Chapter Three
Roselyn
A maid wearing a black-and-white uniform cleans the table. Anger is something I deal with on a regular basis. But the anger I feel toward Devious is different. It’s explosive like fireworks and makes me see red. I can’t believe I’m stuck marrying this son of a bitch. If he thinks I’m going to roll over and allow him to take my virginity, then he has another thing coming. If I stay with Devious, then he will abuse me, and I’ll be stuck in the same vicious cycle like my mom, and I don’t want the same fate. If I kill him, then I’ll have a shot at freedom. Villainous will be the new don, and he will try to find me, but by the time he realizes Devious is dead, I’ll be long gone. But if he finds me, then I have no doubt he’ll kill me. And from what I’ve heard about him, he’s crueler than his brother.
If I want any freedom, I need to escape this lavish hellhole. So, killing Devious is my only option. I’m going to contact my friend Tommy to make me a fake ID and passport, and then I’m going to book a trip to Frankfurt, Germany. I have enough cash in my bank account to rent out an apartment and buy necessities. I’m going to do what I always wanted to do: be a street artist.
I rush into the kitchen and open the different gray drawers, and then I grasp a butcher knife. Glancing around, watching a maid load the dishwasher, I stow the knife beneath my shirt, then head to the bedroom, tucking it under the thick mattress.
I stand in front of the gigantic mirror, brush my teeth, then grab a thick cotton towel—which probably cost a fortune—and scrub my face.
Once I’m finished, I toss the towel in the hamper, then pad to the living room. Slowly, I sit on the black leather couch, and the lace fabric of my panties rubs against my ass cheeks. I hiss like a snake.
It reminds me of what he did to me, and it makes me pissed that I enjoyed him spanking me. Is it normal to enjoy being spanked? And when he mentioned tying me up to the bed and fucking me, my panties were soaked. I’ve never been turned on by a man so much.
The doorbell rings and a soldier, wearing all black, opens the door. His chestnut hair is in a neat bun, and his muscles are lean as if he’s built like a runner. Is this Max? The soldier who is supposed to be my bodyguard?
I stand up from the luxury couch, wiping my palms on my baggy pants. Marla strolls in with her head held high as if she owns the place. Her hazel eyes drink me in from my hair all the way down to my fire-red-colored toenails. She’s high maintenance and is probably going to be trying to groom me to be Devious’s wife.
She leans down, unzipping her Louis Vuitton bag. “I’m going to take your measurements, then I’ll order your wedding dress.”
I knit my eyebrows together. “Do I get to pick out what I want to wear?”
“No. Devious gave me strict orders not to. Congratulations on the wedding, by the way. I didn’t expect him to marry someone so soon, but then again, I think about what kind of man he is, and I shouldn’t be surprised. Now, hold out your arms.”
I’ve heard what kind of man he is. When I used to listen to Papa’s conversations with the other men who would come over for meetings, he would say Devious is known for his brutal killings and is bloodthirsty for revenge. He’s the devil who haunts your nightmares.
I hold out my arms. “What kind of man is he?”
She uses her tape measure and extends it to my upper arm all the way down to my hand. “He’s noble and caring. He believes in taking care of his loved ones.” She wraps the tape around my waist, then my chest. “You look like his wife. She died three years ago.”
“How did she die?”
“I’m not supposed to say. Devious would be furious if I told you.”
Huh. “Was he in love with her?”
“Yes, he loved the hell out of Shelby. After her death, Devious was so broken up inside, he went on a killing spree.”
I never thought in a million years Devious could fall in love with someone, or that he had ever been in love. What was he like? Was he as cruel to her as he is to me? Did he force her to be with him like he did me? He reminds me of a beast, cruel and tame, but under all that cruelty, he has a kind heart. I laugh internally, a crime lord having a heart—that’s hard for me to believe.
“Have you ever slept with Devious?”
As she pulls out her iPad, she taps the screen and laughs lightly. “Oh no. I’m his cousin on his mother’s side.” She pauses. “Before he put me in charge of running his household, I used to bring women to his bed when he didn’t have time to find one.”
“Since you know him so well, do you know he forced me into marrying him? He kidnapped me against my will.”
“Again, his behavior doesn’t surprise me. Whatever Devious wants, he gets.” She half shrugs, then stuffs the tape measure and iPad into her bag. She gives me another once-over.
“Twirl around.” She rests her index finger on her cheek, and I stand on my tippy-toes and twirl like a ballerina. “I have the perfect wedding gown to fit your body type. Welcome to the famiglia .” She cups my face and presses a soft kiss on my cheeks. “I’ll see you Friday to drop off your dress.” Then she exits the condo.
I can’t believe Papa sold me to his boss. Even worse, people think this shit is normal. None of this shit is normal. It doesn’t matter, I’m going to be out of here soon, but I have to go see my grandfather before I leave. I want to say goodbye to him.
I sit back on the couch, wiping my palms on my leg. The bodyguard heads toward the kitchen.
“Is your name Max?”
He nods.
“Can you take me to my grandpa’s house after lunch?”
