12. Marchella
CHAPTER 12
MARCHELLA
H is blue eyes glitter with the threat of danger, but instead of making my gut clench, his gaze makes me tingle in places that have no business being awakened by this sick lust coursing through me.
How can his egocentric words actually turn me on?
He has a bounty on my brother and complete control over me as a result.
He shot me, for fuck’s sake!
I want to punch him so badly. To land a right hook against his beautiful, stubbled jaw, shattering it like he did my life!
But most distressing is that despite everything he’s done and said, I still want to feel his lips on me, to have his devious tongue tussle with mine, to drink in his villainousness because for all of the hatred he generates, my pent-up desire trumps it all.
And the flickering embers in my belly roar to life as his eyes drink me in, telling me in no uncertain terms that he feels the exact same way.
Just like I always believed he did.
But screw him if he thinks I’m going to do anything about it.
“Ooh,” I say in a mock scared voice. “I’m so scared.” I shove my good shoulder against his thick, muscled chest and of course, it doesn’t do a damn thing. He stays rooted to his spot and presses his fingers deeper into my flesh.
My heart thumps, blood rushing between my ears as the overwhelming urge to kiss him grabs hold of me. The line between lust and disgust…my God, it’s almost invisible right about now.
“Don’t make me prove it to you,” he grunts. “Because I will, and you won’t want me to stop once I get started.”
I gasp. “You’re sick!”
“It’s the only way to thrive in this world, sweetheart,” he says, letting me go with a smirk playing on his lips.
Aarf!
I peek around him where Bella is standing next to his sneakers, not bothering to bite back the grin that spreads across my lips when I see the puddle next to his kicks. “Yeah, well, I’m sure that there’s more to it than that. Like dry shoes.”
He furrows his brow and follows my amused glance to where Bella created her own indoor facilities.
“Fuck!” he groans. “That’s my favorite pair, for Christ’s sake!”
“I guess she didn’t like the way you were talking to me,” I say, folding my arms over my chest. “Girl power or whatever.”
He narrows his eyes at me and I flash a bright smile in return.
“I guess your gesture of goodwill kind of backfired.”
We stand there, staring each other down, like a battle of the wills. There’s a man inside of this brutish, menacing jackass, one who is fighting against his rough exterior. The years may have been kind to his appearance, but they’ve created a monster facade. That’s why I didn’t recognize him at the restaurant and at the park. I don’t know this menace that he’s become. I believe that the real Roman is still trapped inside. I can see it more clearly now…not only in his eyes, but in the little things, like going out to find Bella. But the guy on the outside can’t let him out for too long, not in the mafia world, or else things might spiral out of control.
And I know that guy on the outside well.
He’s my father.
It’s true, Papa and I never had the kind of tight-knit relationship he has with Frankie, and that’s in large part because I resisted his ‘job’. I had no desire to be anywhere near his work, and our relationship grew more and more strained over time because of it. But I saw how he’d let his true self shine through for my mother. There was a softness, a deep love, an open heart reserved just for her. It didn’t happen often because heaven forbid, the big, bad mob enforcer showed the world that he could be a sensitive guy.
Roman has definite shades of my father, which makes me equally drawn to him and fed up with him. On one hand, I want to scream at him and unleash the rage he’s caused to knot deep inside of me. And on the other hand, I want to fling myself into his arms and feel them wrapped around me again.
It’s the quintessential push and pull.
Roman breaks away from my gaze and stomps into the kitchen for a roll of paper towels and a bottle of spray cleaner. He’s back a second later, muttering a string of colorful expletives in Italian.
I bend down to help him, reaching out for the spray bottle as he’s about to grab it again. It’s just a brush of our fingers, but my God, the shock that zaps my insides makes me visibly shudder.
He turns his ice-blue eyes toward me, and I can see a flicker of surprise in the depths, as if he felt the same thing and has no idea how to process it. Well, yeah! I am his captive, so there are parameters.
I guess…?
I’ve never been kidnapped before, so I’m not super familiar with the protocols. But I am pretty certain that lusting for your captive is bad.
So is lusting for your captor .
Yikes.
I bite down on my lower lip, tearing my gaze away from his. My pulse thumps against my throat as I spray, spray, spray…anything to keep my focus off of Roman.
Because regardless of what lies beneath the surface, he’s still a fucking animal.
And I’m his prey.
I mop up the cleaner with paper towels and scramble to my feet before I get too close to him again. He’s still lamenting his sneakers, so I use that as an opportunity to dash into the kitchen and get my head screwed on straight.
This man had Frankie beaten to a pulp! How can I have any feelings other than nausea for him?
I clutch the sides of the counter, my stomach clenching as Bella rubs up against my leg.
An exasperated sigh makes my throat tighten, and I can’t figure out if it’s due to Bella’s accident, or my rapid disappearance.
How sick is it that I’m hoping for the latter?
“You must be starving,” he says.
I nod, continuing to stare at the floor because I’m petrified he’s going to mistake my admission to hunger for…well, hunger .
“There’s nothing in the fridge. Dante ate pretty much everything,” he grunts.
“Let me take a look.” I push past him and pull open the refrigerator door. “You have plenty of stuff in here,” I exclaim, rifling through the shelves and drawers. “Eggs, English muffins, bacon, cheese…I mean, as long as none of it is expired, we can have breakfast for dinner?”
He smirks. “So you’re gonna cook for your kidnapper?”
