Collateral

by Natasha Knight

  I grab it out from under my pillow and hold it up between us, pivoting from foot to foot, not sure what the hell I’m doing because I have no plan. The knife isn’t even that sharp, but still, it’s a knife.

  “Put that down.”

  “You shipped me back here yesterday so you could play house with your cousin in Rome. What did you call her? A kissing cousin? You left me here alone, locked up, not even able to leave the house. I have nothing to do. No one to talk to. I am completely alone until you get the idea you’d like to fuck with me? Is that it? What, are you bored now? Am I your plaything when you’re bored, or you happen to be home and don’t have anything better to do or whenever the hell it suits you?”

  His eyes narrow and he sets his jaw.

  “I’m your pawn in this stupid game you’re playing with my father. I get that. I accept it, even, as fucked up as it is. Hell, I’ll even let you dress me up and flaunt me under his nose because I heard your warning loud and clear and I have no doubt you will bury me without a second thought. But understand this. I have no intention of tucking my tail between my legs at your command.”

  “Gabriela.” The single word, my name spoken so quietly, so calmly, is a warning on his tongue.

  I’ve never been one to stop, though. Never could back down.

  “You told me respect is a two-way street. I’ll remind you of it. You may think you own me, and maybe you do, maybe you own my body. But my mind, my thoughts, my secrets, they’re mine. Not for you. My past is my past. My scars are my scars. Don’t ask me like you care. Like you give a single fuck. You don’t. You’re a monster, Stefan. Like him. Like the man you hate. Do you know that you and I, we’re even repeating history? My mom. My dad. Are you going to drown me too?”

  I gasp.

  I hear the words too late. Only after they’re out.

  Shit.

  What did I do?

  What did I say?

  His face is unreadable. A crease forms between his eyebrows as he takes this in.

  God.

  Fuck.

  I’ve never said it out loud. Not to anyone. Not even to myself.

  Why did I say it?

  “Gabriela,” he starts, his tone no longer a warning. Almost softer. Almost.

  I can’t read him. He’s so closed, he doesn’t give anything away and I’m so stupid.

  “Get out, Stefan. Leave me alone.”

  “You don’t want to be alone. You said so last night.”

  “I was drunk. Drunk people say stupid things they don’t mean.”

  “The opposite is true, actually.”

  “Get out. Please.”

  He opens his mouth to speak and I don’t wait to hear what he has to say. I don’t want to hear. I can’t.

  I lunge and I don’t mean to. I don’t mean to hurt him. It doesn’t occur to me that I even can.

  But he moves too and then there’s blood because he catches the knife. Catches it by the blade.

  I gasp, look at his hand. Look at the blood. I let go.

  When he releases it, I watch its progress as it twirls, falling to the floor. Watch the splatters of blood on the white sheets, on my legs. On the marble when it clatters to the floor.

  And I expect him to be raging. It’s what I’m prepared for. What I deserve.

  But when he grabs hold of my wrists and tugs me close, it’s not rage I see. It’s something else. Something worse.

  Pity.

  Fucking pity.

  And I can’t stand it.

  “Get your hands off me!”

  “I won’t let him put a mark on you again,” he says, and his words, they somehow surprise me because I know he knows who did it. Who burned me. Who cut me. He’s not stupid. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out who put the marks on me anyway. I handed him the answer on a silver fucking platter.

  I feel the heat of more tears sting my eyes, but I steel myself against this man. This monster. Because even if he’s not the same as my father, he is still that.

  Just a different sort of monster.

  I have to remember that.

  Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

  “Only your mark going forward, Stefan? What will you use? What should I prepare myself for?”

  I don’t know why I’m pushing. Why I’m goading him. I remember him from the night of my sixteenth birthday. Remember his rage. How there was just the thinnest layer of control shielding me from it.

  “Shut up, Gabriela.”

  “Tell me. Tell me so I’m ready. It’s only fair. Tell me. What is it that’s going to get you off, Stefan?”

  His hands tighten on my wrists. I feel the warmth of blood from his cut hand on one. A second later, he shoves me backward onto the bed so hard, that I bounce twice.

  He leans down, pressing his knee between mine, forcing my legs apart and sliding his knee high until it collides with my sex.

  I gasp with the impact. There’s nothing sexual about this. This is something else.

  This is violence.

  This is dominance.

  This is power.

  He looms over me, closes his bloodied hand around my throat and presses his knee against me. “You want to make me your enemy?” he asks, and his voice, it’s hoarse and harsh and low, like there’s so much rage inside that he’s struggling to control. Like he’s too close to losing the battle.

  I try to swallow as he squeezes. Try to make a sound.

  “Is that how you want this?” he spits.

  I claw at his forearm. I don’t know if he realizes how hard he’s squeezing.

  I slap at his arm, his chest, I can’t reach his face and my vision is fading. I can’t hear what he’s saying. All I feel is the rage coming off him. Like the floodgates have opened and I’m the one who opened them and I’m standing in the path of the storm. This tsunami of rage.

  And just when I think I’m going to pass out, he releases me and stalks from my room.

  21

  Stefan

  “Are you going to drown me too?”

