Chapter 5
Valentina Denaro
I resist the urge to wipe my clammy hands on my thighs by sheer force of will as I wait for my father to offer me his arm.
He was so angry earlier. I’ve never seen him so furious sober, at least not directed at me.
Broaching the topic of Mario’s appearance during the ceremony isn’t an option. He’ll never believe me. I doubt he’d accept the truth even if he saw his ex-best friend with his own eyes.
I swallow the lump in my throat and ignore how frayed I feel as I take my father’s elbow and let him lead me to our car. As the valet hands the keys to the hired driver, my father ushers me into the car as though I’m made of glass.
I fasten my seatbelt and wait as the driver gets behind the wheel and my father settles beside me. The man’s eyes in the rearview mirror linger on me a little too long, but I give him a polite smile as my father tells him our destination.
I try not to shrink back when my father takes my hand, but he notices my flinch and scowls. I push my fear and frustration aside and aim a bright smile at him.
“You must be tired from the party,” he says.
“Oh no, I’m fine. The dresses were so pretty and the ceremony was amazing,” I lie.
“Is your stomach still hurting you?”
I glance at the driver, hoping my father reads my expression as embarrassment and not distrust.
“I’ll visit you after I finish drinks with the club this evening,” he says.
I nod. He pats my hand. We finish the drive in silence.
I don’t speak a word on the way to my room. No one expects more than a smile from me anyway. I could be a puppet and no one would care, so long as I’m pretty and obedient.
The moment my room door closes behind me, panic sets in. I stand in the receiving area as my mind replays the horror of the day.
My nipples and clit throb from Mario’s abuse. I shift my weight from one foot to the other as the adrenaline I suppressed all day floods my system. My senses sharpen, highlighting the ache in my left nipple and the soreness between my legs.
No one has ever taken such liberties with my body before. He hurt me. Mocked me. Threatened me.
He woke an insatiable beast. The warm slickness coating my panties shames me.
Sandpaper scratches the back of my eyes and cotton fills my throat, but I refuse to cry.
He’s watching me. I’m not alone.
Too many emotions barrel through me. I ignore them all and walk on wobbly legs to the bathroom sink. My reflection is too much to handle, so I turn on the faucet, brace my palms on the counter, and hang my head.
With my hair curtained around my face and the rushing water drowning out my sniffling, I cry for the first time since my mother left but only allow myself a few minutes of weakness. If I wallow for too long, I’ll never be able to pull myself back together.
I splash cold water on my face and prop my elbows on the edge of the sink, letting the droplets drip off my chin and nose as I study my features in the mirror.
Romeo was supposed to be my escape, but Mario’s arrival changes everything. He’ll never let me marry Romeo.
Unless I convince my father to let me elope.
Maybe an impromptu signing of legal papers can save me. We can still hold the big, fancy wedding next month. Hell, I’ll even vote for consummating the marriage as soon as we sign papers if it means thwarting Mario’s plan.
I’d prefer a contract marriage with no emotional ties than the life of pain and humiliation my uncle promised me.
I sneer in disgust at my thoughts.
The man who attacked me today was not my uncle. I won’t think of him that way anymore. He’s no longer the gentle, caring man I yearned to give everything to. Instead, he’s a devil in disguise sent to torture me for all eternity.
He turned my body against me. Just the thought of his piercing amber eyes sends heat to my core, while the memory of his oversized hand grasping my breast quickens my heart.
I can’t marry him. I never want to see him again. He threatens my very sanity.
My only option is to convince my father to let me elope with Romeo.
With my decision made, I shove my thoughts into a tiny box and slam it closed, finalizing the act by slapping the faucet handle down and shutting off the water.
After checking the time on my phone, I toss it onto my bed and shut myself away in the bathroom for my new normal, blocking the vent with a washcloth, draping a towel over the mirror, and turning the lights on the lowest setting before turning on the shower.
I stand under the warm spray much longer than usual, enjoying the water pounding on my back and the heat seeping into my bones. With my mind blessedly numb and my body relaxed, I sigh and lean back into the downpour.
My nipples bunch. Need pulses between my legs.
I stiffen when my fingertips brush against my mons.
No. I will not encourage the monster he awoke within me. I’ve never masturbated before, and I won’t start now.
Bitterness curls my lips. I don’t need to hide my emotions here, but the expression feels foreign. For the last decade, I’ve lived to appease my father. He holds my future in his hands.
I need him to pass the baton over to Romeo before Mario ruins everything.
With my determination bolstered, I dry off and prepare for bed, dressing in the hideous nightgown and braiding my hair, donning my battle armor for the fight to come.
After fixing the bathroom and turning on the television, I settle on the couch and play the only game on my phone—a matching game—and only doze a few times before the electronic door lock beeps as my father inserts his keycard.
I jerk to full alertness and rise as he pushes open the door and staggers inside.
My insides twist. All traces of arousal dry up and leave me feeling like a brittle husk. Nausea grips me. I step around the coffee table, putting it between us, and pull my braids in front of my shoulders as I force my lips into a smile.
I yearn to close my sweaty palm around the hilt of my knife, but it’s tucked safely away under my cabinet in San Francisco.
“You’re still up? I thought you’d be in bed by now,” he mumbles.
Bile rises in my throat.
“It’s not that late, Daddy,” I lie.
