Stolen Wife

by Carina Blake

  “Yes, sir.” I walk up to my bedroom and see that everything has been aired out and cleaned. It’s wonderful to be in my damn cozy bed. Two years of that shitty mattress almost broke my ass more than anything else.

  Chapter Two

  Giada

  “Be a good girl, and maybe my parents will let you come out of your room for a bit while I’m gone,” Rafael says, zipping up his pants after tucking himself inside. Per his commands, I watch him get dressed even though I find him absolutely repulsive. Not only does he know it, but he truly takes a perverse pleasure in making me uncomfortable. I’ve grown accustomed to the way he operates, so most days I stare at his shoes. That’s the only part of him that’s appealing because that means he’s leaving.

  God, the man is a total patronizing asshole. “When can I call my family?”

  He fixes his ugly purple tie that costs more than any piece of clothing I own, and then turns back to me with a raised brow. He’s smug and filthy. “Why would you want to do that? To tell them how bad your life is here?” He turns back to his reflection, smiling through the mirror. I’d love to shatter that thing into a million pieces. I bet he’s going to his mistress right after me. I only hate her because she gets freedom. I’m not even concerned about their relationship as long as he doesn’t bring an STI to me.

  I scoff, knowing full well that my family wouldn’t give a damn how I’m treated as long as there’s a truce between the families and money to be made. “Why? They wouldn’t save me.” They willingly sold me to the devil.

  “Exactly, so just stop asking.” He rolls his suit jacket over his shoulders, giving no fucks about me at all. I feel like punching him in the dick, but I’d probably pay big time. He looks at himself in the mirror, arching his brow and checking his face like he’s somehow going to look good. Does he really believe that he’s attractive?

  “Am I ever going to have a friend?” I’m not sure why I’m pushing it today, but I can’t stop myself. Maybe it’s the constant solitude. I’d prefer the loneliness if it meant I never had to feel his hands or body on me. There’s a lot I’d suffer through to be away from him.

  He turns around and walks toward me. Once he’s directly in front of me, he sets his knee on the edge of the bed and leans in closely. “You’ll have our babies. Once that’s done...well...maybe you can make friends with Faustino or Gino.” He winks so I understand fully what he means, and I do.

  He’s struck a nerve like he wanted. My eyes narrow as I lose my temper. “You’re such a—” He reaches out and grabs my cheeks with one hand, squeezing my mouth painfully.

  “Such a what? I don’t know who the hell you think you’re talking to. I’m your husband, and you’ll learn a little respect or next time I’ll make sure you can’t sit for a week.” He roughly lets go, shoving me backward onto the bed. I rub my jaw, and he laughs as he moves back to the dresser.

  “I’ll be back in two days for another thorough fucking. You better be ready for an all-day session. I’m tired of waiting for you to get pregnant. It’s good sperm wasted. Now, don’t move until it goes off.” He reaches over and grabs the egg timer and turns it to fifteen minutes—the length of time I have left before I’m allowed out of bed to clean up after myself. I toss my head back on the pillow with my legs up in the air and a big pillow under my ass. The sound of the door closes and the lock clicking shut gives way to the pain of my situation.

  When Rafael Marchetti is mad, I know that I’ll pay with new bruises. At five seven, he’s a mean little bastard, using his fists to make up for his other inadequacies.

  As a mob boss, he keeps his appearance impeccable to show his control. He doesn’t leave until he looks completely put together, even when he’s going to visit his dollar-fifty whore. I wish he’d go to his room to do it. We don’t share a bedroom, thankfully. If he didn’t enjoy his own privacy away from me, he’d sleep in the same bed just to spite me.

  As his wife, I take what I’m given and deal with it, or there will be consequences if he doesn’t like something I say or do. Some days, I don’t put up a fight and that makes him angry, so he is even more violent.

  His refusal to let me contact my parents doesn’t surprise me. Not that I genuinely want to talk to them, but I need a lifeline somewhere. I’m running out of patience and hope for a change in my situation.

