5. Chapter 5
Chapter 5
Emilio
I think this chick is psycho. She's not even scared of me, and that's not normal. Most women are petrified, even if they are falling at my feet to suck my cock. As I watch the camera feed, I see something that causes my blood to boil. I can see her touching Antonio and talking to him.
Serena reaches up and seductively runs her hands over Antonio's chest. "If you help me get out of here, I can make you much happier than your boss can." She winks.
"Boss wouldn't like it if I helped his wife escape him," Antonio says as he rolls his eyes at Serena.
Yeah, he rolls his eyes, but he doesn't remove her hands. He doesn't step away from her. For that, he's going to pay as well. Ripping my computer from the desk, I hurl it against the wall, panting with untamed fury. My fists clench and my nails dig into my palms. Antonio is staying alive only by not reciprocating her affections; otherwise, it would be his death sentence.
Storming into the guest room, I walk towards her until we are standing nose to nose. "Antonio, you will stay here and watch while I teach my wife a lesson.” My tone brooks no argument, but the sight of my wife now clothed tempers my anger a little.
If she was still naked, I would kill them both.
"Yes, sir," Antonio replies robotically.
"I'm not your fucking wife," she spits as her hands snap to her hips. In our current position, it’s easy to see the size difference between us; I'm a giant compared to her petite frame.
Stepping to the side, I rip Antonio's shirt open while reaching in my pocket for my knife. With his shirt open, I can see scars on his chest and stomach. That doesn't stop me.
Unfolding it, I make a show of running my thumb along the razor-sharp edge. "You know you must pay the price for her sins, don't you? You should have stopped her, but it seems to me you like her hand on your chest. For that, I'm going to slice into your chest and remind you what happens when you allow her to touch you."
Antonio holds his head high as I cut into his chest, not too deep to kill him, but deep enough to bleed and sting. The metallic scent of blood fills the air. The sound of his shallow breath echoes in the room, accompanied by the soft rustling of his clothes. My hands tremble slightly, feeling the warmth and stickiness of his blood on my fingers. The sight of the crimson liquid seeping from the wound sends a shiver down my spine. But it’s not fear that has me trembling, it’s power.
Antonio's stoic expression remains unchanged, his eyes fixed on some distant point, as if in a trance.
"See, wife? You touch him, and he suffers the consequences. That applies to any man you allow to touch you. Any man other than me—your goddamn husband."
Serena sobs. "You are crazy. Leave him alone. Please let him go now."
Stepping back from Antonio, I motion for him to leave.
"You are my wife. It would be wise to remember that from now on."
"I've told you this is fucking insane. I can't be married to someone who I didn't say I do too," she pleads.
"I have a marriage certificate that proves you are. This is my one and only warning, Little Storm. I better not hear you flirting with another fucking man, ever. I'll kill them and their families. Don't test me, wife," I scream.
"You can't be my husband! You drugged me and I don't even know your name."
"I'm Emilio Esposito, your husband." As if to prove to her she's mine, I grab a handful of her hair, pull her head back, and crash my lips onto hers. She fights against me, but I easily dominate her, controlling the kiss and taking what I want.
Pulling away from her but still holding her hair, I remind her, "You are here to bear my children. I expect you to keep your fucking mouth shut unless you are choking on my dick."
"I'm not having a baby with you. I refuse to even sleep in the same room with you, so I’m certainly not going to fuck you."
Reaching over, I grab her hips and pull her against my groin to make a point. "Little Storm, you're right. You aren't fucking me; I'm fucking you. I intend to fuck you so hard that you can't walk for days. Tonight is our wedding night, so be ready for your husband to take what belongs to him."
Fear flashes across Serena's face.
"You can't do that. I won't be an acceptable match for anyone else in the mafia if I'm not pure."
"Why the hell would you think about being someone else's wife? You are mine!" Realizing that I'm yelling at her, I reach up and wrap my hand around her neck, squeezing firmly as I grate out, "You. Are. Mine. And there is no going back, no backing out. I'm never letting you go."
Turning away from her, I walk out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind me. I know exactly where I’m headed—to find my favorite new toy. Honestly, I hadn't thought of using it on her, but she's forced my hand. Flirting with another man, talking about marrying someone else in the mafia. No way in hell.
Once I’ve retrieved the item, I make a quick call to Antonio, letting him know I need him to come and help hold Serena down. The thought of his skin touching hers pisses me off and fuels my rage even further, but I need her to be held still to mark her as mine.
Unlocking the guest room, I make my way in, holding the branding iron. It's an electric one so I don't have to heat it in a fire.
Facing Serena, I glare.
"Antonio, hold her, but I don't want you looking at her. Look away or close your eyes if you have to, but don't make me brand your eyeballs."
"Yes, boss."
Serena struggles, kicking and screaming, but I tune her out. Pulling the top of her T-shirt down, I press the branding iron that is personalized with my name against her skin. I hold it for about five seconds, which is harder than it sounds with my wife struggling. Then, I step away and take a moment to admire the name Emilio now burned into the swell of her breast in cursive script.
"I own you, wife. Never let me hear you flirt with another man or mention marrying another man again. Next time, I'll brand my name all over your body."
At this point, she's sobbing because she's in pain and permanently marked with my name. With the way the mafia works, she’ll never be an acceptable mob wife for anyone else but me. It would hurt her family if I were to send her back as damaged goods but I’m far too obsessed with her for that.
