Frivolous: A DARK MAFIA AGE-GAP ROMANCE

by Veronica Lancet

  I simply can't imagine a world without her.

  I've never been prone to sentimental displays, and I don't think I've ever cried in my life. But as I bring my hand up to my eyes, rubbing the weariness away, it's to find them wet.

  I stare in wonder at my fingers, the tears fresh, and I realize just how deep my feelings for her run.

  How far I've fallen...

  Sure, in the beginning it might have been just a maddening physical attraction. But now?

  I'm screwed. I'm well and truly screwed.

  In my line of work, you protect your heart at all costs, because that is the one weakness that can cost you everything.

  And as I stare at the white hallway of the hospital, the smell of bleach permeating my senses, it dawns on me that I've found my weakness—my one debilitating weakness. And she has one foot in the grave.

  I failed to protect my heart.

  But as I finally realize the extent of my feelings for Gianna, and the fact that she may literally be my heart, I vow to myself that if she makes it out alive I'm going to do whatever I can to protect her.

  I won't let Clark or anyone else touch a single strand of hair on her head.

  And if I have to fight my own family to keep her safe, then so be it.

  She's mine.

  And it's time I protected what's mine.

  Chapter Twelve

  It's pure torture to sit still.

  From the moment I'd entered the room and seen Clark, my entire body had gone into emergency mode, my mind slowly slipping from me.

  The most immediate reaction had been this insane urge to run and hide. But I knew I couldn't do that. Not when he was my father's guest. And so I forced myself to not show the storm brewing inside of me.

  It's what I do best after all. It's what's gotten me to this point. After all, isn't there the saying fake it till you make it?

  I've certainly faked my smile, my posture and my unshaking limbs one too many times. I've been put in enough situations over the years where all I wanted to do was shut down and hide deep inside my mind.

  But it's all in vain when my mind is the biggest enemy.

  When thoughts become small needles prickling at my skin and making me feel like a stranger in my own body—unwanted, unwelcomed.

  Like a crescendo, it starts with small ideas that increase in magnitude until my entire brain is flooded by foreign thoughts—the what ifs. Fear is my best friend, and dread is my only companion.

  It's in moments like that I wish I could somehow exit my own body—escape this maddening hell that gives me no respite.

  And when the mental fog is at its worst, I can only wish I were anywhere but in the present. Ironic, since the past is even worse, while the future looks bleak.

  So I find myself in the paradoxical situation of wishing I both existed and not.

  Just like that, now I have to exert an extraordinary amount of strength to keep myself from bolting, or doing something worse—like smash the glass table and hold a shard to Clark's jugular, digging it in his skin until he bleeds dry, his blood the only thing that would ever give me a semblance of peace.

  Wishful thinking.

  I haven't seen him since that night, two years ago. I'd breathed out relieved when I heard he'd gotten married, even though I'd felt sad for the girl he'd chosen to be his wife. Not that much older than me, she fit his mold—beautiful and youthful looking.

  And the moment I hear he's been widowed, I know she can't have died of natural causes.

  His eyes drift to mine as my father continues talking, that insidious smile of his aimed in my direction as his eyes drift all over my body.

  The hairs on my arm stand up, and it takes everything within me not to show how that affects me, and how much revulsion he provokes in me. It's such a visceral feeling, my stomach churning, my heart beating fast as adrenaline courses through my veins.

  I'm one second away from being sick on the floor.

  I clench my fists, trying to control myself. If anything, I don't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he scares me.

  But when my father proclaims that I will be his next wife, I can't help myself.

  "So that's it," I shake my head in disgust. "You found me a husband."

  Of course he'd sell me out to Clark. His business is thriving, and his net worth is nothing to scoff at. And with the way creditors are running after my father...

  He continues to chastise me, telling me the decision is final.

  But I don't hear it anymore.

  I can't hear it.

  Not when the only sound is my throbbing pulse, the way I don't know how I'm going to make it out alive.