“Well, you’re paying me, right?” I turn around, my eyebrow lifted. “But I have one condition.”
“I didn’t realize employees negotiated with their bosses,” he mumbles.
“This is important. You have to let me call Frankie. He’s all alone now and he’s hurt. You have to let me see if he’s okay. Please, Roman.” I swallow hard. “Look, I have no way of reaching him other than to ask your permission. Which,” I’m quick to say. “Absolutely sucks. But I’m not too proud to ask because he’s my brother and I love him, even if you do want to skin him alive.”
He looks at me for a long minute, and just when I think I might spontaneously combust because of the heat generated by his panty-melting stare, he shakes his head. “No.”
My jaw drops. “Why the hell not? I only want to find out if he’s okay. What if those guys found him? What if they know he was with you? They might hurt him, or worse!”
“Do you understand that I don’t give a damn if he’s okay?” he yells. “Your brother took what didn’t belong to him! And if ‘those guys’ fuck his shit up, then good! He deserves it for what he did! Thinking he could get his revenge all this time later. He took enough. I owe him nothing !”
A gaggle of tears knots in my throat. Fuck, this is too much. I can’t see my battered brother, I’m alone with this crazy, paranoid thug, and now I have all of these other toxic memories from my past bubbling up from the deep recesses of my heart.
I have to get away from Roman, away from everything he’s dredged up over the past few hours.
Christ, I was practically living in poverty a few hours ago, but it was a hell of a lot more tolerable than this shit show Roman has cast me for. My shoulders quake and I hurry to scoop up Bella before stalking out of the kitchen toward the second floor.
“What happened to breakfast for dinner?” he asks, his jaw tight.
My mouth drops open and I turn to look at him with as much disdain as I can conjure up. “Are you serious? Because if I’m anywhere near a scalding hot pan right now, there is a hundred percent chance it’ll be smashed against your face!” I take a deep breath, stopping on the stairs. “But don’t let that stop you from enjoying your meal.” I stomp up the steps, hissing loud enough for him to hear. “I hope you fucking choke!”
* * *
I clutch my mother’s hand as we wade into the clear blue water in Turks and Caicos. The sand feels so soft beneath my toes, like a thick carpet warmed by the sun’s rays. I let the gentle rippling waves wash away the angst, the uncertainty, and the sadness. I tilt my head backward to stare up at the cloudless sky.
It’s a perfect day because we’re together, creating a memory I will cherish for years to come.
Mama’s thin and fragile hand grips mine tight as we wade deeper, the water rising higher and higher until I take a final step, my foot no longer finding the sandy floor. I gasp, unprepared for what lies ahead…what lies beneath the surface.
My arms and legs flail about as I sputter. My head bobs up and down like a buoy, and the resort is in the far-off distance. How did I drift so far away?
And where is Mama?
I don’t feel her fingers laced with mine!
“Mama!” I gasp, the waves getting more turbulent by the second.
The sky, which was a bright cerulean only moments ago, is now dark. The sun, once bright, is now eclipsed by thick, ominous clouds. A heavy wind catapults my body through the waves and I scream, struggling for breath. My lungs constrict with panic, my limbs struggling to keep afloat.
But the volatile water has other plans for me.
A rumbling wave gathers speed and height, capturing me in the swirling curl as it hurls itself toward the resort miles and miles into the distance. It rises, higher and higher like an all-consuming tsunami, dragging me along for the ride, certain devastation in my near future.
I try to shout, to warn everyone on the shore who is seemingly oblivious to the impending danger. But nobody looks up…nobody, not even my family.
I wave my arms in the air, trying to catch their attention, but they are too busy laughing. Mama, Papa, and Frankie, playing Frisbee in the sand, no clue that their entire world is about to be shattered.
And I can’t do a damn thing to change the outcome.
I have no control…
My world goes black right before the impact strikes and I blink fast, reaching out for the handrail in the stuffy elevator at Memorial Sloane Kettering. I clutch the metal tight, trying to steady myself, but the dizziness assaults my body, sending me crashing to the floor in a cold sweat.
“Chell,” Frankie whispers on the ground next to me. “You’ve gotta get up. It’s time.”
“But I can’t,” I say, my eyes stinging with tears. “I’m not ready. She’s not ready!”
“We have to go,” he whispers, a single tear slipping down the side of his face. “She’s waiting for you. Don’t let her wait anymore…”
He helps me up as the doors open and I hang onto the handrail for balance. Fear grips me, the gravity of the situation making my knees wobble as I gingerly step forward, tumbling into a thick patch of foliage at Washington Square Park as my dog Princess darts past me in hot pursuit of the pink Frisbee I just tossed.
“Get it, girl!” I squeal, clapping my hands as my mother lets out a breathless wheeze from the bench nearby. I turn to look at her, gasping as she falls over onto the side of the bench, her face ashen.
“Mom!” I shriek as her eyes flutter closed, her body spasming. “Somebody, please help us!”
EMTs appear from out of nowhere, gathering her onto a gurney and loading her into an ambulance that skidded to a stop right in front of our bench only seconds after I let out that bloodcurdling yell.
I clutch the sides of my head, an empty feeling in the pit of my gut making me shudder. I catch a glimpse of my pink Frisbee laying on the lush green grass in the distance.
A dark green minivan careens around a corner and big, sad brown eyes stare at me out the side window, a tiny paw slapping against the glass.
“Princess!” I shriek, clutching the bedsheet tight in my fists. “No!”