I move around the coffee table as he drops onto the couch, keeping the glass monstrosity between us.
“Be a doll and get me a glass of water, yeah?” he demands.
“Of course,” I respond and jump into action. With more pep in my step than I feel, I bounce into the kitchenette and pour a glass from the pitcher in the fridge and place it on the coffee table before perching on the edge of the recliner.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
He leans forward and props his elbow on the armrest as he slurps down half the glass. Despite the flush on his cheeks and the stench of whiskey wafting from him, he cracks his neck and sits upright with enough calculation in his eyes to assure me he isn’t on the brink of mania.
My nausea eases.
“It would have been better if you’d sat next to Romeo today. What were you thinking, Valentina?” he scolds.
I take a deep breath and aim my face down at my lap as I fiddle with the end of my braid, hoping to elicit my father’s protective instincts by embodying the younger version of myself as best I can.
“I really wasn’t feeling well, and, honestly, I got scared, too. I… I’m worried that if we wait until next month, my body will ruin everything. Can’t I just marry Romeo now?”
“There’s nothing to be worried about, baby,” he murmurs into his glass.
Dread stiffens my spine. I look up and swallow to clear the fear from my throat before asking, “What do you mean?”
“I’ll always be there to help you through your time of the month,” he says as he peers at me over the rim of his glass.
I can’t look away even as the blood drains from my face.
“What do you mean?” I repeat.
“You’ll continue to live with me after you marry Romeo.”
All the oxygen disappears from the room.
“But I thought… Why?” I manage through numb lips.
“He has parents, siblings, and all the lovers he could want to keep him company here in New York. It wouldn’t be fair for him to steal my only daughter away from me, would it?”
I blink in shock at the twisted expression on his face.
“Doesn’t he want an heir?” I ask.
My father shrugs.
“Would he marry you if he wanted one?”
Pain slices through my soul.
“What do you mean by that?” I croak through the frog in my throat.
“He knows you’re defective, Valentina.” He guts me with his choice of words and the disdain in his tone. “It’s not babies he hopes to gain from our alliance, although he will consummate the marriage. You’ll be husband and wife in every sense of the word, but you’ll always be my daughter first.”
I can’t breathe. Can’t move. Can’t think.
“I see the betrayal in your eyes, Valentina, but I forgive you. After all, you have your mother’s blood in your veins. You can’t help it.”
He stands and fixes his suit coat before stalking around the coffee table toward me. I’m too frozen to move.
“But I can. I can help you.” He lifts the braid from my left shoulder and rubs it between his fingers. “I’ll keep you by my side. Forever.”
With a mocking pat to the top of my head, he drops my braid and saunters out of the room, his gait slightly off from alcohol, and closes the door behind him without another word.
I stare at the lock, unable to break the ice holding me captive. When I finally move, my head feels hollow while my limbs weigh a thousand pounds.
I drag my body through the slog and find myself curled up in a ball on the bed with my braid in one hand and my empty fist under my pillow as I stare at the lamp on the bedside table.
With the hope I clung to burned to ashes, I drift through the hours like fog.
Nothing matters as the sun brightens the curtains and streaks across the ceiling.
Only grey shapes and dulled sounds exist as I dress and fix my hair and makeup.
Breakfast has no taste, but I eat my bagel and cream cheese as I sit beside my father like the good little girl he expects me to be.
Even after we say our normal goodbye and part ways as though nothing changed between us, I remain numb on the inside.
My father, as high-handed and micromanaging as ever, ensures my drivers know my itinerary for the day, so I greet them to keep up pretenses and plaster a polite mask onto my face.
The expression remains in place all day, since it requires no effort.
I don’t need to look at my reflection to know it never wavers.
I move through the day like a well-programmed robot until I return to the hotel after dinner.
On the foyer table lies a dress box. I take off the lid, hook my finger under a strap, and lift the black lacy lingerie top into the air.
I don’t need a note to know who sent it.
Mario Luciano.
It’s too much. I drop the fabric, cross the room, and curl up into a ball, pulling the blankets over my head, still wearing my day clothes with a face full of makeup and pins in my hair.
A dam breaks within me. Tears soak my pillow and sobs wrack my chest, but I don’t even know why I’m crying.
I knew my marriage to Romeo wasn’t for love.
I knew happily ever after was never something I could obtain.
I knew being wed didn’t mean complete freedom—I’d still have to see my father on holidays and other outings—but I never thought he would purposefully sabotage my chances of a peaceful future before I even had a chance to forge my way.
I cry until my head throbs and throat aches. Exhaustion sweeps over me, and I fall asleep between one breath and the next.
When I wake up disoriented and covered in sweat with screams echoing in my ears, I can’t tell if it’s from my nightmares or my shattered heart.
I’m broken, but not because my uncle miraculously rose from the dead and threatened to make my life a living hell.
It’s because I’m already there.
I’m so deep in the fiery pits of purgatory that marrying the man who betrayed my family and promised to hurt me for the rest of my days sounds more appealing than the future my father has planned for me.
If my life is going to be a living nightmare, I may as well do it with the devil, right?
My first crush and newest enemy. The man I trusted most as a child but hold only hatred for now. A cruel spirit with the power to seduce my body and steal my control.
Mario Luciano.
I don’t know how I’m going to survive, but there must be a way.