  Bass is sitting next to me, the heat projected by his body the only thing remotely helping me deal with the turmoil forming inside me.

  He's like a steady rock, there for me to cling to. And as he looks at me with worry in his eyes, I know he's not indifferent.

  But he can't help me.

  No one can.

  I stare into empty space, avoiding to look at Clark more than I need to and wishing this meeting ended faster.

  And when it finally does, I don't care as I run back to my room, barely acknowledging Bass' inquiries whether I am ok.

  I'm not. I'm anything but ok.

  But I can't deal with anyone right now. I can't deal, period.

  Closing the door in his face, I gasp for air, finally allowing myself to show my weakness—but only in the sanctuary of my room.

  I'm barely able to stand on two feet as I rummage my room for pills, feeling my lungs closing up, my throat sore as I keep trying to breathe in and out.

  Why? Why is this my fate?

  Maybe I could have survived a random husband. Maybe.

  But Clark?

  Clark is my nightmare personified. And I know exactly what awaits me with him.

  Besides an untimely death.

  He's a sadist of the biggest order. And the worst thing is that he enjoys hurting women. He gets off on fear. The more you fight him, the harder he gets.

  I should know.

  "No, no, no," I mumble to myself, barely coherent as images start assaulting me, my skin burning from his invasive touch.

  I don't waste any time in taking off my clothes and going to the bathroom, turning the faucet on and climbing inside the empty tub as I wait for it to fill up.

  Even so, I need to scrub myself clean. Scrub the memories. Scrub the flesh off my bones.

  Anything to erase him from my body.

  But the flashes won't stop coming, the images flooding my brain until I'm barely breathing, the pressure in my chest building up until I'm almost screaming.

  I bring my fist to my chest, banging on it in an attempt to regulate my breath.

  Nothing

  The more I try, the more I feel him, next to me. Watching me.

  The first time he'd come to my room I'd been barely fourteen. But puberty had hit me earlier, and his eyes had started wandering all too often.

  I'd known something wasn't right from the first. He'd watch me in a way that made my skin crawl, his eyes always drifting to my chest and lower...

  But he'd been my father's associate, and I couldn't say or do anything. Especially when we'd vacation together in New Port.

  He'd always be there with his entourage as he and my father would discuss new business ventures.

  It was a known pastime, and Cosima was entirely too excited to be among the high society of NewPort, even though she had to forcefully invite herself to events.

  For me?

  It had been the start of my hell.

  That summer was the first time Clark came to my room. Even now, I can picture the moment perfectly. How I'd woken up to find him at the edge of my bed, his dick out as he'd jerked off while I was sleeping.

  He'd noticed I was awake too, but that hadn't deterred him. If anything, it had made him go faster, a sick smile plastered on his face as he kept stroking himself.

  I'd been terrified
when I had opened my eyes to see him—especially like that. And out of that fear, I'd stayed still. I hadn't moved an inch. Not when he'd come closer to me, and not when he'd come all over my chest.

  I stayed still and held my breath until he finally left.

  I was so young back then, I barely realized what was happening.

  But it persisted. Every day, he would come to my room in the middle of the night and he'd jerk off until he'd come all over my body.

  Slowly, though, it escalated until he started using my hand to touch himself.

  That's when I first reacted, screaming until he slapped me so hard I saw stars.

  The next day I'd feigned serious illness and I'd managed to get home. Still, that didn't mean it all stopped. It just delayed the inevitable.

  Tears are running down my cheeks as everything comes crashing in.

  Fucking hell, but if I have to marry him...

  I don't want to imagine the horrors I'll live through. I don't want to imagine what being near him would be like.

  My mind blank of everything but that thought, I do the only thing that could save me.

  End myself before he ends me.

  My fingers are nimble as they grasp on to a blade from under the sink. Then, turning the water off so the tub doesn't overflow and alert them to what I'm doing, I simply lay back and bring the sharp edge to my wrist.

