CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER NINE
DAMIEN
I’m not incapable of love. I just didn’t grow up in an environment where it was seen as anything other than a weakness. My father was a good man. or as good as a person can be in our world. He was an honorable Don. He killed only when absolutely necessary and he never shed innocent blood.
I’d like to believe I’m like that, but I have a talent for violence he didn’t have. A talent that worries me at times. What if this is all there is to me? What if the violence and fear is all I am?
Which is why I need Cassandra. Perhaps she can help me understand, or unlock some hidden part of myself that’s a little less monster and a lot more human.
From the moment I laid eyes on her, she’s had a hold on me.
She’s the only one who could possibly help me shine some light on some of the darkest parts of me.
But I can’t very well tell her that’s why I want to marry her.
There’s a lot I can’t tell her.
It’s pretty late when I return to the house. I’m half-expecting Cassandra not to be awake but I’m surprised when Lila informs me that she’s been waiting in the living room. I walk over there and find her curled on the couch, her attention fixed on the tv in front of her.
She doesn’t notice me at first, too lost in whatever thoughts are playing across her face. So I take my time. Watching her.
She’s draped across the velvet chaise beautifully, one bare leg tucked under the other, her red silk robe sliding just enough to tease the curve of her thigh.
Her skin glows, smooth and golden in the low light, begging to be touched.
Her long brown hair spills around her shoulders in soft, messy waves, like she just rolled out of bed.
Every inch of her is dangerous—because I don’t just want her. I crave her.
And standing there, watching her like this? It takes everything in me not to close the distance and remind her who she belongs to.
She reaches up to scratch her nose, which is cute enough to make me smile. It isn’t until the episode of whatever show she’s watching ends that she lifts her head. Her gaze shoots over to where I’m standing and her eyes widen.
“How long were you there for?” she asks in surprise.
I shrug, walking into the room. “Not long,” I shrug.
“Have I ever told you you’re a creep?” she questions with a cheeky smile.
“Yes, a couple of times in fact,” I reply.
“Just making sure you’re aware. You’re also late, it seems. But at least you kept your promises. Thanks for the margarita. Ana brought it to me earlier.”
I figured it was the least I could do after keeping her waiting for so long.
“My apologies, bella ,” I state, walking over the couch and taking a seat on the armchair close to her. “Business ran late.”
Her brows furrow, “Why do you always say, ‘my apologies’ instead of I’m sorry?”
“They’re the same thing,” I frown.
“No, one of them is incredibly pretentious. The other one feels more sincere.”
“Maybe to you,” I argue.
“Well considering I’m on the receiving end of the apology, shouldn’t my opinion count more than your ego?”
I huff out a breath. The woman is insufferable. Why do I want to marry her again?
“Fine,” I relent. “I’m sorry for coming home late, Cassandra. Happy?”
“No. But happiness isn’t something you’re capable of providing me,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone.
My eyebrows climb, “Is that a challenge?”
“No. Just forget I said that,” she sighs, sitting up on the couch. “So do I want to know what ‘business’ to so long?”
I don’t reply, keeping my gaze steady.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she states in lieu of an answer from me. “It’s fine though. You’re probably tired. You can turn in for the night.”
“Actually, I’d very much like to talk to you. You said you had questions for me.”
Hazel eyes peruse my expression, waiting, wondering. Finally, she nods once. I settle down into the chair, leaning backward.
“Go on, then. I’m all ears.”
“It’s nothing serious. It’s just… I’m being forced into this marriage. And while I’m pretty sure you know everything there is to know about me. I know nothing about you. Apart from the fact that you’re an asshole without morals.”
The request is strangely endearing. But I can’t figure out if she’s asking that because she truly does want to get to know me. Or if it’s a ‘know thy enemy kind of situation. I’m going to guess it’s more of the latter. Or maybe she’s just bored.
“There’s definitely things about you I don’t know, Cassandra. Plus, I can always learn it all over again. If you’d let me.”
She blinks before muttering, “You first. Tell me something. Anything you think I should know.”
I ponder that for only a second before deciding to be open. Plus it’s only a matter of time before someone thinks to whisper in her ears about it.
“There are rumors in the Cosa Nostra that I’m not actually a Luciano.
