Chapter 15
Elena
Aknock sounds on my door. It’s late morning and I’ve been awake for hours, but refuse to leave this room until Maximo has left for the day.
I know he has work to do. He can’t babysit me in his home all day long.
Why won’t he just leave a guard outside and go about his business?
I can’t bear the thought of facing him again. Not after what happened in his office.
He’s forced this engagement on me, and put this stupid pink diamond ring on my finger. The ring that now sits in my nightstand drawer. I took it off as soon as I hid in here, unable to even look at the thing without having a meltdown.
My life feels like a runaway train and I’m not sure how to stop it. This can’t be happening to me, yet everywhere I look proves that it is, in fact, where my future’s headed.
“Elena, I’m not leaving until you come out and have something to eat.” His voice carries through the thick wood of my door. “I made waffles. There’s even strawberry syrup.”
My stomach growls, and I groan. Yesterday I didn’t eat much. Besides, even if I had, waffles with strawberry syrup are my favorite and I’d be more than happy to eat one no matter how stuffed I am.
The knock comes again. “Breakfast is getting cold. Come out. I even heated up the syrup…”
I glare at the door. Maximo somehow knows they’re my favorite. He’s using that knowledge as a weapon against me.
I hate him. Yes, I let him touch me. I kissed him. But I can still hate him.
His footsteps fade as he walks along the hallway toward the kitchen. My stomach feels like it’s going to devour itself pretty soon if I don’t put something in it. With a defeated sigh, I peel myself out of the fluffy chair where I’ve been reading and crack open the door.
Slipping into the empty hallway, I tiptoe to the open concept kitchen, dining, and living area. A neutral mask settled over my face, I plop down on a stool at the marble island and ignore Maximo by scrolling through social media on my phone.
Maximo glances my way, then releases a pleased rumble that does funny things to my insides. I hate the fact that I like those guttural sounds of pleasure he makes. They’re so primal. Raw. Sexy.
A second later, he sets a plate in front of me, complete with the promised waffle, melting butter, and warm strawberry syrup. Breathing in the sweet aroma, I salivate. My stomach gurgles.
The moment’s ruined when he also plunks down a newspaper opened to the announcements section. Our names stand out in bold in a short article about our engagement.
My stomach sours as I glare up at him. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“What do you mean?” His dark brow furrows as if he’s honestly confused by my anger.
“Why would you make this ridiculous engagement so public?” I stab my waffle and cut off a piece, then shove it in my mouth.
“It’s not ridiculous,” he mutters under his breath, frowning. “I want this to be public so everyone knows that you’re mine. Especially Enzo Casella.”
I roll my eyes. Which I’ve never dared do to a man before, though I suppose it’s not as bad as flipping him off. It feels good. I can see why my sister rolls her eyes, even if Papa used to punish her for it.
Instead of being verbally reactionary—like my sister would be—I sit with Maximo’s explanation. He’s possessive and obviously jealous of Enzo for one little touch at that party. I file that information away for later. It could be useful. Maybe I should call Enzo, perhaps he’ll come rescue me.
No one will rescue you. You have to rescue yourself, remember?
It’s true. No one in their right mind would step between me and Maximo the all mighty don. In our world, he has every right to trap me in marriage. This isn’t the first time a couple has legally been bound together in such a manner, and it won’t be the last.
Gah, I loathe this place.
When Maximo steps out of the kitchen, I think he’s going to let me eat in peace. Wrong. He shows up a minute later, picks up my left hand, and slips that pink diamond engagement ring onto my finger. Seething, I do my best to ignore him.
His scent mingles with the waffles and syrup as he hovers closer like he’s waiting for my reaction.
His body heat warms my side. I swallow my food, then finally spare him a sharp glance.
Which turns out to be a big mistake because he’s looking at me like he wants to drench me in syrup and take a bite.
My lips part, drawing his hungry gaze. His body sways toward mine and for a second I think he’s going to kiss me. My skin tingles, my nipples pebble in anticipation. Even my brain can’t seem to find a reason why that’s a bad idea. In fact, I want to taste him again—wait, no I don’t.
He catches himself, straightening to his full, imposing height. “I need to go. Be a good girl and stay here.”
Gathering his things, he steps into the elevator. His bright eyes stare right through me as the doors slide closed. I swear he knows my every thought, like he can see inside of my head.
I glance down at the waffles and strawberry syrup.
Maximo thinks he knows me. He’s already proven he knows my favorite color, preferred breakfast, and my love for books.
He probably thinks he’s privy to what I’m going to think, say, and do before I am.
That gives him an advantage over me, which is unacceptable.
What if I’m able to prove him wrong?
He wants me as his wife based on what he thinks he knows about me. I’m the pretty arm candy that’s always polite and proper. My parents raised me to be the perfect wife for a man like him. He thinks I’m a sure thing, a guarantee, a qualified match.
If I convince him that I’m not who and what he needs, will he let me go?
A slow grin spreads my lips and I pop another piece of waffle in my mouth as I mull over this new idea.
Maximo needs a mafia princess at his side, but what if I give him something else entirely?
His reputation can only bear so much. He can only suffer so much before the cons outweigh the pros.
I just need to show him how unsuited we really are for each other.
Prove that I’m a liability instead of an asset.
I tap my chin in thought. What’s the opposite of me?
I suppose I can take some tips from Ravenna.
She and I are nothing alike. She’s everything I’d never dare to be; outspoken, strong-willed, and confrontational, but those things could be used to my benefit.
Except she’s so grounded, whereas I need unhinged.
