Chapter 11 Selene
Chapter eleven
Selene
I watch Maria fist a small dust cloth as she starts to clean the room, humming very faintly. Her head sways from side to side, and I assess her, confusion blanketing my mind.
When I opened the door for Maria with a smile, I didn’t expect her to greet me with a straight face and dive right into cleaning, blocking her ears with earphones. I’ve tried to talk to her, but she’s not answering, although something tells me she can hear me.
Folding my legs into a crisscross, I perch up on my bed, assessing her. When I first arrived, she was warm, smiley, welcoming, and not standoffish. What changed? Or was her initial act a facade?
This situation reminds me of the man my dad ordered to always watch me after he sent me to a strict private university. His eyes always looked dry and dead. He would never talk or smile back. But I wasn’t fooled because he was always watching me like a hawk.
My shoulders sag, and I release a sigh. Just when I thought I had one woman to talk to. I bring a hand to flatten my hair, tugging mindlessly at the end of my ponytail.
I may be desperately trying to befriend an old woman, but can you blame me? I’ve never had a real friend. Dad’s confines made it very difficult, and when I tried, they were all too scared to hang out with me.
Jasmine was the closest thing I had to a friend at the club. And by friend, I mean she was the only stripper who wasn’t mean to me and didn’t act like being new at the club was a disease.
I release another sigh, moving to plop onto the bed when her voice reaches me.
“Goodness, dear! Are you okay?” Her voice borders on a shriek.
A short, brown mop of curls and chubby, rosy cheeks turn toward me, and I wrinkle my eyes at her.
“If you need water, I can get you a glass right away.”
“Why do you think I need water?” I uncross my legs, steadying my gaze on hers.
“You’ve been sighing. I can’t ignore it anymore.”
“So you’ve been ignoring me?”
She slaps a hand over her mouth, blinks, and quickly turns back to the vanity, dusting the same spot she had dusted before.
“Maria?” I call out.
She doesn’t respond. I shoot up from the bed almost immediately and hold her shoulder. Her bones are stiff as I tug her unsuccessfully to face me. For a brief second, I wonder how an old woman has this much strength.
Abruptly, she turns, and I lose my balance, crashing to the ground with a thud. Maria winces and quickly rushes to me, helping me up.
“Mr. Donatelli can be very volatile and doesn’t take disobedience lightly.”
I scoff. He sure doesn’t. Before my body can react to the activities of yesterday, I furrow my brows at Maria.
There’s this look of fear in her eyes…something akin to what mother used to have anytime Father’s name came up in a conversation.
“Wait. What are you talking about?”
“You didn’t hear?” She gasps, hands clutching her chest, and brow perched up as if I missed out on the Third World War.
I stand there awkwardly. “Hear what?”
She looks surprised for the longest moment, then blinks and shakes her head. “You probably didn’t.”
“Maria, what exactly is going on? Hear what?”
“Boss doesn’t usually bring...girls,” she hesitates momentarily, then continues, “into this mansion. You’re the first. And word out there is that he—”
She pauses and I want to strangle myself for the suspense. Does she always talk like this or does she just love driving me nuts?
With a nod, I urge her to go on, but she freezes, eyes widening as if she just recalled something.
“Fo-forgive me, ma’am. I-I spoke too much.”
“Look, Ma—” She doesn’t let me finish when she grabs the broom from a corner and sprints into the walk-in closet. I tilt my head in confusion, watching her jittery figure until she disappears.
“That’s odd,” I mutter to myself. For a split second, I consider going to meet her and forcing whatever it is out of her mouth, but I decide to let her be. I imagine what it’s like for a woman in her fifties working for someone like Cortez.
Shaking my head, I turn to the door. Since I have the freedom to roam the mansion now, I might as well put it to good use. I pull the door open, reeling in the feeling of my victory as fresh air wafts into my nose.
Spreading my arms wide, I do a little twirl.
Out of the corner of my eyes, I see the two guards staring holes at my head. They’re different from the two guards who used to man the door when I first came here. I snort, my eyes rolling to the back of my head before sashaying towards the east wing.
The two guards from yesterday were dumb enough to believe the cranberry juice was period blood.
So when I had screamed in pain, they foolishly barged in and hesitated at the sight of the supposed blood.
I took that as my opportunity to spill some in their eyes and ran like my life depended on it to Cortez’s office.
The guards’ eyes burn holes into my back as I trudge past the gym and stop before a large brown door. What do we have here?
I push it and smile when the doors click open. Before I even cross the threshold, the scent of polished wood and dust tickles my nostrils. An involuntary sneeze escapes my lips as I lightly take steps inside.
The room is barely lit, with just a ray of sunlight that managed to filter through the heavily draped curtains. I narrow my eyes to take in the room when I see a black grand piano in a corner.
So the big bad boy plays the piano.
I gasp, walking towards it. It’s thick with dust…looks like it hasn’t been played in ages. I wonder if Cortez truly plays it and what made him stop.
As I roam my eyes across the room, I notice all the other instruments. A cello, a violin resting inside an open case, and a guitar just beside it.
Wow! Thoughts of seeing him play briefly wash over my mind. Back perched, stone-faced, and fingers—gifted fingers—working their way along the keys of the piano.
Maybe I can even play. I don’t get to wipe the dusty stool when my stomach growls in hunger. It’s not like I can play anyway.
Retracing my steps, I leave the room and head downstairs towards the kitchen. It’s probably noon already. I wonder what’s delaying my food.
