Chapter 12 Cecilia #2
After going up and down a few times we finally reached the penthouse again and he removed the sack from my head as the elevator opened up.
The place was immaculately cleaned, and the black marble floors shone brighter than the last time I was here with its gold speckles glimmering from the sunlight that poured through the windows.
There were additional wet bars placed throughout the grand living area and more couches and chairs than I recalled the last time.
He led me through the room into the hallway where it was divided into three openings.
We took the entrance to the left through a door which I could only assume was his bedroom.
It was half the size of the living room, but it was still unnecessarily big, with a large king size bed in the middle neatly made with black satin sheets.
There were two white boxes on the bed along with a small black bag.
Another brown bag rested against the box with the LV logo on it and I raised my eyebrows at him in a silent question.
“You can get ready in the bathroom,” he said pointing to the En-suite, as he sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his temple.
I sighed as the nerves started to creep their way inside me as the unexpected floated its head above the water once again and I was forced to drown in the mess I created for myself.
I grabbed the bags and the larger box and stepped into the largest bathroom I had been in, since my tía’s house in Ocean Valley.
I ran my fingers over the gold details on the clawfoot matte black tub in the center of the room and lazily made my way to the mirror and took a look at myself for the first time in months.
Still the same old uptight bastard’s eyes haunting me, mocking me for being too weak and letting the pussy in between my legs dictate whether or not I was fit to be his heir.
I opened the bag and found a few bare essentials that would help cover the illusion of a captive and painted my eyes thick with eyeliner and black eyeshadow.
There was a tube of mascara, and a few colors of lipstick to choose from and I had to question who did the shopping because there was no way Ronan or Santos picked out black lipstick.
I felt the corners of my lips turn up as I decided to wear black as my armor for the night and coated my lips in the war paint before opening the white box with Versace printed on it.
I huffed in annoyance at the unnecessary display of money and wondered if the others would be wearing designer dresses tonight as well.
Lacy black underwear was folded delicately in the brown bag, but even my annoyance was tamed by the contents of what was inside the box, because it was a masterpiece.
The dress - no, the gown, was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen in my life.
It was something I would have imagined seeing my mamá wear at a party when Papá was in the mood to show her off, back when we still lived in México.
The straps were barely there and had no purpose at all as they fell down my shoulders, the sweetheart cut of the neckline hugged my breasts and accentuated the curve of my waist and the flare of my hips.
There was a slit on the side that ran up high on my thighs as it fell all the way down to my feet along the small trail of a train.
Not terrible.
I took one last look at myself in the mirror, seeing less of my papá and a bit more of the woman who created me instead, unsure who I felt had betrayed me more.
As I contemplated which of my parents let me down most, I remembered the biggest victim was Carolina, my sister.
I gripped the edges of the sink as I forced back the pools of tears challenging to fall and I bit my cheek until I felt the sting, tasting the metallic liquid in my mouth.
I walked out of the room and Mateo whistled a long exhale as he took me in from head to toe.
“Bellissima,” he said in a low hushed voice as he admired me from his place on the edge of the bed.
I arched an eyebrow and wondered if there was more Italian where that came from.
Before I could voice my thoughts, he opened the other box, pulled out a pair of red-bottomed black heels, and held them on the edges of his fingers tips for me to take.
He had changed as well and was wearing pristinely tailored suit pants with the tie draped across his neck undone.
His hair still required grooming and fell over his eyes like he needed a haircut, and I wondered if he didn’t care to keep his hair “just so” and did whatever he pleased with it.
Maybe he only cut it when the mood would strike him.
Ronan had the same appointment, I bet even now, every three weeks to keep his hair exactly the same and I smirked to myself as I appreciated their differences.
Where Ronan was fire, consuming everything in his path - whether in passion, hatred or anguish - Mateo was an ocean waiting to pull me under until all that was left was waves upon waves of his current washing through me, slowly cleansing me of everything I once thought I was.
