10. Arabella
Chapter 10
Arabella
“ A rabella,” Dante whispers as he steps into me and wraps me tightly in his arms.
His comfort is welcome, but it is not enough to prevent the horrible memories of that day from playing out in my mind.
“Why is Mamma screaming at Papa?” Lucia asks, her voice a hushed whisper. We crouch low on the staircase landing, straining to listen.
“Shh, I can’t hear what they’re saying.”
It’s rare to see Mamma lose her composure, especially with Papa, because, like us, she’s terrified of him.
“Who is Gloria?” Mamma shouts, her voice strained.
“I have no idea who you’re talking about, woman. I won’t tell you again. Get the fuck out of my office before I remove you myself.”
The fury in his voice sends a chill up my spine and makes my heart race.
“Get out of there before he hurts you, Mamma,” I mutter, my throat tight with fear.
“Get the fuck out now!” he roars, and Lucia and I both flinch at the harshness of his tone .
“I’m not leaving until you answer my question,” Mamma presses, her voice shaking with anger and desperation. “This woman approached me while I was in town. She claimed she’s carrying your child and will give you the son I can’t. Is that true? Have you been having sex with her behind my back?”
My eyes widen at her admission.
My father doesn’t reply, not with words anyway. When I hear that familiar sound of his hand connecting with my mother’s skin, tears rise to my eyes.
The slap she just received is followed up with, “Now do as I tell you and get the fuck out of my sight.”
Poor Mamma. I hate my father so much.
When I hear Papa’s office door slam closed and Mamma’s hurried footsteps coming down the hallway, I spring to my feet, pulling my sister with me as I rush back to our bedroom.
We’re both huddled on my bed when the door bursts open. The first thing I notice is Mamma’s split lip and a smeared line of blood across her chin.
“Arabella,” she says, trying to keep her composure. “Pack some things in a suitcase for you and Lucia; we are leaving.”
“Okay,” I reply, leaping off the bed and rushing towards my closet.
Minutes later, my heart is pounding as we descend the stairs, heading towards freedom. We don’t notice Papa in the front room until he says, “Where the fuck do you think you’re going with my daughters?”
Mamma freezes, her body going ramrod stiff. “We are leaving.”
“You can go, but Arabella and Lucia are staying here.”
Fear grips me; I don’t want to stay here with him. I want to go with my mother.
“The girls are coming with me.”
I feel relieved when she says that, but it’s short-lived. My father suddenly approaches us and grabs hold of Lucia, placing the gun he’s now holding to the side of my little sister’s head .
His angry eyes move to me. “Get in there,” he orders, flicking his head towards the front room.
I desperately don’t want to do that, but I’m not going to do anything that may cause him to shoot Lucia either, so begrudgingly, I do as he asks.
When I enter the front room, he shoves Lucia in after me. Without a word, he opens the top drawer of the side table by the entryway, takes something small out, and slips it into his pocket. I don’t see what it is.
With a slow, deliberate movement, he grabs a bottle of scotch next and heads for the door. He slams it shut behind him, and the latch clicking echoes through the silence as he locks me and my sister inside.
I run towards the windows in the front of the house and watch my mother walk towards her car.
“Leave us,” my father yells to one of his guards standing nearby.
I silently plead with the guard not to go, but I know he will do as he is told. Nobody disobeys Stefano Rossi.
When Mamma opens the rear door of her vehicle and places her suitcase on the back seat, my trembling hands grip the windowsill.
“Please don’t leave us,” I whisper.
Papa comes up behind her, still holding the neck of the liquor bottle in his hand. Is he going to beat her with it?
He says something to her, but I can’t distinguish the words from here. I hold my breath as he lifts the bottle, twists off the cap, and pours all the contents over her head. His actions aren’t as violent as I feared, but the humiliation stings just the same. I hate how he treats her. She’s a kind woman and a good mother. She doesn’t deserve this.
He takes a step backward, followed by another, and I feel instant relief. I’m heartbroken to see her go, but at least he didn’t hurt her again.
I glance over my shoulder to where Lucia alternates between bashing her little fists against the door and tugging on the handle. “Let me out of here,” she cries.
When I turn my attention to the window, I watch in horror as my father pulls a box of matches out of his pocket, lights one, and tosses it towards my mother.
That tiny little flame suddenly becomes an inferno.
“Mamma,” I scream as I bang my flattened palms against the glass.
My tears turn into racking sobs as I’m suddenly lifted off my feet and cradled in two strong, protective arms.
