Red Retaliation (The Bateman Brothers #1)

CHAPTER 1 - ARIANNA

CHAPTER

Arianna

Three Hours Earlier...

H E CALLED ME A WHORE. He treated me like a whore.

Every day. But none more so than when he fucked me.

Pressing my face down into the satin pillows on the super-king bed - the bed that had cost thousands of pounds and the one he had specially commissioned - made him feel important.

He enjoyed throwing his money about. And he had lots of it.

He had lots of everything: power; kudos; respect. That’s a hilarious concept because he sure as hell showed none to me. But this was what I’d been brought up to expect. What I’d been taught, schooled and conditioned for.

Since the day I was born into the Galvatore family as the eldest daughter of Emiliano - a man feared by all and just as much as the Bristonis, I was a bargaining chip.

And because of this stupid, idiotic, insane tradition within families such as mine, I was the ‘thing’ to fuse these two oh-so influential and powerful families together.

Me - Arianna Galvatore, who before getting past the point where I’d lost interest in brushing dolls’ hair to make them beautiful, I’d been taught that beauty and obedience was what all girls and women should strive to achieve.

I was also informed a lot more than that was expected from me.

I, in particular, must be beautiful, poised and perfect . Because if I wasn’t, Roberto would not marry me.

But marry me he would because that was what had been arranged between our fathers the minute I was born, exactly five years and five days after Roberto.

It was easy. I would cement the union, and our families would be joined - a powerful and lucrative decision for all parties.

Except me...

But like the dutiful daughter and woman I grew up to be, I did as I was told. And my life could not have been worse because I hated Roberto Bristoni. Hated him with a passion.

My husband was the most abusive, controlling and disrespectful creature to ever walk the earth. This said a lot considering what the men were like in the families I knew, but Roberto held the ultimate accolade of that title.

There was no point in pleading to be released from my personal hell. Who would I speak to? My father? He’d orchestrated the sale of my life and body without so much as a second glance to ask if I was happy about it. What did that matter? I was merely a pawn in the overall outcome.

My mother was no better. Her take on life was to be a good wife. To put up and shut up: ‘Women like us don’t have opinions, Arianna. We are obedient and act on what is expected of us, come what may. That is what we do.’

I understood my parents’ reasoning. It was what they believed was right and what they felt was in my best interest. However, it felt the very opposite because marrying Roberto wasn’t what I wanted to do.

But my opinion made no difference.

I mentioned being unhappy once. I tried to anyway.

Without getting as far as finishing my sentence, let alone telling my mother what was really going on behind closed doors in the massive Knightsbridge home my husband owned that served as my prison, my words were cut short with the simple, ‘He’s your husband, Arianna. ’

Except he wasn’t anymore.

I force my eyes in the bed’s direction where my husband lies flat on his back, his lifeless eyes staring like dead fish at the high expanse of the mirrored ceiling.

I swallow the impulse to laugh.

Instead, I shake.

The trembling starts at the ends of my long, professionally manicured nails and travels up my fingers and along my slender arms, where it splinters off in various directions, taking up residence in every other part of my body .

This vibration gets stronger. It’s so intense that the blood on my hands, which sprayed from the gaping wound in Roberto’s neck, is so plentiful that drops flick off to stain the crisp whiteness of the Egyptian cotton sheets.

Yes, the last time my husband called me a whore was the final time.

And do you know what? I’m glad I killed him. More than glad.

Because the one thing I am not and never will be is a whore . Roberto is the only man who has ever known my body, and that will not change. After this nightmare, I will let no man near me ever again.

Not caring that my hands caked in congealing blood are sticky and uncomfortable, I pull off my wedding and engagement ring combo. These Cartier rings Roberto commissioned are undoubtedly exquisite, as well as costing the earth, but to me they’re merely a symbol of two years of misery and torment.

Casting a contemptuous glare at Roberto’s now flaccid cock resting against his thigh, I move to the bed, a small part of me waiting for him to spring up, grab me around the throat and pin me down to take what he wants, like usual.

But that won’t happen anymore. Not with him. Not with anyone. Because I am free.

Careful not to drop the rings from my slippery fingers, I shove them through the slice in Roberto’s throat, poking my fingers deep into the still warm flesh to push them further into the wound. Possibly into his windpipe.

I don’t know, and I don’t care.

My job is done.

I pad across the room towards the en-suite to wash the blood, filth and scent of my husband’s skin from me. It’s a scent I’ll never have to endure again.

The knife I used to department him from this life is around somewhere, but I can’t remember what I did with it.

I only remember Roberto’s rage when I moved from where he’d placed me astride him so I could strike, my movement skewing his urgent thrusts off kilter.