  Some days the air in this room is suffocating to the point I’m choking on the pain of the silence. Worse is when I wake up to the nightmares of my wedding night when he beat me after he failed to get off. It took him six tries to break through my hymen with his little cock, and it set him into a rage. I can still remember the pain of his entry over and over.

  My family and his made it so I had no other recourse or resource to find a life away from Rafael. My parents run a prostitution and gambling business. I’m certain now more than ever that they also dabble in human trafficking. They were so willing to do it to me that they’d totally be cool with selling someone who isn’t family.

  I wipe away the tears that fall unwillingly down my face when I think about my fate.

  Unwilling—like everything in my life.

  I’d never let him see me cry, but the moment he’s gone, I let them pour down my pink, tear-stained cheeks. I’m not sure if he’d laugh or get angry if he came back, but he won’t even bother to come back. He’s done what he came to do and that’s it.

  I hate my husband with a passion so great I can barely make it through the day. Hate is an understatement of epic proportions. I want him dead, and I’d do it myself, but I don’t have anywhere to run if I killed the bastard. I have no money, no friends, no family, and would create more enemies than I can count.

  Did I ever really have a family? They threw me to the wolves, selling me out for pennies on the dollar.

  A life for leniency.

  A life for ties to more power.

  They didn’t get the power, and I got a man who hate-fucks me like a used-up whore who disgusts him so much that he can’t finish half the time.

  His reaction to me is insane because as far as I’ve ever known, I’m considered a prize, beautiful compared to the most gorgeous women in Hollywood, but my husband doesn’t treat me like he won a prize. Instead, he lives like he suffers every second in my presence.

  The bastard has way too many allies and enemies in this world. Unfortunately, I’m not allowed to leave the house and meet his enemies. Hell, I haven’t met his friends either. Our wedding was one of formality. There was no fanfare or massive ceremony for all to see. We signed papers in a courthouse with just our parents present.

  The only people besides the main house staff that I’ve met are his parents. I’m betting that’s the way they want it so he can get away with the abuse and so they know I can’t turn on them. However, they have no idea that a really sharp kitchen knife would turn me into Michael Fucking Myers in a heartbeat.

  Rafael also has an older brother Santino that no one in the family will mention in front of me. He’s currently in prison for the murder of a public official, but that’s all I know about him. They act like they shouldn’t be proud of their boy. After all, murder’s nothing new to them and not a disgrace. Maybe it’s the fact that he got caught.

  I quietly pull the pillow out from under my ass and slide off the bed to stand so they can’t hear me. His release runs down my leg, but it’s better than being anywhere near my womb. I shiver in disgust. Why did my dad make that arrangement? Why did he force me into marrying this asshole? Nothing like a marriage between two mafia families to strengthen a truce. Now I’m stuck with a man whose throat I’d love to slit.

  I can’t take a shower yet because his men literally sit outside my door to hear if I do. He wants me pregnant and having his heir. There’s family unrest. I don’t know why he just doesn’t legitimize the little baby he has with his mistress. The boy is about two years old, from what I’ve heard.

  I’m more than happy for them to do that than sleep with the fucker ever again. Then again, he likes th
at I hate his touch. He wants me to be his unwilling wife. He gets off on the abuse. I grab the sheet and walk to the bathroom. Using a douche, I squirt out as much of his seed as I can. I don’t flush so they can’t hear me, but then I set the bottle back into the supposed hair dye kit that I’ve never used. I’m not doing it just to stop from getting pregnant, but also I want nothing to do with him and that includes his weak release.

  Another shiver runs through me. Damn, it’s warm out. Why am I so damn cold? I have a feeling I’ll have my period in a couple of days, which will definitely warrant a beating.

  I walk back to my bed and lie down, pretending to be resting just in case they do a surprise check-in. I sigh and cover my eyes with my forearm.