  It’s late the next afternoon and those words are still circling my head. I should have let her be. Not pushed. She was acting out because she was embarrassed. I knew that. And still, she made me so fucking angry.

  What did I expect, though? That she’d welcome my protection? That she’d even believe I would protect her?

  She’s right in a sense. I am a monster. A different sort of monster than her father, but not a whole other breed of animal. Case in point, the fact that she’s here. That the seamstress is walking down the stairs from her room right now, her attendants carrying that hideous dress as they scurry behind the older woman who is grumbling under her breath.

  I’m forcing her to marry me.

  And I did touch her. She wasn’t off the mark to ask.

  Was that what pissed me off? The fact that she was right about me? That I am not a man of my word, like I so pretentiously claimed to be just hours earlier?

  Because I wouldn’t have admitted that to her no matter the cost.

  When I took the knife, the look of shock on her face, I’ll never forget it.

  The cut isn’t bad. It wasn’t a sharp knife. I know better than to leave her with something she can do real damage with and Millie had informed me about it going missing the day it did.

  But that look on her face. It takes me back to the night in her father’s study. The blood on her clothes. The splatters of it on her face. Marchese had ordered his thugs to break Alex’s legs. Ordered that she be made to watch.

  Was the blood reminiscent of that? Of the violence in our world?

  Is she safer with me than with her father? Not in her eyes, I’m sure.

  I meant what I said, though. I won’t let anyone put a mark on her. But isn’t she right? That I will leave my own mark when it suits me?

  Monster.

  I think about the way he looked at her at the engagement party.

  “What is it that’s going to get you off, Stefan?”

 
; The thought of what that could mean sickens me and I think about how she looks so much like her mother.

  But she’s a virgin. Didn’t she tell me as much last night? And he couldn’t be that much a monster.

  Other words repeat then.

  “Are you going to drown me too?”

  I walk into the study, close the door and pick up the phone to call a contact in New York, Matt Lawrence.

  Lawrence picks up on the second ring. This is his private line. He’s the investigator who got me the information on Marchese in the first place. Gave me what I needed to force his hand. And that knowledge reminds me again just how much a monster Gabriel Marchese is.

  “Stefan. What can I do for you?”

  I don’t bother with casual conversation. Lawrence knows when I call him, it’s straight to business. And he knows how much his information will be worth to me. He’s fast and not opposed to using less than savory methods to get what I need.

  “I want to know about Gabriel Marchese’s wife’s death. She drowned about ten years ago. It was filed as accidental, but I don’t think it was.”

  I hear him hitting some keys. “Maria Marchese. Twenty-nine at the time of her death. Two kids. I’ll have something in about a week.”

  “I need it sooner than that.”

  He clucks his tongue. “That’s not going to be easy.”

  “I don’t pay you because it’s easy.”

  Pause. “Okay. This a good number to call you on?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll be back to you in a few hours.”

  Better.

  “I’ll talk to you then,” I say.

  There’s a knock on the door and Rafa opens it just as I hang up. His gaze drops instantly to my bandaged hand.

  “What happened to you?” he asks, walking straight to the liquor cabinet to pour himself a whiskey. He takes a seat on the couch and crosses one ankle over the opposite knee.

  “Grabbed a knife on the wrong end.”

  I see one eyebrow rise. Rafa’s a smart guy. He likes to give the illusion of being very laid back. Almost uninterested. But he sees everything and hears everything. People underestimate him. It’s what he wants. But it’s a mistake to underestimate my cousin.

  “Clara situated?” I ask, not intending on going into detail about my night.

  He smiles. “Complained she’d be bored but yeah, she’s set up.”

  “Good.” I had Rafa take her to the house in Syracuse. “Get her what she needs but I don’t want her back here right now.”

  “Your fiancée is the jealous type, I take it?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Why do you give a fuck? You’re not going soft on me, are you, cousin?”

  “Don’t be a dick, Rafa. What did you find out about the brother?”

  “He’s in a place called Clear Meadows in New York. And he’s not in good shape.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He gets up, takes his phone out of his pocket, swipes the screen and turns it toward me.

  I look at the image of Gabriel Marchese’s son. His namesake. Gabriela’s brother.

  He looks nothing like her, which I already knew from the photo of him as a kid. He resembles his father. Except not.

  He’s a big guy, and he’d be good-looking, but for the obvious fact that there’s something not quite right. Something a little off.

  Rafa swipes to show me another image. I take the phone, zoom in on the image. Read the shortened version of his name on the sticker stuck to his shirt. He’s laughing and pointing at a giraffe.

  “Trip to the zoo,” Rafa says.

  “Fuck.”

  “Yeah.” Rafa puts the phone away and drinks his whiskey. “Gunshot a couple of years ago to the head. Doctor’s called him lucky. I’m not sure I agree.”

  “How long ago exactly?”

  He looks at his phone, uses his thumb to swipe through a file. “He was sixteen.”

  “Who pulled the trigger?”

  “Doesn’t say. All I get is that it was an accident and no criminal charges were brought against anyone.”

  “Where did this accident take place?”

  Rafa reads an address. It’s New Jersey, but I don’t recognize the neighborhood.

