8. Stella
8
STELLA
I t’s late when Leo finally comes home. I can’t tell exactly what time it is, but the moon is high in the sky, bathing my pale skin in its glow through the large window across from me.
I hear his footsteps, feel their vibrations against the floor. The mattress is soft beneath my body, which is so heavy . It feels as if I’m drowning in a vat of molasses, and right now, I don’t think I’d mind.
The bedroom door opens, providing a sliver of warm light from the hall. It vanishes as quickly as it arrives, shrouding me in only the presence of the moon and city once again when the footsteps shuffle to one end of the bed.
His presence is overwhelming and cold, and I shiver under the plush throw draped over me, closing my eyes.
“I see Anna didn’t bother dissuading you from raiding my liquor cabinet.”
Cheeks burning, I squint against the harsh bravado of his voice. “I picked the lock,” I mutter, trying not to laugh at how slow my words sound. This molasses is thick .
Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to steal his alcohol, but the girls left an hour or two ago, and I couldn’t find anything better to do. At least some liquid courage would help me get through tonight.
“You’re going to be a problem for me, aren’t you?”
“Hope so.” I turn my face into the mattress. It’s so soft. “Where have you been all night?”
“Had a few fires to attend to. Believe it or not, some family members don’t appreciate my getting married without their knowledge.”
“Especially to a Ricci. Right? They all probably think I’m some traitor waiting for the right moment to turn you over to the Feds. Just like my sister did with Papà’s assets.”
“Your lineage might have come up, yes.”
“So, are you going to send me back? Demand my father pay you some other way?”
Leo hums, and a second later, I feel him sliding the blanket off, baring my calves. Startled, I jackknife into a sitting position, pain shooting through my temples with the sudden motion.
He pushes my shoulders down gently, the way you might restrain a wild animal. My heart hammers inside my chest, so loud that I’m certain he can hear it in the quiet bedroom, though neither of us acknowledges it.
“Relax,” he says, and my eyes close again on instinct. A second later, his fingers are on my ankle, lifting my foot off the bed. “I’m merely removing your shoes so your feet don’t ache in the morning.”
“And here I thought you were the evil sorcerer, locking me away in a tower for your own sick enjoyment.”
“If you’re already injured, torturing you is less fun.” A soft thud echoes through the silence, followed by a second one.
I tense, although I’m pretty sure if he wanted to hurt me, he’d have done it by now.
“Don’t worry.” When his hands leave my body, an empty coldness is left behind. “I have no interest in drunken pussy. You’re safe.”
Safe. In my murderous, criminal husband’s home. It’s almost laughable.
“Even though it’s our wedding night?”
He comes to my side and the corner of the mattress dips with his weight. I peel an eye open, watching as he leans toward the nightstand, inspecting the bottle of scotch I smuggled out of his kitchen. Barely anything is gone, yet I can hardly see straight.
“Is that why you got drunk?” Leo asks. “Because you thought it would make tonight easier?”
Mamma’s warnings from before she went MIA flash in my mind—how men only want one thing, and when you’ve given it up, your freedom is gone. Forever. There’s no getting it back, no way to debase yourself lower than allowing someone like Leo—like Papà, I always assumed she really meant—to defile you.
But this is all my sisters and I were told we were good for. No number of trophies won at academic decathlons in school, or tests aced, or college interest would ever be enough to erase the fact that the Ricci sisters were brought into this world to serve our father’s purpose.
Now I’m supposed to fulfill Leo’s desires. My purpose is to be a wife and nothing else.
A wave of nausea washes over me with that thought. It bucks up out of nowhere, and I slap my palm over my mouth, heaving before I get my head over the bed.
Leo snatches a small metal trash can from the floor and holds it up just in time for me to retch directly into it. Dull brown acidic fluid spews from my mouth and nose, burning my throat on its expulsion. My fingers dig into the bed, clawing at the sheets as more vomit exits my body, and dizziness washes over me with it.
His gloved hand smooths over my hair, gathering its length at the base of my neck. It takes me several seconds of staring into the soiled trash can to realize he’s holding the strands back so they don’t get messy.
I can count on two fingers the number of times anyone’s ever bothered to assist me when I was sick, and both instances were my sisters. Never a parent, and definitely never a man. No one like Leo.
My eyelashes tickle as I stare up at him. Sweat beads trail along my temples, tracking down the sides of my face, and I don’t want to think about how unattractive I probably look to him right now.
“You have beautiful hair,” he says after a moment, pushing some back behind my ear. “It’s so long and soft.”
Uh, okay then. “Thanks.”
“It was the first thing I noticed about you.”
“Tonight?”
He chuckles. “No.”
My brain is too fuzzy to fully process the weight of that one word. Eventually, my nausea dies down a bit, and he leaves to bring me a bottle of water and a toothbrush. I try to sit up more, but everything spins as I do, so he takes the brush, squeezes a dollop of minty paste onto the bristles, and pries my mouth open.
I’m frozen in place, watching this brutal beast—the Demon of Boston—gently scrub my mouth clean. His dark eyes focus solely on the task and not the haphazard shape of my silky pajamas or the fact that I’m in his bed, of all places.
I’m grateful he doesn’t ask why I came here and that I don’t have to admit I wanted to be surrounded by his scent.
It’s unnerving, his undivided attention. Up until now, it’s presumably been concentrated on one goal—to get me naked and beneath him. Consummation, which is what’s expected of us.
I’m not sure what to do with his kindness.
“So, why Stanford?” he asks, finally removing the toothbrush.
I blink, trying to grapple with the change in conversation. “What do you mean?”