  I’m locked away in my gilded cage. The room itself is absolutely stunning and looks like the room of a concubine or harem, but I’m not even his love slave. I’m an obligation. He only comes in here for one thing and once he’s done, he’s gone, and I’m trapped and disgusted.

  I have only one ally in this, and it’s his lovingly wonderful mother. She’s been sneaking me birth control since my engagement. It’s the best gift I could have gotten, and I can’t even express how much it meant to me when she slipped them to me. I remember her words as clearly as the day she said them. “I don’t want you to be in my position, but we have no choice. Here. At least this will give you a chance to one day get out.” I cry thinking about the pain on her face. She may present a gentle, happy matriarch, but as someone in the same spot, I can read her like a book.

  Over the months, we shared brief conversations and I learned that she didn’t marry for love. Her hand was forced, just like mine. There’s more to that story, but I haven’t been able to ask. We’re never given too much time alone, and I’m sure that’s because they know she feels sympathy for me. I pray they never learn of the pills. She has a connection that gave her a year’s supply, which I keep in one spot that Rafael won’t search. Not that he would. I’m not allowed to have anything. Everything is brought to me.

  The timer goes off and I hop off the bed to wash up, but the bright light from the sun beams through the room and I have to drink it in. It’s rare to get a great deal of sun at this time of the year. The weather is warming up, but this is the northeast. Spring storms are always on the way in from the ocean. It’s the start of spring, which usually means renewal, a fresh start, but to me it means a little more freedom to roam the gardens and plant. Of course the security is tight, but I can at least pretend that I’m a wife of leisure and completely content with my life.

  I open the curtains to the balcony doors. They’re locked for my protection, or so they claim. In reality, it’s about stopping me from taking a nosedive into the cement below. Some days I’ve considered it, but I’d rather take Rafael with me. I won’t make my death easy for him. As I stare out, I can see movement coming from the left in front of the large portico. A black-on-black SUV pulls up and the driver exits to open the back door.

  “Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.” I see Rafael straightening his suit jacket before heading to the open vehicle door. He pauses and looks up. I quickly close the drapes so he doesn’t see me. I know that it isn’t a last glance out of love, but to make sure I don’t try to leave.

  If only I could call the cops or maybe the Feds, but I’m not sure who to trust since so many are in their pocket.

  Then again, if they have them paid off, why is their oldest in prison? I feel like there’s so much more there that interests me. Something about Santino Marchetti has intrigued me since I first learned of him. When we became engaged, I remember thinking that his brother should be the one my parents sold me to. After seeing his picture, I would rather have been his wife because at least he was good-looking.

  For the first week of our marriage, I would pretend that Rafael was his brother. It’s stupid because they’re nothing alike in looks, but it helped me cope with the situation. It ended when he heard me call him Santino when we were at dinner. I played it off because someone had said his name during the dinner. It’s the only reason I managed to walk away unscathed that night. After all, the house isn’t full of pictures of the older brother. The only one I saw is the one they keep on the mantle, and I never look at it for more than a glance just in case their eyes land on me and see my curiosity.

  I don’t know why, but I can’t stop thinking about Santino. Sometimes, I still fantasize about him like somehow he’d save me from this life. I shake my head and walk into the bathroom and turn on the shower. As I’m washing my hair, I remember why. This morning, I heard the guard say something to Rafael before he came into my room and Santino’s name was the only thing I could make out.

  My shower’s quick because I don’t trust the guards. They don’t have the go-ahead to take me, but that doesn’t mean they don’t like stealing peeks at me naked. I wrap a towel around my body and one around my long, dark hair. Opening my closet, I pull out a pretty yellow top with a pair of jeans. My wardrobe consists of mostly the clothes that my parents bought as a wedding gift. I’m in the middle of brushing my hair when there’s a knock.

  The door unlocks and he waits for me to open it. I keep my body behind the door so he doesn’t have a chance to ogle me. “Signora Marchetti, you’re being summoned by Signor Marchetti,” his guard informs me. I hate every single one of them. Their eyes have roamed over me like I’m nothing but an object. They’ve already hinted that the second I give the boss an heir, I’ll be their “cum dump” as they put it, and apparently, Rafael approves. What kind of husband would allow that?

