6. Emily
6
EMILY
The sound of the door opening jolts me and Alisa awake. She immediately clings to me as several men come down the stairs. A tiny whimper escapes her lips as we stare at them.
She starts to shake at the sight of Domenico’s telltale limp and the sound of his cane thudding on each step.
“It’s time,” he says as rough hands yank us up.
Alisa remains silent when they separate us, and march us both up the stairs. Soft morning light stings my eyes as we ascend. Several women bow at Domenico and that’s when I notice the rows upon rows of dresses being wheeled around.
“Where are you taking us?” I turn around to see Domenico struggling up the stairs.
Domenico cocks his head, and his shark-like eyes darts between us as he slowly emerges into the light like the devil ascending from hell.
“My bride needs to be dressed,” he replies. “And you need to look presentable.”
Without any further explanation, the two of us are separated, and the only thing I can do is spare one final look at Alisa. Worry swims in her eyes, and that’s the last thing I see before she is ushered down a different hallway.
“Don’t you know?” I say boldly. “It’s bad luck to see your bride on your own wedding day.”
“I’m aware,” he answers. “But if you think dear Konstantin has any hope of stopping this wedding, then just take a look at where we are.”
He accompanies me as his guards shove me forward, and I gasp when I see the seemingly endless blue of the Mediterranean Sea stretch into the horizon. Even from here, I can see that we’re situated atop a massive cliff overlooking the sea. Small boats of all kinds dot the blue water below, and I can’t help recall the sight of my own wedding.
Wordlessly, I walk ahead of the prodding hands of his guards until I’m brought to a different room. Immediately, I’m swarmed by several women as they sit me down in a chair and start putting make-up on my face.
A measuring tape is brought out and cinched around my bust and my hips. Domenico continues to watch, and for a moment, I wonder if I’ll be asked to change in front of them.
Thankfully, this doesn’t happen.
But all I can think of is the time Konstantin took me to Buric’s shop, and the dresses I ruined.
That feels like almost a lifetime ago.
“I can see why Konstantin chose you, Emily.” Domenico stands behind me. “You are brave and fearless. The exact kind of wife that someone like him would want.”
Try as I might, I can’t help feel a sense of pride welling up inside of me. But the moment is cut short as Domenico keeps talking.
“But you’re not good enough for him, are you?” he asks. “ Rather, you’re not good enough for his bitch of a grandmother.”
I continue staring straight ahead as a dab of blush is added to my cheeks. Somehow, Domenico knows exactly what to say to hit me where it hurts the most.
“You see, in some ways, I know your so-called husband and his family better than you do,” he says as he glances down at my hands that have started clenching into fists.
“You’re out of your mind if you think he’s not coming for me.”
“Is that so?” He laughs as he bends forward until his face materializes into view in the mirror. “Do you really believe that he will come for you? For his sister, yes. Without a doubt in the world. But you? ”
“I’m sure of it,” I answer, even if my heart wavers and the same doubts that have been swirling in my head since my arrival here on Capri return with a vengeance.
Surely my absence in the castle will have been noticed by now. If Konstantin really is going to come save me and Alisa, wouldn’t he already be here?
Maybe he’s just taking the time until the ideal time to come. After all, he only has one shot at this, and he can’t afford for anything to go wrong.
“I can feel your doubt, even if you refuse to say it out loud.” Domenico’s smile widens as if he can read my mind. “I’ve studied him for years after he broke my legs.”
I don’t say anything back this time. As long as I don’t respond, I won’t give him anything more to work with, and he can’t poison my mind further.
Closing my eyes, I allow the makeup artist apply the first layer of foundation.
Domenico leans in even closer, and I can smell the foul scent of stale cigarettes hidden underneath his minty breath. It sends another wave of nausea roiling through my stomach.
“I know that he entered into this farce of a marriage with you because he wanted his grandmother to hand over his inheritance to him,” he says. “Not wealth, but power conferred in that damn family signet ring. Tell me, does he have it?”
I cross my arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“He hasn’t shown it to you?” Surprise flits across Domenico’s face, and his eyes narrow as he tries to discern if I’m lying. “Doesn’t that prove just how little he trusts you?”
“He doesn’t need to share details of how he runs his bratva with me.”
“No?” he cocks his head. “How odd. Because when his father Yuri was alive, he ran the bratva with his wife Oksana as an equal. If Konstantin really cares about you, then he would’ve shown the signet ring to you, so that you at least have confirmation of what you’re worth.”
“You’re wrong about him. You’re wrong about how he feels about me.”
“Did he offer you money to be his bride?” Domenico pulls back and stands up a little straighter. “Did he promise you whatever your heart desired? And were you stupid enough to believe him? Stupid enough to believe that he might’ve actually caught feelings for you?”
I turn my gaze away from him.
I can’t let him know just how close he is to the truth.