I’d be punished for upsetting his equilibrium and panicked I’d somehow failed to hit his throat.

I’d felt the knife slice, but maybe I hadn’t done it hard enough?

I need not have worried because the anger on Roberto’s face morphed into shock and then fear.

It was then that the blood began to flow. It bubbled out from the widening chasm in his neck, the purple blood and strange hissing noise increasing every second.

I think he might have tried to speak, but he didn’t get a chance. It was over fast. Too fast. I’d have preferred him to suffer.

Perhaps I should get that shower now?

The glow of promised freedom shines within me as I make my way across the bedroom.

Already the thick pile carpet feels a thousand times more luxurious than before.

I hadn’t noticed just how lovely it was until now.

The day that ring was slipped on my finger was the last time anything had meaning.

But now the chance of a future with possibility and without self-destroying crushing pain, flutters.

That is until the shrill ring of my mobile crashes back to reality and, like I’ve only just noticed where I am, what I’ve done and what it means, I freeze.

Shit.

Spotting the telltale glow of the phone screen on my dressing table, I stumble to grab it, my legs belonging to someone else.

“Hello?” I sound normal. How is that possible when my throat is closing up and sweat breaks out over every inch of my skin? “Mum, hi... Erm... yes, we are. No, of course we haven’t forgotten! Yes, he’s... he’s here too.”

My gaze tracks back to the corpse on the bed. “Yes, I know it’s important. What was that? The purple one? Yes, okay, Mum. I’ll wear that dress. See you later.”

Ending the call, the phone slips from my fingers and drops to the floor.

The shaking, which disappeared during my awakening to newfound freedom, returns with a vengeance, and I sink to my knees. The carpet, which only moments ago felt like velvet dreams, has resumed its texture of rusty pins.

Dinner at my parents’ house - tonight at 7 p.m.

Everybody will be present, including Roberto’s family. It’s an important dinner – at least for my sister because it’s the official acceptance of her engagement to Roberto’s brother.

My eyes narrow. Like me, it was already decided Maria would marry when she came of age.

That she would marry Luca Bristoni made things even worse.

Not for Maria – she’s invested in the traditions our families live by and always has been.

She was even jealous that I, as the eldest, won the “prize” of being betrothed to the most influential and powerful of the Bristoni sons .

However, Maria will soon see that this life is the opposite of what anyone wants.

But then maybe she won’t? Maria is the opposite of me, yet I cannot help but want to ensure she doesn’t sign up for a life sentence with a Bristoni.

But that is not something I have the power to enforce. Especially now...

Undoubtedly, Maria’s special dinner will be abandoned tonight because Roberto and I will be absent. And Roberto won’t be there because I’ve killed him.

The horror of what my actions will unleash hits me square between the eyes. What was I thinking?

Once my actions are discovered, my life will be even more unbearable. Not only that, but the Bristonis will unleash war on my family.

I am not free.

Scrambling to my feet, I reach a decision. It’s not a decision I thought I’d ever make or need to make. It’s not one to grant me or anyone happiness, but what choice do I have?

Roberto’s death will be uncovered before long, so the only way I stand to get out of this and save my family paying the price for my actions is to make it look that I’ve succumbed to a similar fate.

Sweat pours down my brow as my eyes dart around the scene in front of me. It’s not like I can slice my own throat. Well, I could, but I have no urge to die. Not now he’s gone.

But I can feign my own death. Or maybe a disappearance?

What occurred here must remain unknown long after I pave out a new life for myself.

I’ve come too far for it to end now. But I haven’t got long to sort things out.

No time to pack, get money or documents to leave the country.

Besides, I have no idea where Roberto kept that kind of stuff. Apparently, I had “no need” to know.

Maybe I didn’t, but I do now.

I glance back at my husband, despising him further even in death. He wouldn’t tell me anything now even if he could.

There’s no time to waste. I need to get cleaned up and get the hell out of here. The second we’re late for dinner, someone will be sent over, and then everything will be uncovered. I have time to take nothing. Not that there’s anything here I want.

Stumbling over to the mirror, I grit my teeth and wrap my hand in a fistful of my long, black hair. I barely feel the pain as I tear a tuft from my head and scatter the silky hair across the dressing table, hoping it gives the impression I’ve been dragged off.

Maybe, maybe not, but right now it’s not my most pressing concern. That , is where I go from here. And there’s only one place I can think of with people who might go along with my idea.

It’s not a choice I want to make, but it’s the only one I have.

There’s just one last thing I need to do before leaving. I need a bargaining chip, so I must find that knife. I need evidence of what I’ve done to prove what I tell my enemies is true.