  “I’m allowed out of my cage. So thoughtful. Should I get dressed, or would his majesty prefer I go looking like a used hooker?”

  “Please be presentable. Santino is here. Signor Marchetti temper’s high. Do your best to check your attitude. If you don’t, I’ll inform him of your mouth.”

  “The prodigal son has returned. Am I supposed to service both of them now?”

  “Well, he’s been without pussy for a couple of years, so maybe Rafael will be lenient and let him do you in the ass. Something he’s probably used to in the joint. Now get ready. I’ll be waiting.”

  “Maybe they need to be made aware of your mouth, you little pissant.” I dismiss him with a wave of my hand and close the door. I fetch one of the four outfits suitable for the old bastard who makes my skin crawl and his oldest spawn. I double check my appearance. I tell myself it’s because I’m trying not to get a beating, but in reality, something is demanding that I look good for Santino.

  “Get out here now. Quit being a spoiled bitch. Signor Marchetti said to make it quick.”

  “What?” I throw open the door, ready for a battle with this bastard. “Who the fuck do you think you are talking to?” I remind him. “You are lucky that I don’t have something sharp besides my tongue or you’d be gasping for your last breath.” I flip him off and walk downstairs in front of the bastard goon. Reaching the closed double doors to the sitting room where they are waiting for me, I stop in my tracks. Turning to the hired help, I grab his lapel and lift my knee, striking him right in the balls. “Speak to me like that again, and that’s the least I’ll do to you.”

  Straightening my clothes, I open the door and come face to face with my father-in-law who’s opening it at the same time.

  “You summoned me?”

  He gives me a warning glare to keep myself in control. “Please come in and hold your tongue,” he whispers the last part.

  That means Santino doesn’t know I’m a prisoner. In the corner of the room, a man standing about six three with broad shoulders in a nice suit is staring at the wedding photo of Rafael and me. He sets it down and then turns.

  “Santino, I would like you to meet your sister-in-law, Giada.” Hearing his name makes my heart jump.

  Our eyes meet, and I sense a shift in the room.

  Chapter Three

  Santino

  “Thank you all for staying on this whole time. I’m grateful for all your trust and
support during that dark time. I’ll be in and out today, but I ask that you keep my whereabouts a secret unless told otherwise. The threat on my life might be a possibility, so I must offer you an option. You can stay and I’ll increase your pay, or you can leave. I ask, though, that you make the choice with careful thought. I will not be giving second chances. I need to know that I can trust those in my home.”

  There are four staff members: Martin, my personal assistant, my butler, Jasper, my driver, Joey, and Rita, my chef.

  “You know I’m not going anywhere you aren’t, boss,” Joey says.

  I knew that would be his answer. I nod and wait for the other two to respond. They look at each other and quickly back to me.

  “We’re not going anywhere, sir,” Jasper and Rita say together. They’ve been married for the past twenty years and have been great employees since they came to work for me three years ago. The point of keeping them on is also to learn who talks to my enemies.

  Everyone leaves my office, but Rita comes back ten minutes later to collect the plate of eggs and sausage she brought in this morning. I completely forgot about it. She huffs as she glares at the plate and then softens her expression before looking at me. “Sir, your breakfast is getting cold.”

  “Sorry, I’m not hungry.” With everything going on, I don’t have an appetite. Besides, I’ve had a liquid breakfast this morning as I steel my nerves.

  Rita seems put out, but I don’t have to eat if I don’t want to. I give her a look that says it’s not up for debate. Before I might have let it go, but after spending a long time having people tell me what to do, I’m not going to let them start with me now. “Very well. We need some dogs to feed the wasted food to.” She grumbles all the way out of the room.

  “That sounds wonderful. Two Dobermans would be great,” I shout before she closes the door. That’s something I should have thought of doing as soon as I got out of prison.