21. Chloe
Chapter 21
Chloe
M y eyes meet Carmella’s the moment she enters the dining room, and although I can feel my cheeks heat, I give her a look that hopefully conveys how sorry I am for the mess of clothes she walked into this morning.
The smile she gives me in return is tight; she’s definitely not withholding judgement.
I’m in no way ashamed of what Alexander and I did, like he said, we are two consenting adults. However, I am embarrassed that she found the remnants of our fuckfest. Being raised as that good little Italian Catholic girl, I never would’ve considered sex before marriage, but I gave up those beliefs—and some may say, my moral compass—when my mother left.
She ended up being the biggest hypocrite, so I quickly dismissed everything I’d been taught about growing up to be a wholesome lady. I wanted no part of it, or her.
Carmella rests the tray she is carrying on the edge of the table and places two steaming cups of cappuccino down in front of us. I need that drink more than I do my next breath.
Every muscle in my body aches—muscles I didn’t even know I had—but the pain and suffering I’ll be feeling today is most definitely worth it. Mr Mancini and that fabulous big dick of his did not disappoint.
“The food won’t be long. I’m making bacon, eggs, mushrooms, and fried tomato. I figured you both might need something a bit heartier this morning.” She doesn’t make eye contact with either of us as she speaks. When I glance at Alexander and wince, the fool bloody grins. He finds joy in the most ridiculous things. “I also took it upon myself to sanitise every inch of the table before you came down.”
That little admission has Alexander rolling his lips to hide his smile, so I kick him under the table. Carmella places the sugar bowl down in the centre, and before she picks up the tray, I watch on in horror as she makes the sign of the cross and mutters something in Italian, too quiet for me to catch.
As soon as she scurries out of the room, I bury my face in my hands. Alexander, on the other hand, leans back in his chair and bursts out laughing.
After we finished a very awkward breakfast, we headed into one of the lounge rooms. Alexander offered to take me back upstairs to bed, but my lady parts needed a timeout, so this was the safer option.
He is sitting at the far end of the incredibly comfortable sofa, with my head on his lap. He’s typing away on his phone with one hand while the fingertips on the other massage my scalp. It feels divine, and I’m just about to doze off when Marco suddenly bursts into the room. I feel Alexander’s body stiffen the moment he enters.
“I’m sorry to barge in like this, boss, but I just noticed Sophia’s Alpha Romeo pulling up outside on the monitor. I wanted to make sure you’re expecting her.” I squint one eye open just in time to see Marco gesture his head in my direction.
What the fuck does that even mean, and who in the hell is Sophia?
“Fuck,” Alexander grumbles, tossing his phone onto the side table.
Before he has a chance to lift my head off his lap, someone else enters the room. And what they say has my eyes snapping wide open.
“Daddy!”
I watch as the little boy, no older than five, charges toward us. I’m so shell-shocked by what he just said that I can’t even bring myself to move.
“Giovanni,” Alexander says when the boy comes to a screeching halt before him. “What are you doing here? I thought I wasn’t going to see you until next Sunday.”
“Mummy said I could visit you today.”
“Did she now?” he retorts, sounding mildly unimpressed. “Speaking of the devil,” he mutters under his breath as a stunning woman appears beside the small child.
“Alexander,” she says coolly.
“Sophia,” he replies with a sharp, somewhat sardonic tone.
That’s my cue to sit up. My gaze flicks from Alexander to the woman, then back to him. I don’t say a word, but I’m pretty sure my shocked expression conveys exactly how I’m feeling.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Sophia says, as her eyes move down the length of my body before flicking back to my face. “You must be the side piece.”
Side piece?
She extends her hand, her blood-red, cat-like claws gleaming in the light. “I’m Sophia Mancini, Alexander’s wife. ”
“You are not my wife,” Alexander barks, standing and wrapping his fingers around her elbow. “Give us a minute, please,” he says, his eyes briefly meeting mine before he marches her out of the room.
I’m left sitting there with my stomach churning and my head spinning. The little boy in front of me just smiles as if he has no idea what’s going on either.
“You’re pretty,” he suddenly says.
“Thank you,” I reply, forcing out a smile.
“Are you my dad’s girlfriend?”
“No.”
I’m not his girlfriend or his side piece … well, I seriously hope I’m not. Sleeping together before marriage is one thing, but adultery is where I draw the line. I’m no homewrecker.
“What’s your name?” the boy asks, completely unfazed by the shouting match going on between his parents out in the hallway.
Is this normal behaviour for them? I feel sorry for the kid if it is.
“Chloe.”
“Nice to meet you, Chloe,” he says, extending his little hand to me. “My name is Giovanni. Giovanni Alessandro Mancini.”
It’s such a grown-up thing for a little boy to say.
I gently wrap my fingers around his. “It’s nice to meet you too, Giovanni.”
My eyes scan over his cute little face. I don’t see a resemblance between him and his father, apart from the dark hair and olive complexion. His father. Like, what the actual fuck! Didn’t he just tell me last night he has no intentions of procreating?
Lying fucking cad.
That knowledge shifts my shock to anger. What an idiot I am! I fell for his charm hook, line, and sinker despite already knowing the type of person he was.
If someone shows you who they truly are … believe them.
“Giovanni,” someone says from the doorway. Both our heads snap in that direction, where we find Carmella standing. Her fingers are nervously knotting in her apron. She looks as uncomfortable as I now feel.
She’s finally making eye contact with me again, and the pity I see in her eyes tells me everything I need to know.
“Carmella,” Giovanni yells, turning and running into her open arms.
