17. Gianna
CHAPTER 17
Niko leads me downstairs hours later to a lovely dinner spread on the dining room table.
“You do have staff!” I accuse, wondering when they came and if they heard any of my screaming.
“Of course I do. This place doesn’t run itself.” He puffs up with pride as he does every time we discuss his business. I want to ask him more about it. What is his daily life like outside of all this insanity and passion between us?
“I meant in the house.” He’s got a vacuuming and mopping robot on every floor, but I’ve not seen anyone but him in the week I’ve been here.
“Oh, well, I don’t really. They sent this over from the restaurant, but it’s Michelin-starred. You should enjoy it.”
“You have a Michelin-starred restaurant?” I ask with my eyes wide and properly shocked.
“No, the chef who owns the business and I have just worked out a very profitable arrangement whereby he operates on my property, and it allows me to get this treatment whenever I like.”
“Can we go and eat there in person sometime?”
“Of course, in a few weeks, when everything is settled, we can go anywhere you want, whenever you want, within reason.”
The thought of that is so appealing; it doesn’t sound real, but everything really looks amazing. So when he pulls out a chair for me, I take it with a smile. I expect him to sit on the opposite side, which is already set for him, but he moves everything to sit next to me.
He smiles as he does, and I smile back, a giddy lightness filling my chest before the guilt shoves it back down.
“This is weird,” I tell him.
“This is dinner.” He disagrees and points at the wine. I know he won’t relax until I take a sip, so I do and make a little noise of pleasure. He really does wine well.
“This is the most normal day we’ve ever had, and given you had to smuggle me into a monastery and then fucked me on the altar, that’s really saying something about us as a couple.”
“We’re a couple?” he asks with a stupid little smile that warms my heart and breaks it all at once.
“We’re married, Niko. Of course we’re a couple.” I gesture back and forth between the two of us and roll my eyes, trying to dismiss some of this new connection before it takes over every part of me.
“It’s not really the same thing, and you know it.” Neither of our parents had happy marriages, though my parents did stay together. I’m not sure if they ever loved each other or if it was a convenient match. They never told me, and I can’t ask now.
“It is to me. I don’t believe in divorce, and after what we did on that altar, I’d rather not offend God anymore by sacking you. I’ll be taking my husband to hell with me, I suppose.”
He doesn’t laugh at my joke right away, and he’s quiet for a minute too long. There’s amusement in his voice when he finally speaks.
“You don’t believe in divorce?”
My cheeks glow.
“I don’t have an opinion for other people, but for myself, no. Though I am regretting my choices right now.”
He laughs outright, and I consider getting up from the table.
“Let me get this straight?” he insists, and I do stand, but he grabs my hand before I can go. “You married me today, planning to remain so for the rest of your life?”
I pick up my knife, which is just as sharp as the one I used to accidentally flay Antonine.
“And it’s up to you how long that might be. Death can do its part right now, Niko.”
“I’m glad to hear you plan to stay in this marriage, and I suppose I’ll stop instigating you for the purpose of a long union.”
A flash of fear shoots through me because I’m not sure he’ll want me anymore when the truth comes out, and it always does.
“Oh?” I put the knife back down before I accidentally kill a second person. Instigating me is his favorite pastime, and I scarcely believe he plans to stop.
“I had similar intentions for our marriage. I just assumed you’d be difficult,” he tells me as I sit back down. I’m too hungry to storm out.
“So you’ve been planning to force me to stay married to you even if I wanted a divorce?” He doesn’t look as concerned as he should.
“You haven’t eaten since breakfast. We can talk about that later or not since it doesn’t matter. You don’t believe in divorce.” He laughs again.
“Stop laughing at me!”
“I’m sorry, Gi, it’s just the very first time your belief in God has done me any favors.”
“It is most certainly not. You’re just too arrogant to see it.”
“I am arrogant.”
I’m inclined to keep arguing with him, but the food smells so good, and I am starving. I’m pretty sure God himself couldn’t humble this man, but a panic attack bowls him over.
“What are we having?” I ask, aiming for pleasantness.
“The pork is raised in-house. I’m very proud of my pigs. They’re fed only the finest things with an occasional treat, and their meat is bar none. The sauce is a wine reduction made from one of our sweet reds. The haricot vert were also grown on the property, and the whipped potatoes are the best I’ve ever had.”
“This looks amazing.” I cut myself a piece of pork, and it’s beautifully cooked. I gather a little bit of everything, make myself the perfect bite, and moan out loud as it hits my tongue. “Wow. Are you telling me we can eat like this every night?”
“Most nights,” he agrees with a smile in his voice rather than a laugh. My happiness reflects on his face rather than amusement at my embarrassment.
“I’ve had nothing but cold takeout for months. I forgot how much I like food.” I’m just musing and chatting with him, not even thinking that what I said sounds odd.
He pauses. The tension in the air suddenly thick.
“What do you mean by that exactly, Gianna?” His sharp gray eyes stick to my face as he awaits my answer.