"Antonio, call the doctor and have him come up and apply ointment and a bandage so the brand doesn't get infected. I want to make sure that it heals perfectly." My dick jerks at the sight of my name on her skin.
With my instructions given, I turn, taking my branding iron with me, and leave the room, locking the door behind me.
Once I get back to my office, I walk over to the bar and pour myself a tumbler of whiskey. As I lift it to my lips and swallow it down, the burn in my throat reminds me of home. My favorite Colombian whiskey, rum, and tequila are all imported for me. It's the only part of my life that I miss from back home. Mexico is always known for its tequila, but Colombia produces the best.
Settling into a chair, I pull the guest room back up on my phone screen and watch to make sure both Antonio and the doctor don't break the rules. Antonio keeps his eyes away from my wife, and thankfully, she's too busy sobbing and shaking her head in disbelief to flirt with anyone. Now that she can look down and see who she belongs to for the rest of her life, maybe she'll understand how serious I am. That I'm never letting her go and hopefully after tonight, she'll be pregnant with my child.
Antonio finishes his task and silently leaves the room. If he hadn’t, I would have ripped his head from his shoulders.
I'm taking back everything that Gio and Marcello stole from me. Rebuilding the family they brutally murdered and using their precious sister to do it.
I am the lord of my kingdom, and what I say goes. My wife will have to learn that I take what I want. I've killed many men, my first at twelve years old, and my conscience is clear. This woman has undone me and it's getting to be more than I can stand. Though she started out as a mere pawn in the game I'm playing against her brothers, she's become so much more than that now.
I still think she's crazy and annoying, but I also want to keep her.
As I sit and take another sip, my mind goes back to my childhood.
Manuel Ramirez walks into the kitchen as I stand alongside my mother, Carmen. I'm helping her cook and I'm only a small boy of eight years old.
"What the hell are you doing to the boy, Carmen?" my father spits.
"He asked if he could help me cook. Why are you so angry?"
"This boy needs to learn how to be a man, not in here doing women's work."
"But, Papa, please. I love helping Mama cook."
His hand comes flying at my face, a sting traveling across my cheek as the force causes me to hit the back of my head on the wall behind me. "You will do as I say and I say men are supposed to kill, fight, and fuck. We do not cook or clean, unless it's the dead bodies we leave behind and the blood they bleed out."
With my hand pressed against the side of my face, trying to comfort the sting, tears fill my eyes. Papa is always like this. He takes me to brothels where I see him do things with other women that I know Mama gets upset about. Then we go to places where men gamble, play cards, and drink. Sometimes he takes me to the basement or warehouses, where we kill and torture men who have wronged us. Gathering my courage as rage runs through my veins, I open my mouth again to let my father know I don't want to do those things anymore.
"I don't want to go watch you with the women at the brothel. When I come home and tell Mama where we were, it makes her cry. I'm sick of you making me and Mama cry."
"You little bastard!" he screams as he grabs me by my throat. "You will do as I tell you to do and keep your mouth shut. I told you to keep your mouth shut about me fucking the women at the brothel.”
Behind me, I hear Mama crying. "Please Manuel, let him go. He didn't know what he was saying. Don't hurt him."
Mama reaches over and grabs Papa by his arm, which makes him let go of my throat. He draws his fist back and hits her in the face. He continues to raise and lower his arm, pounding into my mother's face until she falls onto the floor and curls into a fetal position, using her hands to protect herself.
I lunge forward, fueled by a surge of adrenaline, my heart pounding in my chest. With a primal roar, I tackle Papa from behind, my fists hammering into his back. Blood gushes from Mama's nose, staining her face crimson, and her eye is already swelling and bruising. Papa's rage blazes like wildfire, but I won't let him hurt my mother worse than he already has.
Papa grabs me, dragging me out of the house and ties me to a tree. Listening to what he's doing, I hear his belt unbuckle and I know what's coming. Starting to beg and cry, even though I know it won't stop him, I apologize. Begging for his mercy, I ask Papa to stop, promising I won't upset him ever again, and that’s when the first lash of his belt hits my back.
An intense surge of pain licks across my skin like a searing hot flame, leaving a burning sensation in its wake. Instinctively, my muscles tense up as I brace for impact, knowing more strikes are coming.
Fear grips me tightly, making it difficult to breathe. My heart races, pounding against my ribcage as if trying to break free from its confines.
Tears stream down my face uncontrollably, mixing with the sweat that trickles down my forehead. Each sob wracks my body, causing involuntary tremors that ripple through my limbs.
The overwhelming sense of helplessness and despair weighs heavily on me, as if a heavy boulder has settled on my chest. It's as if the weight of the world is pressing down, making it harder and harder to hold myself upright. As my body revolts against the onslaught, the tightness of the ropes that bind me to the tree cut into my wrists and ankles.
With each strike of Papa’s belt, a mix of anger, sadness, and confusion swirls within me. Anger at myself for somehow deserving this treatment, sadness because I know how Papa has a short fuse, and confusion about why I am being subjected to such cruelty.
This man is my father; he’s supposed to love me, but instead he treats me with such cruelty. When I look into his eyes, I don't see love reflected back at me; I see disgust. I know now that I will never be good enough for him.
As my torment comes to an end, I'm left feeling mentally and physically drained, my body aching and bruised. But the emotional scars run even deeper, and I know they will linger long after the physical pain subsides.