  “Here’s the interesting piece. Ready to hear whose house it is?” he asks.

  “Who?”

  “Ed Romano.”

  “Is that name supposed to mean something to me?”

  “The kid the other night with the broken legs? His grandfather.”

  I think back to that night. To what was said and what the kid had done for Gabriela.

  “Was the kid there?”

  “No clue.”

  “We still have a man on him?”

  “Yeah. He’s not going anywhere. There’s one more thing, Stef,” he says.

  “Don’t leave me hanging.”

  “Your girl called her brother yesterday.”

  “What?”

  How?

  Rafa nods. “Promised to call him in a few days.”

  “Did she?” My tricky little fiancée.

  “You want me to put on a man on the brother?”

  “Yes. And get the jet ready. I’m going to Rome. I need to revisit my fiancée’s friend.”

  “Now?”

  “Now.”

  22

  Gabriela

  I don’t see Stefan the next day and Miss Millie is gone too. A girl I haven’t seen before greets me when I come downstairs. When I ask where they are, she tells me that Miss Millie will be back later that evening and Stefan is out of town.

  Thanks for letting me know.

  On the upside, I notice the library door is still unlocked so I’ll call Gabe again later.

  I finish breakfast and spend the next few hours sitting around reading when, around one in the afternoon, Rafa walks into the house with another man, the two of them laughing about something. He pauses when he meets my eyes and I remember the Rafa of the other night. The night he held a gun to Alex. The night he bruised my arm in his rush to obey Stefan’s order.

  Without taking his eyes off me, he almost dismisses the other guy. I guess as Stefan’s cousin, Rafa’s high on the totem pole.

  He makes his way to me, a wide smile on his face that I don’t trust for a second.

  “Gabriela,” he says, his voice deep and smooth. Too smooth. “Morning.”

  “Morning.” I turn to pick up my cup of tea.

  He pulls Stefan’s chair out, turns it and straddles it, arms resting on the back of the seat. He’s more casual than Stefan. Dresses in jeans and T-shirts rather than suits. He’s got a holster on his shoulder, but his gun isn’t in it.

  “How are you doing?” he asks.

  “Fine.” I sip my tea, give him a fake smile. “Just great. What do you want?”

  He narrows his eyes, but not cruelly. Or he hides it well, at least. He’s about as easy to read as Stefan.

  “Millie mentioned you were bored. I figured you’d be tired of being cooped up in here.”

  “Your concern is touching.” Jerk.

  “I’m heading to Taormina in a little bit. You’re welcome to join me if you like. It’s about a three-hour drive but it’s along the coast. It’s pretty.”

  “Why?”

  “Why is it pretty?” he raises his eyebrows.

  “Don’t mess with me, Rafa. Why are you inviting me?”

  “Like I said, I figured you’d get bored being cooped up. And I guess I want you to like our little island. Not come to see it as a prison.”

  “Why do you care how I see it?”

  He shrugs a shoulder. “Just trying to do something nice for you, Gabriela,” he says, standing. He spins the chair around easily in one hand and replaces it. “You’re welcome to stay here if you prefer.” He walks away.

  “Wait.”

  He stops, turns to look at me expectantly.

  “Did Stefan put you up to this?”

  He smiles. “Stefan’s too
busy to put me up to this.”

  “What’s he busy doing?”

  “Business.” He checks his watch. “Are you coming?”

  I’m desperate to get out of here. Although it’ll mean calling Gabe later, when I’m back. But with the time difference, it may even be better.

  I nod.

  “Good,” he says, smiling. “I’m glad. Grab a bikini in case you want to swim in Taormina.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. There’s a private beach where my meeting is. I figured you’d want to lay around. You can go into town, but I’d have to send men with you.”

  “It’s fine. Beach is great. It’ll be good to get out of here. I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

  I run upstairs to throw a bikini and a cover up into a beach bag, and grab my iPod Touch, which Stefan, true to his word, returned to me.

  When I return, Rafa is waiting. We step outside to find a waiting SUV. He opens the passenger door and I get in and when he climbs into the driver’s side, I’m surprised.

  “Don’t you have a driver?”

  “Nah. I’m just an underling.” He checks the mirrors and pulls out.

  I turn the air conditioning down a little and look around as we drive off the property and head onto a coastal road.

  “Are you sure Stefan didn’t pawn me off on you?” I ask when he switches the radio to an Italian channel.

  “I don’t think Stefan sees you as something to pawn off.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “Are you the reason for the bandage on his hand?”

  I nod, feeling guilty. “It was an accident. At least, I didn’t mean to do it, but I haven’t seen him to tell him. To apologize.”

  “I’m sure you can do it when he’s back. He’s a pretty understanding guy.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “I mean it. Listen, I’ve known Stefan all my life. Grew up with him. I’ve never known him to treat anyone unfairly.”

  “So, what he’s doing to me is fair, then?”

  Rafa goes silent for a minute. “You don’t know all the details, Gabriela. And besides, you have his protection. That’s something.”

  I chuckle. “I don’t have his protection, Rafa. I have his wrath, simply for the fact of my parentage.”