He nods again.
After eating lunch, a driver takes us to my nonno’s house. I want to see him one last time before I kill my soon-to-be husband.
When I knock on the wooden door, his nurse, Holly, opens up. She tilts her head to the side, examining Max like he’s eye candy, and her cheeks flush the color of a pink Starburst. Then she gazes back at me. “Roselyn. It’s so good to see you.” She has her hair tied into a neat ponytail, and her bronze skin is glowing. Her belly peeks from under her tan shirt. She looks like she’s due any day.
“How is he?”
She beckons us in, and Max stands by the outside of the door with his arms folded across his hard chest.
“He had a bad fall this morning, but he’s okay.” I don’t miss the sorrow in Holly’s tone. Pain burns in my chest. Grandpa’s health is depleting, and there is nothing I can do about it. Papa doesn’t give a shit about him, which means I’m the only person who hasn’t given up on him.
His Alzheimer’s is progressing really fast. Last week, we had to put adult diapers on him because he forgot how to use the bathroom. A lump forms in my throat, so I clear my throat. “You can take your lunch break.”
“Thank you. I already changed his bottoms. It’s time for him to eat.” She grabs her purse from the coat rack and leaves us alone.
I mentally thank Holly for not feeding him and allowing me to do it, because I want to help him as much as I possibly can. I bounce to the kitchen, open the vintage fridge, and grab the container of chicken noodle soup and warm it up in the microwave.
Sadness lingers in my chest at the thought of having to leave here and living far away from him, but the mafia is no place for a woman. It’s a man’s world. Most women who are raised in the mafia would be thrilled to marry a don. The other men will respect you a lot more than they do their own wives and daughters. It brings power and wealth, but you can’t put a price on peace of mind and freedom.
The microwave beeps. I remove the container, grab the folding table, and head to the living room. Grandpa perches on his dingy yellow recliner, watching Matlock . Bending down, I plant a soft kiss on his rubbery, wrinkled cheek.
His dull brown eyes narrow, and a smile paints his face. He wears a checkered shirt with khaki pants. His white hair is thinning, so I can see his scalp. “Hey, Cosetta. How is Lex?”
“I’m not Cosetta. I’m her daughter, Roselyn,” I explain.
He examines me as if I’m the confused one, and then recognition flickers across his face.
“It’s been weeks since I last saw you.”
He saw me the day before yesterday, but I don’t bother correcting him. I was told I look so much like my mother. But I look nothing like my papa. Her hair was the color of chestnut but straight.
I place the portable table over his lap, sit his bowl on the table, then grab a napkin and tuck it into the front of his shirt. I dip the spoon in the soup and bring it to his mouth.
He spits his food out. The clear liquid drips down his wrinkled chin. I use a napkin to wipe him. “This is nasty, sweet pea. You’re trying to send me to an early grave. Put some salt in it.” He pouts like a five-year-old.
“You know you’re not allowed to eat salt. You have hypertension.” I dip the spoon in the soup and bring it to his mouth again.
“Where is my daughter-in-law? She hasn’t visited me in a long time. Nor has my son.” He frowns.
I don’t have the heart to tell him she passed away a year ago from overdosing on her medication. My mama suffered from bipolar and depression. She killed herself to get away from this lifestyle. Papa wouldn’t take care of her. He left her in the hands of strangers while he ran around with the next young woman he could find.
I continue to feed him.
“She’s busy right now, and so is Papa. You know how it is in the mafia. When the job calls, you have to stop what you’re doing to attend to it.” I feel bad for lying, but I don’t want him to spend the next few minutes in mourning. Growing up, he stood up for me when Papa used to verbally attack me. He has been my number one cheerleader at all my ballerina and art shows. He acts more like my papa than my real papa. Imagining myself away from him is unbearable, and my eyes water with tears.
My cheeks flush. “I’m going away soon.”
“Where are you going?”
The thought of leaving him makes my stomach turn as tears sting my eyes. “To Frankfurt, Germany. I’m going to live there for a while.”
“Will you be back?”
He’s not going to remember what I said in the next hour or so, but it feels better to share my plans with someone else. I remove the empty bowl and get up to set it on the kitchen table. When I return to the living room, I sit on the sofa next to him. My gaze lingers on the wedding picture of him and grandmother, the one sitting on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. Grandmother died from a heart attack seven years ago.
“I don’t know. Maybe one day. Who knows? I’m trying to get there first, but you will be the first person I call when I land.”
His brow furrows, and his lips turn down in anguish. “Lex is not going to let you leave, Cosetta. You’re in the mafia—the women are not allowed to live away from their husbands. And what about Rose Bug? She needs her mama.”
Hollowness settles in my body. This is so hard. So hard. I wipe the tears escaping my eyes.
I play along. “He has to live with it, and I’ll take her with me.”
“Be safe. And as long as Draco approves of it, then you should be fine.” His breathing is rigid. He thinks Draco is still alive and the don.
“You want to watch The Golden Girls ? For old times’ sake?” I suggest.
“Of course.”
I pick up the remote and change the channel.