  One cut on the left one, and one on the right one. Dropping the blade to the floor, I simply lay back, waiting for the blood to flow out of me.

  The sting was minimal, the pain dulled by my already fogged up mind.

  But as I lay there, my life force slowly leaking out of me, my thoughts slowly turn to him—Bass.

  Initially someone I hated with every cell in my body, he'd turned out to be my biggest protector.

  I wonder... will he feel sad for me?

  I've never misjudged anyone as I did him. Certainly, no one's ever proven me wrong before.

  But does it even matter now? When I'm not going to see him again?

  Maybe in another life we could have met, fallen in love and behaved like normal people.

  Not in this one.

  Not when I'm anything but normal, and my family is the definition of abnormal. Not when my father owns me and can barter me like a piece of cattle, or risk facing the consequences.

  At least I had some time with him. Some time to feel what it was like to be touched with affection and care, not in anger or cruelty.

  He'd showed me I was more than just my body. More than just my reputation. And more than just a Guerra.

  And it was my fault that I believed him and I lost myself in the illusion that maybe, I was more.

  Now... my eyelids feel heavy, my breathing labored.

  And for one last time, I wish things had been different. I wish I could have been free to be with him, and free to love him.

  Love...

  The corner of my mouth drags into a languid smile, the image of love burned behind my lids as I let myself imagine the possibilities.

  I banish the bad thoughts, instead focusing on the fantasies.

  I see us together, his arms wrapped around me, his heat emanating from his body and filling mine up. His smile—that crooked smile that is now the most beautiful sight—as he looks at me. I feel his hands on my body as they show me that love doesn't have to hurt—on the contrary, it heals.

  His breath is on my face as he peppers my skin with kisses, moving down my body before stealthily sliding a ring on my finger and asking me to be his wife. His voice as he tells me he loves me like he's never loved anyone in his life.

  His promise of eternity.

  I feel sleep claim me—slowly. But I'm happy. Trapped in my illusion, I feel content for the first time in my life.

  And I let go.

  The beeping sounds from the machines wake me up. It takes me a moment to open my eyes and realize I am not—yet—dead.

  Or at all.

  By the windows, a man is with his back to me—a very familiar back.

  "Bass?" I croak, my throat dry, my voice rough.

  He turns, his features grave. He doesn't seem pleased.

  He doesn't seem pleased at all.

  He's slow as he comes towards me, taking a seat on the chair next to the bed and simply staring at me. He doesn't speak. He doesn't even blink.

  He just stares at me as if he's seeing a ghost.

  That's when I become aware of my surroundings—of the fact that I am in the hospital, hooked to machines, my wrists bandaged.

  "Bass?" I ask again, the silence unnerving. My tongue peeks out to wet my lip as I bring my hand up to brush the hair out of my face.

  There's some residual pain as I move, and Bass' eyes follow the white of the gauze closely, his gaze fixed on my wrist.

  "You're scaring me, Bass..." I whisper.

  And he does. Never mind the fact that I'm still alive. But the way he's looking at me, as if he's deeply disappointed in me, breaks me.

  "I scare you?" He rasps, frowning as he shakes his head at me. "Me? I scare you?" he repeats. "You fucking scared me, Gianna. You went and..." he purses his lips, his eyes still on my bandaged wounds.

  "How could you think of doing something like that?" His voice is soft as he brings his gaze to mine. "How?"

  "I..." I trail off, unable to find the words to explain.

  "I thought you were dead, sunshine," he breathes out, and I note the weariness on his features. "I thought you left me," he continues and he looks... desolate.

  For me?

  "I'm sorry," I say in a small voice, suddenly feeling guilty about worrying him.

  The thing is that I've never had someone to care about me before. And in a not-so-great state of mind, I'd simply assumed no one would miss me.

  "You're sorry for what? For not dying? Or for putting me through the worst fucking time of my life?"