Dante places his lips on my forehead as he starts walking. “Shh, I’ve got you,” he murmurs against my skin, making me cry more.
Lucia was only seven years old when our mother was murdered, and she was so busy trying to get out of the room we’d been locked in that she didn’t get to witness what I did, which I’m thankful for.
She, of course, missed and mourned Mamma just as I did, but she always had me there to comfort and care for her. I, on the other hand, had no one. I was thrust into adulthood in the blink of an eye. I was expected to step into the role of caregiver while trying to face my trauma alone.
Making sense of such a tragedy was an impossible burden for a ten-year-old. It hardened me in ways I was not prepared for, and the hate I felt for the man responsible and everything he represented festered inside me like a wound left untreated, growing deeper and darker with every passing day.
Papa went on with life like the cold-hearted monster he is. We weren’t even allowed to mention Mamma after that day. It was like she’d just been erased, but in my heart and my head, she was still very much alive .
The day after my mother was set alight in our driveway, a young pregnant woman by the name of Gloria Barbieri was found dumped on the side of the road on the outskirts of town with two bullet holes in her skull. If she was the same person my mother was referring to, which I wholeheartedly believe she was, I lost a half-sibling at the hands of my father as well.
When we reach our bedroom, Dante gently lowers me onto the mattress, removes his jacket, and slips out of his shoes. He lies beside me, pulling me back into his arms, and his warmth wraps around me like a shield.
“I’m sorry about your mother,” he says, his voice almost too calm. “If anyone can understand what you went through, it’s me. I was sitting beside my father the day he was executed.”
I pull back slightly, my palm resting gently on his cheek. “I didn’t know that. Is that how you ended up with the scars on your back?”
He clenches his eyes shut, and that small gesture tells me everything I need to know. I’m right.
My face instinctively gravitates forward. “I’m so sorry you went through that,” I whisper as my lips meet his, desperately trying to return the comfort he gave me a few moments ago.
He immediately pulls me closer and deepens the kiss. I don’t even try to pull away. I need the distraction as much as he does.
To me, the biggest tragedy in life is the things that die inside a person while they are still living. What Dante and I have endured binds us together, creating a connection that’s hard to put into words.
Was I meant to be with this man for a reason?
Maybe this isn’t going to be the hell I once feared … it could very well be the thing that saves me.
He rolls onto his back, bringing me with him. When his hands move along my outer thighs, bunching my dress up as he goes, I draw out of the kiss .
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Don’t worry, Bellezza ,” he replies. “We will leave our clothes on; I just want to make you feel good.”
“How?”
“Have you ever touched yourself?”
My eyes widen with a gasp. “No.”
“You’ve never experienced an orgasm?”
I shake my head as I nibble on the corner of my bottom lip. Sex has always seemed taboo to me for some reason. It’s something that was never talked about. I learnt the basics of anatomy during my schooling, but that’s as far as it goes. When I was informed about the bloodied sheet ritual, I somehow associated that with pain. Why else would you bleed?
“Straddle my lap,” he says, grinning.
“Is it going to hurt?”
My question has his smile growing. “Like I said, our clothes will stay on … it will feel good, Arabella. Do you trust me?”
I find myself nodding because even though trusting this man is something I never expected, I do. I can only hope that trust is not misguided.
His hands wrap around the back of my thighs, guiding my legs until they’re straddling his hips. I can feel him hard and pulsing through the thin fabric of my underwear, or maybe that sensation is coming from me. I haven’t even moved yet, and the pressure this position provides already feels amazing.
Since I arrived in this country, every intense look or touch from this man has given me that foreign tingling between my legs—a throbbing need—but what I’m experiencing now is on a whole other level, like a pesky itch that I can finally scratch.
It ignites something inside and sends a ripple of warmth throughout my body.
I place my flattened palms on Dante’s chest as he grips my hips and begins to rock my body back and forth over his erection. The friction against my sensitive flesh has me tilting my head back and moaning. I’m experiencing a sense of euphoria I’ve never known.
He continues to guide me until my body’s natural reaction takes over. When I begin to move against him of my own accord, his hands slide underneath my dress and continue a path up my sides.
“Dante,” I whimper when the pads of his thumbs skate over my hardened nipples through my bra. It sends a shockwave of pleasure right down to my core.
My hands reach for the buttons on his shirt, and I begin to clumsily undo them. I need to feel his skin.