“I’ve missed you, dolce ragazzo .”
“I’ve missed you too,” he replies.
“I’ve just made a fresh batch of baci di dama . Do you want to come with me into the kitchen and be my official taste tester?”
“Do I ever,” he says, excited. “Can I have a glass of milk as well?”
“Of course, bambino .”
Her attention moves back to me, and her eyes gesture to another door on the far wall. My escape route, I presume.
I nod my head in a silent thank you, and once she leaves the room with Giovanni in tow, I head straight for the door.
I was right; it is another entrance … or exit in this case.
I slip out into the hallway, further down from where Alexander and his wife argue. They are so busy screaming at each other that neither of them notices me.
“I refuse to let you see my son while that puttana is in your life. Either she goes, or your visitation with Giovanni stops today.”
I pause at the bottom of the stairs. Puttana?
If anyone else dared to call me that, I’d scratch their damn eyes out, but in this instance, a slut is exactly what I feel like. I wouldn’t have touched that man with a ten-foot pole if I had known he was married.
“First of all, don’t ever refer to her as that again. And second, you can’t do that.”
“You and I both know I can. Our agreement was verbal. There’s no court order, Alex. You don’t have a leg to stand on.”
“Then I’ll get a fucking court order.”
“Good luck with that,” she spits.
“And the tens of thousands I give you every month for that kid? That was verbal too. If you try to stop me from seeing him, you won’t get another dime from me.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.”
“That money is for Giovanni, not me,” she screeches. “You’ll only be hurting him if you take that away.”
“Really?” he barks. “I gave you the house.”
“Which you put in Giovanni’s name.”
“Because I don’t trust you. I want to make sure he has something when he’s older.”
“Ugh. How noble of you.”
“What about the luxury car I purchased for you?”
“You only did that so I could take him places. Like school and the doctors.”
“He doesn’t even go to school, and my doctor makes house calls.”
“Next year, he will start kindergarten, arsehole.”
“What about those tits, that nose … not to mention all the other work you’ve had done. You didn’t have any of that when we first met, so I can only presume I paid for all of it since you don’t have a job.”
“How can I work when I have a child to look after?”
“I’m under the impression you leave Giovanni with Mimi most of the time. ”
“She’s the nanny,” she yells. “It’s her job to look after him. And so what if I’ve used some of the money on me.” I hear her sniffle before adding, “Don’t I deserve something too?”
I’ve heard enough. She sounds like a real piece of work … they deserve each other.
I’m fighting back tears as I rush up the stairs. What I really want to do is run, get the hell out of this goddamn house, but I can’t—I’m trapped.
When I finally make it to my room, I lock the door behind me. The irony isn’t lost on me. I know he has a key to this room, but if he knows what is good for him, he’ll stay the hell away.
A woman scorned is a force of nature, capable of wreaking havoc with a quiet fury that no one sees coming until it’s too late
I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling for what feels like hours. My mind is racing, plotting my next escape. I don’t know how yet, but I’ll get out of this house, away from him, even if it kills me.
I don’t care that I’ll have nowhere to go once I leave. If I have to live on the streets and beg for my next meal, so be it. My dad is in a safe place now, so caring for myself will be easy.
If I’m lucky, I might even be able to get my old job back at the accounting firm. If not, I’ll work at McDonald’s flipping burgers. It doesn’t matter where; I’ll take whatever I can get. As long as I can make enough to eat and keep going, I’ll survive.
I’m jolted from my thoughts when I hear a key turn in the lock. My heart skips, and without thinking, I jump off the bed and race toward the bathroom. It has a lock as well—a keyless one.
“Chloe,” Alexander calls out, but I manage to close the bathroom door and flick the lock before he can get to me.
My heart is pounding furiously against my ribcage as I start pacing back and forth.
Naturally, I can’t stay in here forever, but for now, I have water and access to a toilet. I could hold up in this bathroom for days if I need to—at least, until I figure out my next move.
I freeze when the handle jiggles. “Chloe, please,” Alexander says from the other side of the door. “Let me in, I can explain.”
Explain what exactly? That he’s a lying, cheating arsehole?
“I’m not interested in anything you have to say,” I yell back.
“There’s so much you don’t know.”
I storm towards the door and bang my clenched fist against it. “I know all I need to know, you piece of shit.”
“Please … hear me out.”
“I was stupid enough to believe your lies once … I won’t fall for them again. And tell your wife from me, if she dares to call me a puttuna again, I’ll knock those porcelain veneers of hers right down her stupid throat.”
I rear back when I hear him chuckle. “Now that I would pay to see.”
“You’re a pig. What a terrible thing to say about your wife.”
“She’s not my fucking wife,” he bellows.
“You know what?” I say, stepping away from the door and cranking the basin taps on full pelt. “I’ve heard enough.” I head to the shower next, doing the same, thinking maybe the noise will drown him out .
The bath taps come on after that, but even when the sound of water is roaring in the background, I can still hear him. So, I walk over and flush the toilet, just for good measure.
“Leave me alone!” I scream, my voice cracking with rage. “Let me stay in here to rot … to die, because, honestly, that would be a far better fate than the alternative.”
Am I being overdramatic? Yeah. But I’d rather hold onto my anger than let the pain tearing me up inside spill out.
I collapse onto the edge of the bathtub, burying my face in my hands, hoping he’ll take the hint and leave me the hell alone. But just a few seconds later, I’m jolted back in shock as I hear the sickening crack of wood splintering as his foot smashes through the door, tearing it straight off its hinges.