I couldn’t deny that I didn’t just appreciate his company, but I craved it.
Though part of me knew I had been broken, and that they did get into my head, I wanted to believe that every small intimate moment between us had been ours and ours alone.
I glanced around the room a bit and curiosity peaked at the sight of the black grand piano next to the window, was it decoration?
An heirloom? Did he play? I let my eyes wander around the room and noticed a few other instruments in their selective cases, and a few guitars hanging up on the wall.
“You look fucking edible,” he stood, pulling me close, hooking an arm behind me and pressing his erection against me.
“Be good.” He whispered, reaching for my hand, “and I promise I’ll try to make it better.
” His grazed his nose behind my ear, his fingers tracing over my black-painted lips, goosebumps running along my entire body from his touch.
A whimper betrayed me, his mischievous grin showing itself before he pulled away.
Guiding me by the hand, Mateo led us back into the main room, where a few caterers were setting up and bartenders were getting their things ready.
Close to the balcony a makeshift dance floor was set up and a DJ readied his table for the night as he talked to Santos.
His eyes widened in recognition from across the room, ending the conversation and making his way over to us in a few, quick, strides.
“Morena, phew,” he whistled, his reaction forcing my cheeks to heat from the attention.
Wrapping his arms around me, he placed an exaggerated kiss on my cheek that though felt platonic, no different than any of the others throughout the years, but still somehow seemed like it was meant more to warn Mateo off, than to greet me.
It was an odd display that had me fighting back an ear-to-ear smile.
“That’s what I said.” The deep rumble of Mateo’s voice cut through the moment, my pulse quickening at the overwhelm of both of them so close to me. “Without the kiss,” he added dryly, his point loud and clear.
If Mateo was the ocean, Santos was the air.
Everything about him was so light and free, and filled me with life like a lungful of the purest oxygen.
Even when the past tried to weigh him down, he could rise above it.
Laughing around him felt effortless, even in this own private little hell they had created.
He wore dark navy dress pants with a button-down shirt that was a darker shade of the same color.
The bandana sticking out of his back pocket still gave his roots away.
If I didn’t know he was a ruthless syndicate leader I would have assumed he was dressed for business.
His curls bounced in front of his eyes with the slightest movement of his head, his smile stretching from ear to ear.
“Could I have tequila? Please?” I asked him sweetly, wondering how far my freedom would go tonight.
If they were going to give me an inch, I would take a few fucking miles.
“Why not?” Santos said as if he could read my thoughts making his way through the few people starting to gather in the room.
I kept my eyes on the hallway where the bedrooms were, expecting the rest of the girls to come out of Ronan’s room at any moment, arm in arm with him.
The elevators opened up time after time allowing different guests in, from tattooed grunts to well-dressed millionaire-looking types and their pedigreed escorts.
Eventually, it was Fletcher who appeared with the three women, removing their sacks from their heads as they came out through the elevator doors.
Absolutely no one paid any mind to the fact that they were in shackles, but I didn’t fail to notice I was given more freedom than my cellmates.
They looked nice, well dressed, but I could tell they didn’t receive the same attentive care as I had tonight, and a part of me had to wonder why.
I normally didn’t see too much of Fletcher, it actually didn’t seem like he saw too much of me either, because anytime he showed up to take any of the girls somewhere he did his hardest to avoid looking my way.
He guided the three girls to the large white leather couch and sat them there.
Like little Barbies, perfectly trained for this moment, they sat there silently staring forward, with each of their legs crossed ever so differently.
I shifted uncomfortably, the seconds passing with a painful slowness until Santos returned with a large glass of anejo that I downed with no effort.
I passed my empty glass back to him, flashing him my teeth in request for more. It must have been the dress because with no arguments he shuffled along back towards the bar.
“Waiting for someone?” Mateo asked, surely noticing my millionth glance in the direction of Ronan’s bedroom.
“I just thought they’d be coming in with him,” I shrugged.