Chapter 21
Alessandro
The ice clinks around in my glass as I take in the surroundings of my new home; I desperately wanted to come to Marco’s wing of the castle when I was a child.
Elena lived here, and I more or less wasn’t allowed in here except for large gatherings.
The ornate detail of the walls, the high ceilings make me feel like I’m living like a king.
Despite hating Marco, this place always had a homelike aura around it. Almost as if I knew I’d kill him one day and claim it as my own.
Today was an anxiety-inducing marathon of a day, but I finally feel safe enough to sleep and trust that the several guards I have stationed outside my door will keep me, Sofia, and Elena safe.
A couple of captains who were loyal to Marco had to die, but most seemed fine enough with the change that I don’t expect a coup anytime soon.
I couldn’t kill Elio—Sal gets along with him too well, and I realized I’ll have to learn how to get along with him because I need Sal by my side.
I down the rest of my drink, setting it on the bar with a hollow thud that echoes through his study, then plop down in the desk chair, not ready to face either woman sharing this living space with me.
I know that my sister’s feelings towards her father were complicated, and I’m sure she’s mourning but wants to hide that from me.
This breaks me up inside, but I’m sure that she agrees it had to be done.
And Sofia? I don’t even know what to expect after everything that happened this morning.
I’d kill to take over where we left off: getting another taste of her, then driving myself into her until my cum drips down her legs.
But I’m worried she thinks I’m a monster after how things went down with Marco.
I passively rummage through the desk drawers, expecting to find some things of use to me in my new position, but all I find are various oddities like tarot cards, witchy rocks, and other similar things I know nothing about.
I always assumed his mystical side was a poor attempt at intimidating or an inside joke that I wasn’t a part of.
But looking at this, it seems he practiced this stuff legitimately.
Some of the other drawers are more mundane: loose cash, a couple of guns, pens, papers, and all that boring stuff.
Then, I find a scrapbook—bright pink with black and white stripes on the border.
Elena must have made this for him.
And he kept it.
He resented her later in her life for getting out of all of her marriages, but he must have loved her deep-down to keep this in his desk.
A lot of the photographs are goofy, silly things that a child would put together.
Framed selfies of Elena before the word selfie was even a thing.
Some of them are of Marco, looking completely unrecognizable to me as he laughs, smiles, and looks carefree.
Her, Marco, and Vincenzo standing in front of Petra, Victoria Falls, and the Grand Canyon—various trips I was never allowed on.
In one of them, Vincenzo has his arm slung around her shoulder, and they’re laughing so hard her face is red.
That’s not the only one of her and Vincenzo in her teenage years.
In a way, it feels like a betrayal. She knew I hated him, and yet she had probably thought of him as much of a brother as I, going off of these photographs.
And the ones of Marco? I can’t even begin to process those. It’s like I’m looking at his friendly identical twin in these pictures. He never showed this side of himself to me.
I slam the book shut, wondering why I looked at all. I knew I wouldn’t be featured in it—there were a couple of photos ripped in half, and I can take a guess who was removed.
My head hurts, and I try to think if I drank water or had any meals today. But seeing those pictures of Elena happy with Vincenzo and Marco killed any appetite that may have been brewing. I leave my drink half-empty on the desk and go upstairs.
There’s no light underneath the bedroom door we’re staying in, and I expect Sofia to be sleeping. So, her voice surprises me when I enter the room.
“Oh, hey. You’re back.” She turns on the lamp on the bedside table. Her curly hair looks freshly showered, her white shirt see-through enough to catch my attention.
“You’re not sleeping yet?”
“No.” She glances nervously away from me. “Too crazy of a day. My mind was racing.”
I unbutton my dress shirt and notice the uneasiness in her eyes as I crawl into bed and rest on the pillow beside her.
She doesn’t move to turn off the light or lie back down, and I can tell that something else is on her mind.
“What is it?”
She bites her lower lip. “Elena was crying all day. I tried knocking on her door, but she asked me to go away and give her some space.”
I flop onto my back, rubbing my eyes and wondering if she will resent me for the rest of her life after this.
“I’ll talk to her,” I say.
“Was she close to Marco?”
I freeze, emotion flooding me out of nowhere as I think about that scrapbook and my sister’s emotions.
I feel like an idiot when I realize Elena was upset after my wedding because Vincenzo got hurt.
But she never expressed being close to him.
A gnawing loneliness that I experienced in childhood all the time creeps into my chest. Why would she keep all of this from me?
“I have no idea what to think about that. She told me she hated him, but now I’m questioning how she really felt about Marco and Vincenzo.”
“You didn’t get along with Vincenzo either?”
“No, he did whatever Marco instructed him to do. He didn’t have it in him though, the necessary cruelty to behave like Marco.”
A silence falls over the two of us, but she doesn’t turn off the lamp so we can sleep.
“I’m sorry you were so alone, Alessandro.”
“I told you I don’t want your pity,” I snap, before I can think twice about it—squeezing my eyes shut and bracing myself for the incoming fight.
But she doesn’t shout or aggressively roll away from me like I expect.
“So, what do you want me to do? Enjoy that you had such a horrible life? Laugh at you? Not care at all?” Her tone isn’t angry; she’s not trying to start anything. She’s genuinely asking, and that perplexes me.
“…Yes.” I know that’s an odd response, but I don’t like it when she’s empathetic towards me—it makes me feel like my chest is ripped open and exposed.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
She rolls onto her back and rests her head on her hands. “I wish you’d just let me in.” She sighs. “You know? I was looking forward to this marriage before I met you.”
“Are you serious?”
She shrugs, still looking at the ceiling. “I was excited to get out of the house. For my life to begin. And I just had this feeling that everything would all work out.”
“Well, that feeling was wrong.”