“Can I take off your dress?” he asks. “I promise your underwear will stay on.”
“Yes,” I reply, lifting my arms in the air.
A part of me wants to go all the way with him, to experience everything he has to give, but I’m also grateful for his patience.
Once he tosses my clothes aside, his eyes rake down my body. He’s the first man ever to see me so scantily dressed, but the sheer appreciation reflecting back in his eyes is enough to stop me from feeling self-conscious.
“You’re fucking perfection,” he growls, his words raw and unrestrained. I remain still, watching him watch me. “Every part of you, Arabella, inside and out.”
My father’s words filter into my mind, “If that arse of yours gets any bigger, no man will ever want to marry you.”
“It wouldn’t kill me to lose a few pounds,” I admit as heat climbs my neck.
“Bullshit. I like you just the way you are.”
“You do?”
“It feels like you were made especially for me, Arabella. Your curves are as sexy as fuck.”
“They are?”
His back rises off the bed as his lips seek out mine. “Yes,” he whispers against my mouth. “There’s only one thing I’d change about you if I could.”
I draw back and narrow my eyes. “What would you change?”
“I’d make you like me more.”
“I like you more than I did when I married you. Does that count?”
He gives me a boyish grin that hits me right in the chest. “I can work with that. At least you no longer seem repulsed by my touch.”
I let out a little squeak when he effortlessly flips us over. I’m now flat on my back, and he’s nestled between my spread legs.
He buries his face in the crook of my neck, placing a searing kiss against my skin. There’s something comforting about his weight pinning me to the mattress.
“I get the honour of giving you your first orgasm,” he states, rolling his hips forward and hitting me right in the sweet spot. “And as my wife, I also own your future ones.”
I love the way he claims me with that possessive ‘my’. My father always made me feel like I was something to be owned, which I hated, but I’m not entirely opposed to belonging to this man.
My hands slide under his shirt until my fingers splay out against his lower back. I’m mindful not to touch his scars. I don’t want to do anything that will ruin this moment for either of us.
His lips move back to my mouth as he continues to rock against me. I feel my body climbing with every stroke. To where? I have no idea, but it feels so good, I spread my legs wider and arch my back off the mattress as my hips gravitate towards him. I’m chasing this feeling, unsure if I’ve reached my peak or if there’s more to come.
Dante draws out of the kiss and places his flattened palms on the mattress, pushing himself up until his body is looming over mine.
Our eyes lock as he stares down at me with a quiet intensity. His gaze is unwavering and filled with an unspoken command.
His chiselled jaw, rich chocolate-coloured eyes, and confident curve of his lips make him seem almost sculpted. He’s reminiscent of someone who walked straight off a magazine cover, not out of an initiation ceremony of the Cosa Nostra.
I reach up and skim the chunk of dark hair falling across his forehead, out of the way. I’m captivated by this man, but this attraction runs far deeper than his outer beauty. It’s the way he cares for me. He makes me feel cherished … seen .
“Come for me, Bellezza .”
My cheeks heat slightly. I’m not embarrassed by what he asked; I’m just unsure if I’ll know if and when that happens.
“How will I know?”
The corners of his mouth lift slightly, but not in a mocking way. “You’ll know, Arabella.”
He changes the position of his hips and begins to move faster, and it doesn’t take long for the inevitable to happen.
“Dante,” I cry out as the most intense pleasure I’ve ever experienced rockets through me. I push my head further back into the pillow as my lips part, and my fingernails dig into the skin on his lower back. The noises coming out of me are unrecognisable.
White light permeates behind my eyes as wave after wave hits me like a freight train. I can feel my muscles contracting below as I plummet into a blissful, breathless void where everything else fades away. It’s so overwhelming, so powerful, I’m a little scared that I might even pass out.
“Fuck, Arabella,” Dante groans. “And here I thought you couldn’t look more beautiful.”
This man .
He pushes himself up onto his knees and glances between my spread legs. Although I’m still wearing my underwear, I can feel that I’m a wet, sticky mess down there, but the heat behind his gaze halts the insecurities that usually cloud my mind.
He tilts his head back and growls as he palms his hardened dick through his tenting trousers. Seeing him touch himself in that way is off-the-charts hot.
I point to his crotch area. “Can I take care of that for you?”
I’m not usually so brazen, especially in an area where I have no expertise. But I’m currently lying on his bed in my underwear with spread legs after being brought to orgasm with friction alone, so the least I can do is return the favour.