“You did, didn’t you?” he tuts. “Did you fool yourself into thinking that he, a pakhan of one of the most powerful bratvas of Europe, actually fell for you? Some worthless American whore with no claims to power, no access to wealth, and nothing to offer other than the ability to spread her legs.”
He says that word— whore— with the same disdain as Alla.
Don’t … I tell myself. Don’t let him get in your head.
“Love doesn’t need something to offer,” I hiss through clenched teeth.
“Love?” He laughs. “Do you really believe that Konstantin Siderov loves you?”
He snaps his fingers and barks out an order in Italian to the makeup artist. She quickly bows and scampers away, closing the door behind her and trapping me here with him.
Slowly, he squats down until he’s eye-level with me. The smell of stale cigarettes is unmistakable now, and I feel my stomach turning as he grabs my chin roughly to keep me from looking away from his reflection in the mirror.
“Allow me to put this in terms that you might be able to understand, puttanella ,” he whispers. “You are a tool for him. And like any tool, once you’ve exhausted your use, he will cast you aside. You have nothing left to offer him.”
He presses his face closer to me until I can feel his stubble brushing against my cheek.
All I want is to wrench my face away, but his fingers tighten around my jaw until it starts to hurt.
“But even if he has no more use for you.” He takes a deep sniff as he licks his lips. “I do. There are plenty of people coming to this wedding who would love nothing more than the chance to humiliate Konstantin Siderov by fucking his whore, especially one stupid enough to believe that she’s his beloved wife.”
I close my eyes as he licks my cheek. Disgust courses through me as I recoil, wanting nothing more than to turn away from him and his touch. Suddenly, I feel his other hand creeping beneath my clothes along the inside of my thighs, and I freeze.
His touch burns my skin like acid, and I’m powerless to stop him as he moves his foul hand higher and higher to the gap between my legs.
But I can’t get away. I can’t stop him no matter how hard I fight back.
“How many times have you spread these lovely legs for him?” He mutters as he digs between my legs with his hand, prying them apart despite my best efforts. “How many times did this tight little cunt ache for his pitiful cock?”
Nausea washes through me as he licks my face again, and I’m shaking in my seat.
I can’t tell if it’s from anger, disgust, or fear.
Maybe all three.
“Olivia started out just like you,” he whispers as he suddenly grabs my pussy through my clothes and gives it a rough squeeze, drawing a cry of pain from me and sending another wave of nausea churning in my stomach. “She fought hard. But eventually, she broke and started moaning like the worthless whore that she is.”
His fingers around my jaw slack for a moment, just enough for me to turn my face at him. Raw anger burns through me like lava.
Without thinking, I spit in his face.
“Fuck you!” I snarl. “Don’t you ever talk about my sister like that.”
Domenico’s dark eyes drill into mine as he wipes away my spit from his face with a single finger. He looks at it for a moment before he puts it in his mouth and licks it clean. The hand between my leg tightens, and then he squeezes painfully, smiling as I wince in pain .
I try to get away from him, but his grip turns harder, holding me in place.
“He’s going to save me,” I swear through clenched teeth as nausea continues to bubble inside of me. “He’s going to save Alisa. And then he’s going to kill you and every one of your men. Count on that.”
Domenico chuckles darkly. His fingers pinch my clit and gives it a painful tug as if he’s trying to rip it off.
I shriek in pain, and his shark-like smile widens.
“Oh, let him try,” he purrs. “I can’t wait to lay his corpse in front of you. Or better yet, I’ll keep him alive, chained and helpless, so that he can watch as every man at the wedding take their turn with you until you’re bloody. And then you can watch with him as I do the same to his precious little sister until all three of you are begging me for death. Wouldn’t that be something?”
I can’t fight back the nausea anymore. Without warning, I retch and empty the content of my stomach all over my lap.
Domenico pulls away and stands back up, his nose scrunched in disgust as he looks down at the vomit on his hand. Snarling, he wipes it in my hair and barks another order at the door.
It immediately opens and the makeup artist walks through. Her eyes widen at the sight of me but she remains fearfully silent.
“Clean her up,” he says coldly as he limps away.
Once he’s gone, bravery crumbles away and tears start running down my face. The stench of my own vomit hangs heavy in the air, and I tremble at how helpless he made me feel.
But that’s not the worst part .
The worst part is … I can’t stop thinking about the awful words that he said as he groped me.
Did you fool yourself into thinking that he actually fell for you?
Do you really believe that Konstantin Siderov loves you?
You are a tool for him. And like any tool, once you’ve exhausted your use, he will cast you aside.
I try to remind myself that Konstantin saved me first at our wedding when the bullets were cracking overhead. That he chose me above the bratva.
But the seed of doubt in my mind is planted, and with every passing second, I can’t help wonder.
What if Domenico is right?