“Well, I couldn’t order groceries since it was a security risk to have people coming and going from my apartment. My father wanted it to look like no one lived there, avoid windows, etc. Even my packages were sent to his house and then delivered to me through Carlo.
“I could have Carlo pick them up, but he didn’t often have time, and it gets depressing cooking meals for yourself. Mostly, I just wound up eating whatever he grabbed for me that day. Usually something from the restaurant in my building, but no one was allowed to come up, so I just waited for him.”
I don’t want to remember how grim my life was before last week. I don’t want to be grateful to Niko, but how could I not when he sees me, loves me, took me when I needed him, and married me knowing I wasn’t doing it for the right reasons?
“You were imprisoned,” he summarizes.
“No, I—” But I’m not sure where I could even argue his point from. ‘My father was trying to protect me’ sounds so weak with his deal with Domalachego in play.
Holding a grudge against my husband is becoming more and more impossible. Hell, feeding me like this alone would make hating him hard but with all those things together? Time and time again, he’s proven I mean the world to him.
Now I’m keeping a secret that could cost his life. Is that why it’s suddenly so easy to love and forgive him? Because I know I’m doing a worse wrong to him than he would ever do to me. He may have killed my parents, but he’s always put me first. I’ve never done the same for him, and that thought cuts me to my core. I want to be the person who puts him first, but can I?
I don’t muster the courage to tell him and ruin whatever this is between us. I’m on the verge of a panic attack just trying to make sense of it all when he mutters to himself.
“Should feed Carlo to the pigs as well for taking such shit care of you.”
He cuts off another bite of pork, shoving it into his mouth and chewing with much more oomph than before. I’m sure I’ve misheard him. He didn’t say as well. Half of the pork on my plate is already gone.
“What did you say?”
He rolls his eyes as he takes another bite.
“I didn’t mean to insult your beloved Carlo, and I won’t kill him if the idea offends you so much. But please admit he’s done a shit job taking care of you. If you think lowly enough of yourself to argue that was sufficient, I'll explode.”
Part of me agrees, but I’m not ready to admit that. I think Carlo tried his best. I want him to have tried his best because the alternatives are too depressing, but that is really not the issue right now.
“Nikolai, these are the pigs you raised, yes?” I point between our plates, trying to keep down the nausea clawing up my throat.
“Of course.” His shoulders rise, and I’ve offended his ego again. “Is there something wrong with it?”
He tries to grab my plate, but I stop him. There’s nothing wrong with the preparation of the food.
“You said you should have fed him to the pigs also.”
His brow furrows as he tries to figure out what I’m talking about, and he only gets more frustrated. “Yeah, I’m murderously angry that he let you suffer. Your suffering upsets me. What is your problem?”
“My problem is the pork!”
“The Michelin-starred pork you just called excellent and asked to eat every night? That pork?”
“Yes!” I’m about to pick up my knife and threaten him again. Is he fucking with me, or is he really this clueless?
“You haven’t eaten anything today, and if you don’t stop poking your dinner instead of eating it, you’re seriously going to piss me off.”
I don’t even touch on that.
“Did you feed people to the pigs we are eating right now?”
I shove the meat with my fork for emphasis. He shakes his head rapidly, but it’s not a denial, more like a fit. His eyes widen as he shrugs and shakes his hands. I’ve really set him off this time.
“I already told you I give them treats!” he shouts, but it doesn’t scare me. Niko is just temperamental. I know without a doubt he won’t hurt me. He’s done everything to keep me safe.
“Who the fuck did you feed to the pigs, Niko?!” I slam the cutlery down, absolutely unwilling to eat another bite. If he thinks he’s the only one who can muster up a good tantrum, he’s got another thing coming. I’m supposed to be a Mafia princess, and he made me a goddamn cannibal.
“Quite a few people, but no one to whom you have any attachments.” His tone says that should be more than enough consolation.
“So we’re eating people right now?!”
I shriek, and he slams his own cutlery.
“That’s an awfully melodramatic view of things. You eat mushrooms, many of which grow on rotting things. I feed them fresh meat at least.”
The entire room is quiet for about thirty seconds before I shout at the top of my lungs.
“Meat? People are meat to you, Nikolai?!”
“The muscle is once they’re dead, technically. I’m not going to fucking eat them, but I’m also not going to sit here precious about the circle of life.”
“You feeding Mafia hits to your pigs is not the ‘circle of life.’”
“Get over yourself and eat your dinner, princess.”
I never realized he was psychotic. An anal-retentive egomaniac, sure, but I thought the serious derangement that affects Pax had skipped him. I see now that I was gravely wrong.
“I’m not eating your murder victims.”
“No one is asking you to. I’m asking you to eat a beautiful Michelin-starred meal on our wedding night, and you’re being impossible.”
He fed the Michelin reviewer human pork. Does his chef know? I’m suddenly certain he does not. Oh dear God. I make the sign of the cross and say a Hail Mary.