I reach the base of the staircase and immediately inhale the smell of pasta and cheese. I swallow, my saliva becomes watery as I let my nose lead me to the kitchen.
“Whatever you’re cooking smells nic—” The words stick in my throat when the chef turns around. He’s tall, with tan skin, striking dark eyes, and he’s young, probably around my age.
“Thanks.” The corner of his lips lifts slightly in a lopsided smile to reveal pearly-white teeth.
He wipes his hand on the white apron he’s wearing, glints of dark strands peeking out of the chef’s cap on his head.
“I’m hungry,” I blurt to ease the awkward tension that settles between us, and he nods.
“Right.”
His hands are shaking at a pace that would shock even a sick old man as he whips the meal onto a plate. I wonder what’s making him nervous. Something about his actions…aura reminds me of Fernandez.
To be fair, he’s handsome…like an upgraded version of Fernandez, but still, nothing compared to Cortez.
I quickly catch myself and shake my head. Why am I even comparing?
He places the plate with what I assume to be some special kind of Italian pasta before me. Grabbing the fork, I take a bite and moan in pleasure when the burst of flavor hits my tongue.
“Wow…this is good,” I commend with a mouthful.
“Thank yo—”
In a split second, the door slams open, and Cortez appears in the kitchen. I stop chewing as the boy freezes, slowly moving back.
“Boss, please I-I wasn’t talking t—”
Cortez stalks towards him, eyes a raging volcano, and fists clenched by his side with an aura that makes me tremble.
Before I blink, his fist collides with the boy’s face, sending him flying onto one of the tables. The utensils clatter to the ground, and I stagger backwards just as Cortez stalks towards him.
He grabs him by the collar and yanks him to the ground with another blow. The boy howls in pain as Cortez repeatedly kicks him.
Fuck. Fear rises in my chest. At this rate, the boy will die. He can’t withstand this.
“Cortez, stop. He didn’t do anything!” I yell, moving to help the boy when Cortez lifts him, slamming him against the wall. His hands tighten against his neck, and the boy struggles to gasp for air.
A gasp lodges in my throat.
“P-please, Boss,” the boy wheezes. His face is bloodied, and his jaw is dislocated.
He slams the boy even harder, fist unrelenting in its assault. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t blow your brains out.” His voice is like graveled steel, dripping with contempt.
“Y-you can’t,” I pause, biting down on my lips. And suddenly, I recall his words at the gym. Each time you break a rule, a man bleeds.
Cortez’s eyes snap to mine. Breath seizes in my throat as I hold his gaze. I can feel the raw, scorching fury swirling in his eyes.
“He…he was just giving me food.” My voice shakes. His jaw ticks, and he turns back to the boy, who seems to have lost strength.
“You’re dead if you ever show your face in this mansion, no, in this town, again.” He releases him and shoves his hands into his pockets.
The boy crumples to the ground, scampering out of the kitchen. My stomach flips with nausea at the sight of the blood that has pooled in that corner.
I thought the other guard was at fault—defaulted in duty—and that’s why he reacted that way at the gym. But this…the boy is innocent. There was absolutely no reason for him to do all that…and even fire him.
Cortez walks toward me, face deadpan like he hadn’t just almost committed murder. I instinctively take a step back and he pauses, eyes narrowing on me like I’m the insane one here.
“Don’t you dare come closer,” I spit the words with venom.
“I should have killed the fucking boy,” he grits, and disgust curls my stomach.
“You’re sick.”
“He broke my rules,” he growls, and I almost yank my hair out. If I hear anything about some damn rules one more time…
“Your stupid rules don’t equate to an innocent life.”
His eyes flare with a heat that could melt steel, but I stand my ground.
“He wasn’t innocent.” He resumes walking towards me, slow and deliberate. “He knew what he was doing when he gave you that food.”
His voice rises higher, the memory of it seeming to bring a fresh wave of anger in his eyes. “Smiles, glances…fucking proximity. He broke it all!”
Anger charges the air, and my heart skips a beat at his comment. I shoot him a stare of disbelief, watching his fist clench and unclench. That’s why he almost killed him?
“You’re a monster.” The words leave my lips unrestrained and vile, eliciting a sharp hiss from him. My heart races as he continues to stalk toward me. With each step he takes forward, I take one step back until my lower back thumps against the edge of the island counter.
He has that dark look in his eyes as he boxes me in, his arms on either side of the counter.
“I am, Princessa,” he murmurs thickly, bringing his lips to my ear. “But I only turn savage when someone touches what’s mine.”
His breath falls on my cheeks, and my stomach does a double flip. The space between us is heated with anger, frustration, and need. My core moistens as he stares at me—at my lips. He narrows a stormy gaze on them, grunting thickly before lifting a finger.
Just before his finger touches my lips, I recover my senses and yank my head to the side, trying to squirm out of the box I’m in. He releases a grunt of displeasure, pinning me in place with a hand on my hips.
“You’re bleeding,” he says, narrowing his eyes at me. I dart my tongue out to lick it and, indeed, I taste blood. I must have bitten my lips too hard. And it’s all because of him.
“Get away from me,” I whisper thickly, my eyes holding every hint of annoyance. Much to my dismay, I must admit—he obliges, straightening himself and pulling away from me.
His expression is now blank as he tugs the lapels of his blood-stained suit.
“You have seven days to provide information about your father’s pipelines. Or I won’t hesitate to throw you out.”