I don’t know why I said that out loud. I have a bad habit of stating the obvious when I should keep my mouth shut. It makes me look like a smart-ass when I’m really just an idiot. But she doesn’t take offense at this; instead, she laughs.
“No shit,” she gasps.
I think about the words she told me—that she was excited to get married.
And that surprises me. I guess in this modern world, I would have expected a woman to dread an arranged marriage like this.
Especially Sofia. She’s independent. Driven.
She had to give up so many things to come here, like her coaching job, her family, and every other thing she was involved with.
“You really felt that way? Optimistic?”
She bites her lip and looks towards me, then nods.
“Why?”
“I already told you, I was excited to get away and try something new. I felt like I was just waiting around for something to happen. To get married, really—my family didn’t hide that this would be expected from me.”
“So, you killed time by winning division one tennis matches and staying busy twenty-four seven?”
She snorts. “Pretty much. It’s strange. I had it easy, knowing that I’d never have to fend for myself or worry about money.
But I couldn’t rest and have fun with life like my sister does, although she has too much fun.
It’s like I always have to be doing something, improving at something, or else my mind eats away at itself. ”
I pull her closer to me so that she’s flush against me.
I’m not trying to have sex with her—not now, anyway.
I realize that I truly wanted her close to me just because.
I rub her arm, feeling the soft skin over the defined muscles.
This closeness feels so natural to me, which, strangely, feels unnatural because my guard is up all the time.
“Everyone hated me when I was young because of that. No one likes an overly-competitive perfectionist with anger issues on the playground.”
I snort, assuming that what she’s saying is a gross exaggeration. Then I feel her shoulders sag and something shift in the room—I made a mistake.
I don’t know why I have every impulse to avoid an apology, turn around, and force myself to sleep, but I fight that impulse with every fiber of my being.
“I’m sorry. I found that difficult to believe, so I laughed.” I stroke her arm. “Was it serious?”
I relax when she answers me—I didn’t completely screw everything up. “For a few years, yeah. I didn’t have any friends, and everyone made fun of me all the time. I know that’s nothing compared to what you went through, but…”
“It’s still horrible,” I say.
“Yeah.”
I wasn’t expecting this. I unfairly pictured Sofia’s life as perfect and easy.
But while they don’t compare to the things I’ve gone through—most people would lose that competition—she’s suffered from loneliness in childhood, loss from her oldest brother going to prison, the other various oddities that come from growing up in a family entrenched in organized crime.
“I would escape in my mind all the time when I was young,” I say, surprised at the words coming out of my mouth.
“Making up stories in my head where I was powerful and loved by everyone. And of course, Marco was always dead or never existed.” My heart pounds in my chest almost as much as it did when I plunged my thumbs into Marco’s eye-sockets.
I thought I would take what I’m saying to her to the grave, and I can’t believe I’m blurting all of this out loud.
“Then eventually I withdrew to the point I didn’t want to leave my head.
I didn’t want to talk to anyone or try to get close.
Just kept to myself. To my hobbies, interests, and imagination. ”
Now, Sofia is the one rubbing my arm as it rests around her.
I hope she can’t feel how hard my heart is pounding.
It’s embarrassing how much stress it’s causing me to tell her these things.
I continue stroking her hair. Her warm, soft body next to me gives me an indescribable feeling.
It calms me, and I appreciate that she’s staying quiet right now to give me some time.
Cuddling feels foreign to me. It’s something I haven’t really done since I was a young child.
But being with Sofia right now, it’s like breathing or eating. Her closeness feels like a primal need.
“I don’t know,” I continue babbling. “Maybe it’s better off for society that I retreat into my head like this. Lock myself away all the time. I’m a monster, really…”
“I don’t think you are.”
I laugh. “You don’t have to lie.”
“Do you enjoy hurting others? Or did you do what you had to in order to survive?”
I enjoyed killing Marco this afternoon, but that’s one of the few times I’ve ever enjoyed it. Usually I try to forget as quickly as possible, burying myself in hobbies and distractions afterwards.
“To survive.”
“Then you’re not a monster.”
Her words have a surprising effect, almost as if she’s a priest who has absolved me of all of my sins, and I feel my body relax.
“Thank you.” My words come out so faintly that I’m not sure she even heard me.
We both go silent for a while, and she hits the light.
“You’re in charge now, Alessandro. You don’t have to do those things anymore.”
I’m certainly not done with violence in this position—and I’m sure she’s aware of that. But I know what she means. The depravity that Marco commanded is no longer a requirement for my life.
I’m in charge.
Those words should give me more peace than they do.
I have all the power in this castle. I can send her home to her family whenever I want to now. But I won’t.
I can’t.
I couldn’t bear losing her. But I can’t say that out loud because I doubt she feels the same way about me.
Sure, we were intimate, and we just opened up to one another just now.
But Sofia is normal—abrasive and competitive—but not emotionally shut down and awkward like I am.
She probably has heart-to-hearts like this with random strangers on the street.
So, I suppose she will remain my prisoner. But what if she hates me for that?
I feel her go limp in my arms, and she starts to lightly snore, falling asleep so quickly, as if she doesn’t have a care in the world.
But I know I won’t have the same fortune of being able to fall asleep like she has.
Too much has happened today. Too many things have shifted—with my role in this place, between my sister and I, and of course with Sofia.
Truthfully, I have absolutely no idea what to do next regarding Sofia.
Too many questions come to my mind. The worst one being—what if she’s playing me like a violin?
I have many skills and capabilities, but I am painfully aware that emotional intricacies are a weakness of mine.
Earlier today, I was convinced her flirtations were purely to mess with me. But what if I read her wrong?
I can’t help the paranoia growing as I think back to all we’ve just talked about. To how vulnerable I made myself around her.
She’s driving me insane and I need to keep my focus on staying alive in this castle.