“Feel better now? Eat.”
“No. You’re right. I am impossible because I’m not fucking eating that.” If I wasn’t so angry, I’d snap a picture of his face. Niko hasn’t been told no enough in his life, and coming from me, that’s saying something.
“You have five seconds to start eating before I make a point.”
“I’m not your kid, and I’m not a captive, and most importantly, I’m not eating your murder pigs.”
“Business pigs,” he mutters under his breath.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
He runs his hands through his hair, and I worry he might rip some out. Which would be a shame, considering it’s so pretty.
“You’re my wife. This is our business. Eat.”
“No. I’m becoming a vegetarian.” I push my chair back. The smell of our previously wonderful dinner now turns my stomach.
“Wouldn’t work. I fertilize the fields with pig shit. Your green beans are murder green beans.” He picks one up off his plate with his hands and takes a bite. “Mm, human flesh and whatever else has died in that field too.”
“You're awful.”
“You’re an awfully precious princess, considering you’ve been in this business your entire life.” What the hell is that supposed to mean? My father’s business may have been illegal, but it was more refined than that.
“I have standards?—”
“What you have is five seconds, four, three…” He stares at his watch to measure the ticks accurately. What kind of a psycho wears an analog watch anyway?
I consider arguing. I still have a lot of shit left to say, but I don’t think Niko is planning to use his words. Instead, I jump out of my chair and run. I'm sure I really won’t like what happens when he counts down.
He’s out of his chair faster than I am and slams me face down on the table before I can get anywhere.
My breath whooshes out of my lungs, and before I can refill them, he presses his hips into my ass to keep me in place as he secures my wrists in more leather. Where does he even keep it on him? Once I’m bound, he flips me on my back and reapplies his weight.
“Open your mouth,” he says as he holds my hands above my head. I rage and thrash against him, but he really is absurdly strong, and with his body pressed along mine, I don’t stand a chance.
He uses his free hand to pick up a loose green bean. I do not open my mouth like he demanded, and he pushes it against my lips, giving me the choice of getting covered in butter and herbs or relenting, but I don’t know who the fuck he thinks he married. I turn my head to the side and cringe as it slides along my neck.
I’ve seen too many “you are what you eat” style advertisements to happily chow down. He drops the green bean on my cheek, and I flip my head back and forth until it falls off my face. He stares at me, rage making him look insane. His gaze darts between me and the plate. He picks up a piece of pork and places it between his lips.
“Oh no! Oh no! What the fuck are you doing?”
He doesn’t answer me through the pork. Instead, he holds my nose. I hold out for as long as I can, I really do, but when I open my mouth for a breath, he drops down like a bird diving for prey and shoves the meat between my lips. I would spit it out, but he slaps his hand over my mouth.
“Swallow, or I swear to God I’ll keep you here all night.” And for the first time in our marriage, I bend to Niko’s iron will.
He’s panting as he watches, making sure I swallowed and didn’t squirrel it away. As he stares at me, that light goes out of his eyes, and he seems to return to himself.
“That may have been an overreaction,” he tells me as he unties my wrists.
After he releases me, I simply ignore him and storm off back to the perfect room he’s been keeping me in. I don’t consider going to his. I've only slept there last night and when we napped earlier. I hardly feel comfortable enough to walk into his space, but his expression is pinched when he follows me.
“That fast you don’t want to share a room with me?”
“What are you even talking about? I’m trying to get away from you because you’re fucking crazy!” Who the hell would want to sleep with him? He’d probably force-feed me human flesh in my sleep.
“You married me, princess. You’re not going anywhere.”
“I’m aware, but having you on the other side of the house won’t fucking kill you. I might, though.” I have my finger in his face, and he doesn’t look even slightly intimidated.
“I already said I was sorry.” He blinks at me, the picture of false innocence.
“‘That might have been an overreaction’ is not an apology!”
“Okay, it was an overreaction. Is that better?” he asks.
“No, Niko, it’s not.” I turn around, trying to get away from him, but he stays on my ass. He takes up too much space in the room. I can’t get away from him no matter where I turn.
“Fine, Gianna. I’m sorry.” He grabs my shoulders and shakes me, not hard enough to hurt.
“Okay.” I stare off, refusing to engage with him when he’s being like this.
“You’re not going to accept? I apologized!” The simple outrage of that statement tells me everything I need to know.
“Because you’re not sincere. You’re just as irritated with me as I am with you. You’re allowed to be angry, Niko. Maybe if you didn’t bottle it up all the time, you wouldn’t explode like a fucking asshole.”
He takes a deep breath and one step away from me.
“How can I prove I really am sorry? Because I am. That was… my father.” And I do feel a faint flicker of true regret.
“I have no clue, Niko. I’m tired. I’m a wife. I’m a cannibal. I just want to go to bed.”
“What if I were to make good on a promise I really don’t want to? Maybe that will convince you I’m sorry.”
I stop because I can think of only one thing he could mean.
“Let me tell you what happened to Dante.”