“Well, there are plenty of prestigious colleges on the East Coast. Why pick one so far away?”
“Haven’t you ever wondered what else is out there?” My question is spoken so softly, murmured between my partially open lips. “Not just outside of Boston, but out there . In space and beyond.”
“Can’t say the thought’s ever crossed my mind, no.”
“Of course not. Why would a king need to seek asylum elsewhere?”
It’s a rhetorical question, and Leo doesn’t bother answering it, but something shifts on his face nonetheless. “So, you’re interested in space and beyond.”
“I’m interested in anything that isn’t this ,” I admit quietly. It’s the first time I’ve said the words out loud, a confession that my interest in academia and intelligence is a front, because I’m afraid of what will happen to me if my mind is idle.
I seek facts and concrete data, or theorems on the principles of gravity and the makeup of the universe, because I don’t want to be like my parents. Bound to their heritage and tradition, lacking any identity outside it.
With knowledge comes a certain level of responsibility, but there’s also freedom innately attached. That’s why I cling so tight to my books, my peer-reviewed articles, and my scientific journals. Because of the possibilities within. The potential for expansion and experimentation that doesn’t exist within the scope of the Mafia.
Not that I can tell Leo any of that. It’s too pathetic. “In the past twenty years or so, demand for geneticists, specifically, has increased about forty-three percent. In the next decade, vacancies and positions are only expected to further increase. It’s a steadily growing field, and I like the idea of helping to identify hereditary risks with the intent to benefit the masses. If I can do something like that, something that matters…I don’t know. I guess that’d make everything else in my life worth it.”
“How very practical of you. I’m impressed that you’re able to spout statistics while inebriated.” He folds his hands in his lap, seeming to consider my words. “And your father was willing to let you do this? Before he got the idea to sell you off, I mean. You did receive an acceptance letter, I’ve heard.”
Heat scores my chest, and I don’t reply. I can’t reply—can’t tell him that one of my only accomplishments in life was paid for by my oldest sister and her husband.
Without answering, I take the bottle of water Leo offers, ignoring the grittiness from the toothpaste as I guzzle it down. Breathing heavily, I wipe my mouth and look up at him, trying to see the angle—the reason he’s asking. He’s already taken my future away. Is this the final nail in the coffin?
“Why do you even care about any of this?” I probe after swallowing.
“I suppose morbid curiosity, stellina. I find that I can’t help myself when it comes to you.”
My pulse throbs against my neck. What is that supposed to mean?
He leans in, his face so close to mine that I can feel his breath fan across my mouth. I swallow hard, and my stomach flips over on itself as he brings his leather-clad hands to my shoulders again, rolling me.
When my back connects with the mattress, fear snakes down my spine.
“Obviously, college attendance now is out of the question.”
Resentment boils in my chest. “I don’t need the constant reminder that my life is over.”
“The don’s wife is always a target.”
Tears prick my eyes. “You’re not even don yet.”
His dark gaze searches my face. If I lifted my head, I could probably kiss him. “That isn’t the point. You’re still mine, and being mine makes you a part of this.”
“Then let me go,” I whisper, a half-hearted plea I wasn’t planning on voicing. Maybe desperation will sway him in a way nothing else has. “I—I won’t tell anyone what happened. We can just pretend we never crossed paths at all.”
“Pretend I don’t know the exact shape of your mouth?” A gloved finger comes up, tracing the edge of my bottom lip. “That I haven’t been on the receiving end of your absolute hatred, your violence? That I haven’t had the divine pleasure of tasting you and calling you mine? I could never forget, stellina , and I could never pretend.”
I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out.
After a moment, he leans in even more, and I feel his kiss before I can fully process what’s happening. My limbs are sluggish, unmoving, but my lips return the gesture. It’s soft, tender almost, and it sends a flurry of unfamiliar sensations through the length of my body—lust, warmth, and an undeniable shift in perspective.
Is this what it’s like—being noticed?
Should it feel so good, coming from my captor?
“I’ve wanted to do that for too long,” he murmurs against me.
My mouth chases his, seeking more. I can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or something deep within that I don’t want to acknowledge, but I enjoy how his touch lights me up like a starry sky. I’d give almost anything to keep feeling that way forever.
“Rest,” Leo says, pulling back and yanking the throw blanket to my chin. He tucks it in at my sides as if I’m a child, and I can’t do anything but stare. “You don’t need to worry about anything else.”
A thought slides through my watery mind. “But we’re supposed to…you know. Your father said something about tradition?—”
“My father?” His voice is cold, and he freezes in place, still looming over me. “He was here?”
I nod.
“Did he touch you?”
Something hollows out inside my chest. A defense mechanism, though I know it’s not to protect Flavio. Just myself.
Leo’s jaw clenches, visible even in the moonlight. He reads past my silence, withdrawing his hands. “I see. So, that bruise on your face…that’s not from stumbling in here drunkenly?”
My eyes widen, and I slide one hand out from the blanket, pressing my fingers to my face. It’s sore to the touch, and I wince, not having realized until now that he hit me so hard.
For several moments, neither of us speaks. It’s not until he repositions himself on the bed, stroking his fingers through my hair again, that I realize my eyes have closed. I open them, my vision blurring a bit, and see a flash of flesh as he moves away. When my gaze focuses, all I’m met with is empty air
“Sleep,” he commands from somewhere in the room. My body is all too eager to obey, shutting down as soon as the word leaves his mouth.
For the first time I can remember, I don’t spend any time tossing and turning, dreading what’s to come in the future. I don’t lament over what I’ve lost or the terrifying monster who seems attached to the idea of keeping me.
I just sleep .