That I’m not my father’s son. My parents got married really young.
They had an arranged marriage, like we do.
Although the difference is they were betrothed from birth.
My father became Don at the age of 21. And after he became Don, he was mandated to marry. ”
“Okay, first of all, this is not an arranged marriage. This is a forced marriage. You’re forcing me to marry you. Is that clear?” she snaps, eyes blazing as she waits for an answer.
I say nothing. Just watch her.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she mutters, rolling her eyes like she’s two seconds from throwing something at my head.
Then her tone shifts. “When did you become Don, anyway?”
“Nearly ten years ago. Times have changed. Plus, no one can make me do anything.”
“Must be nice.”
I smirk, “Anyway, my parents got married and things seemed fine for a while. But apparently my mother was unfaithful. She cheated on my dad, and the entire Cosa Nostra got wind of it. He protected her though. Made sure she wouldn’t face the repercussions of her actions.
But the point is, she got pregnant soon after the whole debacle.
And so the rumors started that she was pregnant by her lover. ”
“Was she?” Cassandra asks softly, her expression attentive.
My lack of rage or any feelings at all as I tell the story, is a testament to just how well I’ve been able to purge myself of any emotional ties that would drag me down. Make me seem weak.
But I was angry. I grew up with so much rage. And when I took it all out on the cause, I felt nothing in the end. Simply empty for so long.
“No,” I reply. “I am my father’s son. He never treated me like I wasn’t.
And maybe he knew the truth because he constantly assured me through my childhood that I was his.
A Luciano. But it was never enough. I’ve always valued hard facts, proof, so I finally convinced him to do a DNA test when I was 22.
I was sick and tired of people looking at me like I didn’t belong.
That rumor nearly cost me everything. There are some people in the Cosa Nostra who till this day don’t believe that I’m fit to be Don. ”
“Nonsense, I’m pretty sure there’s no one better suited to be Don,” she says dryly.
I don’t think she meant it as a compliment but I take it as one nonetheless.
“For what it’s worth though,” she continues. “I don’t think anyone should ever be in a situation where they have to question the legitimacy of their existence. I’m almost sorry you had to go through that.”
“Almost?” I ask with a raised eyebrow.
“Don’t make me take it,” she says.
Those words leave me momentarily speechless.
Because it’s almost like she understands acutely how I felt all those years ago.
Most people tried to play it off, told me not to care so much about what people had to say.
But they never understood. I never cared about them or their ridiculous opinions. I cared about me.
Cassandra clears her throat. I think she can tell how much the comment affected me.
“So… when’s your birthday?”
A surprised laugh escapes me at the complete 180 change in conversation. She looks a little surprised by the laugh.
I’m not a robot, sweetheart. I can laugh.
“May 26 th . Yours?” I ask, despite knowing.
“August 8 th . You’re a Gemini,” she announces with a smile, “I’m not sure Gemini’s and Leo’s are a good match.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I don’t believe in that Astrology bullshit.”
“Well I don’t either. But it’s nice. Provides some added understanding, while a little irrational, about why we are the way we are. It’s kind of like having faith in God I suppose.
My lips tilt up in a smile. “Do you have faith in God, bella ?”
I shrug. “I’m not sure. Maybe. I mean, something has to have been guiding my life all these years. Maybe it’s fate or coincidence. Maybe things just happen, I don’t know.”
“Do you think that something guided you to me then?” I ask curiously. “Maybe you were always meant to be mine.”
She pauses at that, blinks like she’s trying to understand something she practically proposed herself. I watch her cheeks heat, flushing in a way that makes her all the more beautiful. Then she exhales a soft breath before rolling her eyes.
“Don’t be delusional, Luciano”
I smirk, “It was a simple question, sweetheart.”
“Change the subject,” she mutters. “Ask me something else.”
“Alright,” I concede. “What are your interests? Your hobbies? Despite all my surveillance of you in the past couple of years, I could never figure it out. Do you like to read? Draw? Are you secretly an artist, a dancer?”
She smiles, although it’s a sort of sad smile. It hurts a little to look at it and I realize I took her challenge earlier seriously. It doesn’t matter how long it takes. I’ll figure out a way to make her smile genuinely in front of me.
I’ll make her happy.