What would a wild, rebellious, totally psychotic woman do in my situation? What’s the most destructive, crazy…
My gaze flits to the liquor cabinet. Drunken recklessness? Fuel for fire? Maybe he has a really expensive bottle he’s been saving for a special occasion. Hm…
Sliding off of my chair, I open up the glass case and explore what Maximo keeps on hand. Cognac, mostly. Gross. Vodka, bourbon, even some tequila. In the back I find a sealed bottle of Macallan 1926. Hm. Looks expensive.
I search for the brand and year on my phone. Ding ding ding. We have a winner. The lowest price tag for this comes in at two million dollars per bottle. Which makes me dizzy just thinking about spending that much money on something you’re going to drink.
Opening it, I take a swig of the stuff. It goes down real smooth, like silk and honey along my throat. The alcohol hits my system as my stomach warms and my skin flushes.
“Nice,” I say to the bottle. “Too bad Maximo will never get to taste you.”
With a skip in my step, I head over to the sink and empty the contents down the drain. God, I hope he has cameras in here to see what I’m doing. I can imagine the horrified look on his face when he plays this back. I hope it hurts.
Speaking of making it hurt… I smash the glass bottle in the sink, then glance around for more inspiration. What does Maximo love? Most things in his apartment are nice, but impersonal. He had to have hired a professional designer to decorate this place.
Wandering the hall, I sneak into his bedroom, figuring if there’s anything sentimental it will be in here.
The space is dark, masculine, and smells like him.
Going to his closet, I open it to find all those expensive designer suits he wears.
The man doesn’t seem to own a single pair of jeans or anything considered casual. Stuffy, wealth-flashing bastardo.
Inspired yet again, I head into his bathroom for a pair of scissors.
He only has himself to blame for all of this.
He backed me into a corner, publicly announced our engagement, and left me alone in his penthouse to stew in my misfortune.
Obviously he’s not afraid of what I’ll do.
I’m sure he really does think I’ll be a good girl and spend all day reading, waiting for him to come home so he can boss me around some more.
I’m so over letting other people dictate my life. I’m done.
The sparkle of the pink engagement ring catches my eye under the bathroom lights. It glitters, baiting me. Choice is an illusion. His words taunt me, spurring me into action.
Back in his closet, I take my time going through his Armani suits. I don’t need to look up the price tag on these. I know designer clothes, even if I don’t wear them any more—except for my purses, I could never break that habit. Needing to replace these will hurt his bank account balance.
I snip at the rich fabric, taking out pieces in a decorative pattern, or cutting out the elbows and knees. I make sure not a single suit escapes my destructive alterations.
A maniacal laugh bubbles up my throat as I toss away the scraps of fabric in the bathroom trash. This is unhinged. I should be terrified of what Maximo’s going to do to me when he finds out, but I’m not. I just don’t give a damn any more. He wants to spank me? Fine. Do it.
Obviously, I’ve snapped. This can’t be good.
At this point, I don’t even know how far I’m willing to go, or what I’ll do next.
Old Elena would be horrified by what I’ve done so far.
It’s not just rude, it’s insane and absolutely unforgivable.
Which is exactly what I want. I need to push Maximo over the edge, to where he can’t forgive me and realizes letting me go will save him loads of pain, suffering, and money.
Scanning his bedroom, I notice a framed photo on his wall. It’s a picture of him in Italy standing in front of a sports car. He looks proud, like this vehicle’s his baby.
I’ve seen this car before. It’s downstairs right now, in his garage. Did he really bring it all the way here from Italy? He must be quite attached to it. Destroying his suits and that bottle of Macallan 1926 is one thing. But this… this is next level.
I can’t back down now. I’m channeling Harley Quinn as best as I can right now and she would totally do this shit. Mind made up, I head into the kitchen and grab two bottles of booze from the cabinet, and a box of matches.
The foyer elevator takes me straight down to the garage, not a single guard in sight.
I wave at the security camera in the corner.
My heart pounds, my stomach’s in knots, but at the same time, I’ve never felt more liberated.
This is way more satisfying than escaping to California.
I never knew this side of me existed. It’s both exciting and terrifying.
Perhaps all those years under my parents’ thumbs, trying to please everyone, have finally caught up with me. Papa would have killed me for this. Maximo might do the same. But I just… Don’t. Care.
I laugh out loud, and whoa do I sound like an unhinged super villain.
The doors slide open and I step into the underground garage. It’s all thick concrete and a gated entrance. Only Maximo’s vehicles are parked in this private section. He has quite a collection, but I know which one I’m targeting.
Spotting the custom painted Italian sports car, I approach it.
It’s a convertible, and he apparently isn’t worried about it being stolen because the top is open, revealing the gorgeous leather interior.
I take a minute to admire the craftsmanship of the car.
Can I really destroy something so expensive and beautiful?
As soon as I have that thought, I shove it away. Maximo is forcing me into marriage. There are no rules. Anything goes. So yes, yes I can.
Twisting the top off a bottle of vodka, I douse it all around inside, soaking the seats and floor.
Then for good measure, I empty the second bottle in there too.
The leather grows discolored from the moisture.
I hope it will actually burn and not just melt into a blob, that would be disappointingly anti-climactic.
I’m pretty sure liquor burns fast and hot, so I step back before striking a match.
The flame flares with a whoosh and a crackle before settling into a gently dancing light.
I’m going to destroy his most prized possession.
I swallow hard, reminding myself that he deserves this, he’s brought this on himself.
Now for the moment of truth. I toss the match into the car and the whole thing goes up in a huge ball of fire. A deafening boom rents the air. I yelp, covering my head with my arms.
One moment I’m stumbling away from the raging inferno, and the next I’m shoved to the ground, as a massive masculine form knocks the wind from my lungs.