter. A moment later, Julian walks inside, slamming the door shut behind him. The loud sound makes me jump, and the knot in my stomach grows.
He is mad, obviously. But why? It could be because of last night. Or he could have somehow found out about the maid, though I don’t know how. Maybe he just had a bad day?
Without greeting me or saying anything else, he steps inside the room and drops something on the bed in front of me. Then he twists around and heads into the closet.
Glancing down at what he threw on the bed, I realize it’s a book… a notebook, I think.
He bought me a notebook!
Running my fingers over the smooth cover, I’m in awe. It’s black leather with golden flower embroidery. It’s very pretty, simple with a feminine touch, and something I would have picked for myself.
I flip it open. Empty, lined pages greet me, and I fan through the pages, discovering there is enough to write on for a long time. Setting the notebook down on the comforter, I stare at it. I don’t know how to feel about his gift.
On the one hand, I appreciate that he got this for me. It’s certainly not something he had lying around on his desk, which tells me he was thinking of me. He went out of his way when he didn’t have to, and that means something.
On the other hand, however, he got this to keep me occupied while locked in his bedroom. There’s good and bad with this, and I’m not sure what I should expect from him now.
“You like it?” His voice is clipped as if he is fighting to subdue his anger, trying to hold it back. Maybe his anger isn’t directed at me?
He walks back into the room a moment later, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, and my mouth suddenly goes dry.
“Yes, it’s beautiful. Thank you…” I’m about to ask him what I have to do in return as nothing in this world is free but manage to bite my tongue at the last minute.
I’m surprised when he doesn’t take a shower but slides into bed instead.
When he inches closer, I smell soap on him.
He already showered somewhere else.
Did he not want to shower in our room because of what happened last night? I put the notebook on the bedside table and lie down, turning my back to him.
Suppressing the need to ask him, I say something else instead.
“I’m sorry about last night,” I say, knowing damn well it wasn’t my fault, but still feeling the need to apologize.
Rolling over to look at him, his face is impossibly close to mine, and my eyes dart down to his lips. The thought of kissing him hits me straight in the chest. I wonder if he would let me.
Who am I kidding? Julian doesn’t seem like the type to kiss, nor do I think he would let me kiss him after last night’s incident.
His stormy blue eyes roam my face, his features softening just briefly. “Consider the notebook a gift. I broke my word to you last night. It won’t happen again,” he simply states, and I wonder if that was supposed to be his version of an apology.
“Go to sleep.” He gently pushes my shoulder to roll me back on the other side, facing away from him. Then he lowers his hand to my hip and pulls me into his chest.
The position is weirdly familiar now, almost natural. Like we’re supposed to sleep like this, which seems ridiculous. I’ve only been here a couple of days, but we’ve slept this way every night.
I still have many questions swirling around in my head. I still don’t know where I stand with Julian, or if I’m safe, but for tonight, for now, I feel content.
12
Julian
“How are things?” Markus asks as he walks into my office, his face a complete mask. If he can see how tense I am, then surely my other men can.
In the mafia, any type of weakness is like a loose thread. Anyone could tug on that weakness until you unravel, spilling all your contents. That’s why I’ve never allowed myself the pleasure of having a weakness, not until the little raven-haired beauty entered my life.
“Things are going well. I need you to find a replacement for Martha. Turns out, she was a traitor.” I stretch out in my chair and think back to how oblivious Elena acted last night, and still, I couldn’t bring myself to be angry with her.
Yes, she took the note from her father, read it, and hid it, but she didn’t disobey me directly, not when I hadn’t asked her a single question about it. Plus, after I read the note, it was clear that Elena didn’t know anything, she’s not trying to escape, and that’s really what I would be angry about.
I am, however, curious to know if she would tell me if directly asked. Of course, I could have done that, but it’s best for her to assume I don’t know, at least for right now. If I tell her I know, chances are she’ll put it together and realize I’ve got a camera in the room. I’d rather she didn’t know she is being watched.
The brunt of my anger was passed on to Romero—who will get what’s coming to him, I’m keeping count of his sins, I’m a patient man—and the now-dead maid who betrayed me. Hurting women has never been a joy for me, and whenever the job needed to be done, I usually passed it onto one of my men, but Martha’s betrayal was personal.
It was me or nothing, so I took my gun out and pressed the barrel to her head. She didn’t beg or plead, and it was over in a flash. Life was given and taken in a single breath.
She expected death for her betrayal, and I delivered.
“What do you plan to do with Romero? We knew he was going to reach out to her, and now he has… maybe he’s trying to distract us so that he can attack?”
“I doubt it, and we’re going to do nothing yet. We wait to strike till after the wedding. If he strikes us first, then obviously, we retaliate. I have it all planned. This weekend at the auction, I will show Elena off. Her father will be there, and I will make sure that he sees how much she leans on me, using the moment to rub in his face.”
“Then what?” Markus questions, and annoyance bubbles to the surface.
“Then I shove my foot up your ass. Don’t ask me stupid questions.” I shake my head and thrust my fingers through my hair in frustration.
A smirk twitches at his lips. It’s as close to a smile as
anyone will ever get.
“It’s obvious you’re not fucking your soon to be wife, given the tension rolling off of you, maybe consider going to the strip club to blow off some steam.”
What Markus doesn’t show in emotion, he puts into the tone of his voice.
Blinking slowly, I pierce him with my steely gaze. “Don’t mention my soon to be wife, or me fucking her in the same sentence ever again.”
Markus is my first in command, a friend, and as close to a brother as I’ll ever get, but I’m a possessive asshole, and no one talks about Elena but me, and especially not fucking her.
“I won’t, but I think you should still consider going. You’ve been doing more work than usual, and the men are starting to notice.”
Things were changing a little bit. I was spending more time slitting throats and beating the fuck out of people than I ever had before, mainly to stop myself from taking my bride and to put space between us. In her presence, I could grow soft, and I didn’t want to do that for a second.
The idea of going to the strip club and finding a whore to fuck wasn’t appealing either, not when I had Elena down the hall, but there were very few options right now. I was going to wait until the wedding, but if I was going to make it through the rest of this week and weekend, I needed to let off some steam.
The fact that Markus was right was irritating.
“I should slit your throat,” I grumble.
“You could, but then who would be here to bust your balls or tell you that there are whispers among the men?”
“Shut up and get out of my office. Go kill someone or do something.”
“Are you going to go to the club? If so, I’ll go with you.”