Chapter 36
CARMELA
F eeling a hand clamp over my mouth, my eyes snap open. I jolt awake to find a dark shape looming over me. In an instant I know it’s not Christian playing games. And it’s not Ettore either.
I slap out, my breathing going haywire and my heart erupting. His weight comes down, forcing me deep into the couch—now my right hand is trapped between us. In the gloomy light, I see his mouth is moving, but I can’t hear him over the music filling my ears.
His hand is too tight over my mouth. I fight to peel it off. He licks up the side of my face from my chin to my temple. Fresh panic rushes in.
Who? Why? How did they get into the house?
One earbud comes out… “Shh, it’s okay. Ettore knows I’m here.” Cosmo .
His lips are against my throat. He nips, almost playfully.
Is he insane? Ettore is going to kill him. I give up trying to rip his hand away and sink my nails into the side of his face.
“Ungrateful bitch!” He wrests my hand away from his face and pins it to the couch above my head.
“He already cut me because of you.” His wet mouth finds my throat again—my stomach turns over.
His lips move downward. Pushing my robe aside, he leaves more wet, repugnant kisses moving toward the upper swell of my breast. “But I’ll do my part. Get you pregnant for my brother.”
I’m going to be sick, and all I can think of is that I’m likely to choke to death with his hand over my mouth. He licks over my shoulder, and down my arm… Then suddenly sinks his teeth in.
The pain is excruciating. I scream into his hand, thrashing wildly, finally able to buck him off, and tumbling onto the wooden floor.
I scream and scramble up. He grips my robe and yanks me backward. I tear out of it and pitch forward, but his weight slams me to the floor over the thick, dusty covering that I took off the couch.
He fists the back of my neck and shoves my face deep into it. I breathe in a lungful of dust and choke. My eyes water.
No one is here.
No one is near.
Lilette and Peony are downstairs and a corridor length away. Christian left the house.
Dots swim before my eyes. The dusty covering is suffocating me. My neck is at an awkward angle. When he drops more weight onto me, I can feel bones and muscles screaming in protest, bringing a terrifying notion that it’s about to snap.
His nails score my skin as he yanks down the waist of my yoga pants, his panting breath fills my ears.
I hear the sound of a zipper.
God, please no!
He curses. My yoga pants are tight. I have a death grip on the front of the waist. He tugs again.
“Let go, Carmela.”
Not a chance, not willingly, not ever.
But I’m losing this battle.
My struggles excite him.
That thought hits me like a riptide, dragging me under. As my energy wanes and I become ever weaker, my looming horror grows.
CHRISTIAN
The house is dark and quiet. I tell myself I’m overreacting, that Cosmo is not this fucking stupid, but the ants never lie, and the ants say something is wrong.
The last thing I want is to wake the house up on a hunch.
Mr. Gallo would not be fucking impressed, and no one will be happy if I wake up the demon sprog.
I’m still waiting to hear back from the boys outside, so I make a slow sweep of the downstairs rooms. If the fucker is skulking around, I’m going to put a thumping on him.
Nothing… I tap my earpiece. “Any update?”
“Still trying to get hold of him.”
Fucking great.
I head upstairs, the only noise the occasional creak as the wood gives.
The corridor is dark and quiet in both directions. There are rooms on either side and low nightlights along the length.
All the doors are closed.
I can’t hear any sounds.
The urge to check on her, to confirm she’s tucked up safe in her bed, is strong and compelling, but I also don’t trust myself not to fuck her if I go into her room.
What the fuck is taking them so long to get a simple answer?
A dull knock emanates from the end of the corridor in the opposite direction from Carmela’s room.
I’m so hyper-focused I can’t tell if it’s real or if my ears are playing tricks.
The ants start swarming.
My earpiece crackles. “He’s still here.”
I charge toward her room. I don’t care if she’s asleep and I wake her up. The fucker is in the house somewhere, and until I know where he is, I’m waking everyone the fuck up.
The door swings open, slamming into the bedroom wall with a crash.
The bed is empty.
She’s not fucking here.
“Carmela?!”
My heart is in my fucking throat and so much adrenaline floods my system I feel fucking high.
Silence.
My head swings back around.
The other end of the corridor.
The sound.
I run. The door on the left opens as I sprint past, and Lillette peers out. I don’t stop, slamming through the door that leads up to the attic studio and taking the stairs two at a time. Twisting the handle of the door at the top, I shove, only to crumple into the unyielding surface.
Locked.
“Carmela!” A thump and the sounds of a scuffle come from the other side.
Hell, fucking no.
What was that Jero said about not using force on a locked door? Yeah, fuck that. The flat of my boot delivers a sharp kick below the handle. The door shudders and the bolt strains. Another harder kick and it snaps, wood cracks and splinters, and the door slams open.