  "Both," I answer without thinking, and my eyes widen at the slip of tongue.

  I meet his eyes and I see the same reaction.

  "Sunshine, talk to me. What happened?"

  "I can't marry him, Bass. I can't," I shake my head, tears already coating my lashes.

  "What did he do to you?" He suddenly demands, his tone harsh and unyielding.

  "He..." I pause, ashamed to tell him. "He's a bad man. A very bad man. And death is a hundred times more appealing than marrying him."

  He frowns at my statement.

  "I'll end up dead anyway," I give a bitter laugh, "but this way it will be by my hand, not his."

  "What do you mean?"

  "He's a sadist. He must have killed his last wife. Wouldn't be the first, or the last."

  "How do you know that?" He fires back, looking at me intently.

  "He..."

  "He hurt you." He states point-blank, sparing me the pain of telling him—of reliving that.

  I give a jerky nod.

  "Fuck," he rises up, his hands on his face as he paces around the room. "You're not marrying him, sunshine. That I can promise you," he tells me confidently.

  "Bass, I appreciate the thought but..."

  "No. It's not just the thought. I'm going to work something out. That I promise you," he says as he comes to my side, seating himself on the bed next to me, his arm suddenly around me.

  He leans down to kiss the top of my head, his hand closing over my shoulder in a tight embrace.

  "If I have to get us fake identities and leave the country, I'll do it. I'll figure something out, but you're never marrying him. Or anyone else."

  I raise my head to meet his gaze, his silvery eyes clear, his features full of determination.

  "Bass," I smile at him, his words touching my heart.

  Even if it's just platitudes, the fact that he wants to help me warms me on the inside.

  "You're mine, Gianna, and I'm not going to let anyone harm you. Ever again," he emphasizes the words. "I knew something was up from the moment you saw him, and I was going to ask you about it but... Fuck, you have no
idea what the sight of you in that tub, your blood in the water, your pulse barely there did to me. I..." he stops, closing his eyes on a deep sigh.

  "I care about you, sunshine. Deeply." I blink repeatedly as I stare at him, shaking my head slightly to clear my ears in case I misheard him. "I can't bear the thought of losing you. The time between your house and the hospital alone took a decade off my life. The uncertainty of whether you were going to make it... I can't have that again."

  "Bass, you... care for me?" I ask slowly—tentatively.

  Yes, I'd known there was an insane chemistry between us from the beginning—regardless how much I tried to deny it. But I'd never expected his feelings to go deeper than attraction. To hear him say he cares for me is something I hadn't dared hope for.

  "Of course I do, sunshine," his hand comes down to cup my face. "You're an amazing woman. Maybe it took me a while to see behind the mask you put to the outside world," he chuckles," but once I did there was no going back. There is no going back. You're mine."

  His thumb moves slowly in circles across my cheek as I lose myself in those stunning eyes of his—finding that my own are getting teary again.

  "I care about you too," I reply, a blush staining my cheeks as I quickly look away from him. "A lot," I feel the need to quantify it.

  Because he has no idea how hard it is for me to trust another person—with my heart, with my body, with everything. Yet, in spite of all the walls I've put up, he's managed to crush them all, slowly embedding himself in my heart.

  Maybe it was the way he shielded me with his body when the car exploded, or the way he'd stood up to me in front of Cosima. Or maybe, it was simply the way he accepted the real me, with my dreams and my aspirations, with my sadness and regrets.

  He's the only one who's ever touched me with tenderness, and he's the only one who would have cared enough to see me live.

  "Good," an arrogant smile appears on his face. "Then it means we're on the same page."

  I nod.

  "I'm going to say this only once, Gianna, so listen closely." His voice is low and rough, his tone serious. "You're not marrying Goode. You're not marrying anyone but me. I don't care if I have to go against your father, or whatever army of goons he has. I don't care if I have to kill every fucking man standing in my way."