He arches a brow as his gaze briefly flickers down to my mouth. “You want to take care of me?”
My eyes narrow because I know exactly where his mind just went. “Not with my mouth.”
He chuckles as he places his palms on either side of me and leans down for a kiss. “Baby steps, Bellezza . We’ll save your mouth for next time.”
“Next time?” I shriek. “What happened to baby steps?”
He laughs again as he straightens, his easy smile lingering as his hand moves casually to his belt buckle. His shift in demeanour is so effortless and confident that it makes everything around him seem almost secondary.
He’s every part the powerful Don in this moment. The air around him almost feels charged, as if he could bend the world to his will with a glance.
He pops the button and slowly drags down the zip—like an erotic strip tease—his gaze never once leaving mine. Once he’s freed himself from the confines of his boxer briefs, my eyes involuntarily move in that direction, skimming over his defined abs, past that delicious ‘V’, and pausing when I reach his long, girthy, erect penis. It’s right there in front of me, and I’m not sure I could tear my gaze away even if I wanted to .
I’m completely fascinated.
The crown is a deep, purply pink, and thick veins pulse beneath his shaft’s smooth, velvety skin in a steady, almost hypnotic rhythm.
“Are you going to just stare at it, Arabella?” he asks, snapping me out of my haze.
My eyes flicker back to his face. “What?”
“As pretty as you are to look at, I’m going to need more than that to get off.”
“I’m not sure what to do.”
“I’ll guide you. Your inexperience is a bonus. I’ll be able to teach you exactly how I like to be pleased and mould you into that perfect sex goddess.”
“I highly doubt I’ll ever make it to sex goddess status,” I scoff.
“In my eyes, you’re already up there and you haven’t even touched me yet.”
His words give me the confidence to do just that. As soon as I lift my arm, he reaches for my hand and places it where he wants it, at the base of his penis.
“Wrap your fingers around me … don’t be shy; it won’t bite.”
“I’m confident you would, though.”
He doesn’t confirm or deny it, but his smug grin tells me everything I need to know.
Dante’s fingers close around mine as he begins to stroke our hands back and forth in a rhythmic motion. My eyes keep gravitating between what we’re doing and his face.
I’m engrossed.
The hypnotic movement of his hips as he softly pumps into my hand. Or the way his facial features relax when he tilts back his head, parts his full lips, and softly groans as the pleasure takes over.
It’s so sensual … so gratifying, and I like that I’m making him feel like this .
There’s a little bead of moisture sitting at the eye of his penis that I swipe away with the pad of my thumb as I become more brazen.
He lets go of my hand, giving me complete control, so I tighten my grip a fraction and quicken my movements.
“Fuck,” he growls. “Yes, just like that … don’t stop.”
I have no intentions of stopping … I don’t want to. I’m pulsing between the legs again, completely turned on by getting him off.
I’m not sure if he senses it or does it of his own accord, but his hand reaches down to skim his fingers over the crotch of my underwear.
“You have a wet patch right here,” he says. “I love that. You have no idea how badly I want to fuck that virgin pussy of yours, Arabella. Or how much I want to bury my face between your legs and make you come again with my mouth. But I’m a patient man … hopefully, you’ll let me do those things to you one day.”
I’ve had a glimpse of what this man is capable of, so naturally, I’m eager to explore more with him. The fact that he’s willing to wait until I’m ready only makes me desire him even more.
His fingers move up a fraction and begin circling my clit. “Dante,” I whisper as I widen my legs, welcoming his touch.
This time, the feelings he’s igniting in me are more intense. His movements are calculated and precise, hitting right where needed.
My pelvis gravitates towards his hand, and my fingers grip him a little tighter. “I need you to come again, Bellezza, so that I can blow my load all over your pretty skin.”
I’m close because I know what to expect this time. He leans down to give me a scorching hot kiss as he applies more pressure and rubs faster. Within seconds, I’m falling over the edge again as this orgasm hits harder and faster than the last.
“Dante,” I moan into his mouth .
“Fuck.”
He doesn’t stop his assault on my body until he’s drained every ounce of pleasure from me. When he’s done, he straightens, removes my hand from his dick and takes over.
He’s unlocking a side of me I never knew was there, and it feels incredibly liberating.
It only takes a few masterful strokes before his movements become jerky. He throws back his head and releases a long, drawn-out groan as ribbons of warm cum spurt out, landing all over my stomach.
I’m not even repulsed by being covered with his bodily fluids … it’s hot.