I pitch into the room, right myself. There on the floor in the middle of the room, two shapes struggle.
CARMELA
The crash of splintering wood penetrates the fog of terror. The weight pinning me disappears. I shove weakly away from the dusty cover and roll onto my side where I gasp for air.
I’m wreckage: a ball of throbbing, hurting, misery. Exposed. The sound of a fight comes from somewhere nearby: a low grunt, the meaty slap, a retching sound… a loud thud and a high-pitched scream.
“Fuck.” Christian drops to his knees beside me. “Carmela? Talk to me.”
Gentle, trembling hands brush my hair back from the side of my sweaty face.
A sob catches in my throat. I feel battered, physically and emotionally. There’s so much pain I don’t know how to process all of it.
I reach for him.
“I’ve got you.” He drags me into his arms, and I curl into a ball against his chest, my fingers clawing, trying to disappear into him. He’s warm. I’m shaking furiously, my throat making terrible hoarse sounds.
I’m joggled as he reaches behind. I cling tighter, worried he’s about to put me away. A moment later, my robe drops over me.
Covering me.
Covering the marks.
A moan sounds on the other side of the room.
“Move, and I will end you, motherfucker,” Christian snarls.
Footsteps pound up the stairs and come to a skittering stop.
“Sonofabitch,” someone mutters.
“Call a fucking doctor,” Christian says. “And the don. Get this piece of shit out of here before I snap his goddamn neck.”
My yoga pants are still on, tugged down, and the exposed skin is sticky. The memory of Cosmo thrusting against me, trying to pull them lower, is a source of unholy terror.
“Get it off me!” I start to hyperventilate, clawing at my own skin. I can’t have it on me—I can’t stand it.
“Alright. Just—Jesus!”
The sounds of another scuffle fill the room. More footsteps.
Christian rises, hoisting me into his arms, and strides out of the room, down the stairs and into the nearby guest bedroom. He steps into the shower with me fully clothed and turns it on with me still in his arms.
The water drowns out the mania gripping me, and I sob, clutching his wet shirt, trying to get closer again to the safety he represents. The robe slides off and hits the shower floor with a wet plop. The water stings.
“I need everything off!”
My clothes are in the way. Stopping the water from cleaning me.
“This is not a good idea.”
“God, please!”
“Shh, alright.”
I don’t want to let go of him and that makes it awkward. But I feel better once they are off, and the water reaches my skin.
“Please let me help her.”
The voice is female and comes from the outer room.
I don’t want anyone to see me like this… anyone but Christian.
“Hush, it’s only Lillete. I’m close to fucking losing it—don’t want to leave you—but I can’t stay with you. I fucking can’t. You know that. Let Lillete help you.”
His words make sense. My husband is on his way. He can’t find me here, in Christian’s arms, naked. The terror of losing Christian is the only thing that outweighs the terror of what just happened.
I let my feet drop to the floor. But they give out and I sink straight down.
He comes with me, couching beside me, carefully brushing the wet hair from my face.
I’m still clutching his hand.
Letting go of it is inexplicably hard.
My eyes lift to his face.
He’s as still as a statue.
His hair is slicked down against his skull. He doesn’t even blink despite water sluicing over us. His expression is terrifyingly calm.
CHRISTIAN
She finally releases me and allows Lillete to help her. But I’m fucking feral, and my chest starts heaving the moment I put distance between us. She’s covered in bruises and scratches—it looks like there’s a bite oozing blood on her upper arm.
Fucking animal.
If Ettore doesn’t end the piece of shit, I’m going to go ahead and slip into his bedroom one night, cut off his shriveled cock and choke him on it.
Roman is standing in the doorway, his face drawn. “Did he?”
I swipe a hand down my face. I’m soaking, and dripping water everywhere. “She was—” I can’t get the fucking words out. “I think he came over her… maybe. Looked like the sick fucker had bitten her, too.”
I promised Dante that I would watch her, and I’ve fucking failed.
Ettore is going to be out for Cosmo’s blood.
Fuck him. He can get in my fucking queue. The whole sick family needs setting on fire.
My thoughts are spiraling. I’m not blameless here. I’ve let Ettore hurt her and done nothing. As for tonight, this is my fault, too. I should have been in the house.
Ettore is going to be out for my blood, too, and I don’t fucking blame him.
A fresh deluge of guilt drags me down, almost bringing me to my knees.
Roman’s radio crackles, and he lifts it to his ear. I lost my earpiece somewhere in the fray, so I don’t have a clue what’s going on.
The shower is still running behind me. I can hear Carmela crying.
The sound is fucking me up.
“The doctor just pulled in the gate. The don is on his way. You’re wanted downstairs.”
I nod. It takes another beat before my feet will move.