Chapter 18
ALEX
Marcello drove me to Wellington Manor for dinner, promising to return in a few hours.
As I strolled down the hallway, I got the same eerie feeling from childhood.
The home’s interior did not fit my grandfather’s personality.
Wellington Manor was cold and sterile. With its white walls, floors, and minimal color, even the expensive paintings couldn’t bring this place to life.
I entered a sitting room larger than the entire first floor of my childhood home.
My mother sat on a bench by the window with an old-fashioned cigarette holder in her hand.
A plume of smoke gathered around her head like a halo.
She wore her blonde hair in a neat updo and a champagne-colored gown that flowed around her ankles.
Where is my mother?
The alien in front of me swapped bodies with my mom.
She had been in Devil’s Creek for a few hours and had already slipped back into her role as the daughter of a Big Pharma mogul.
This was the first time my grandfather had allowed my mother to come home in thirty years.
She was disowned when she left—her punishment for marrying my father.
“Darling,” my mother said, appraising my appearance with disgust.
Darling?
I almost laughed.
For most of my life, she called me Little Bitch as if it were my name. But after Pops saved Aiden and me after years of suffering, she stopped calling me names.
All of her mental and emotional torture ended. It was the only way he would give this pathetic bitch a cent. My dad was a mediocre architect, and my mom was a wannabe contemporary artist. Between the two of them, my parents hadn’t found success.
“You look a mess,” my mother said in a clipped tone. “Wash your hands. I can see acrylic paint under your dirty nails.” She scoffed as if the thought of using acrylic paint was beneath her.
I used acrylics for all of my Devil’s paintings. The snotty art critics and cynics could suck it. I didn’t give a single fuck what anyone thought.
I inspected my hands with a casual shrug, then wiped them down the front of my new dress to annoy her. “A simple hello would have sufficed, Mother .”
The smug bitch rolled her eyes and took a drag of her cigarette. Perched on a white leather couch that looked as stiff as its occupant, Blair Wellington—my grandmonster from hell—pursed her lips. Her eyes lifted from my hands to my face with a disapproving look.
She had raised my mother with impossible standards that no human could achieve, so it was no surprise that she ran away. I hated Blair with a passion and avoided her at all costs.
“Founders take pride in their appearances,” Blair said. “You would be wise to remember that. We can’t have you embarrassing us in front of our peers.”
“Leave the poor girl alone.” My grandfather yelled from the sofa. “She has enough to worry about without the two of you jumping down her throat. Go find something to entertain yourselves with until dinner.”
He tipped the snifter in his hand to his mouth and winked at me.
Thanks, Pops .
“I’m going to freshen up,” Blair announced.
Mom took a puff of her cigarette and focused on me as she blew out the smoke. “I’ll join you.”
Later, bitches.
They left the sitting room, heels clacking on the tiled floor as they stormed down the hallway.
I let out a sigh of relief. The last twenty-four hours had been hell.
I didn’t need a lecture from my grandmonster or my absentee mother.
They could save their advice for someone who cared. And for someone they cared about.
Pops shook his head, annoyed. “Don’t listen to them. They’re snobs.”
I crossed the room and launched myself into his arms. “Pops,” I whispered, seeking comfort in his warm embrace.
He patted my back in a soothing, circular motion. “How are you holding up?”
I settled on the cushion beside him and shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”
Pops sipped his brandy, one eyebrow raised. “How are the Salvatores treating you?”
“Marcello took me shopping today.”
He nodded in approval. “Marcello’s a good man.”
“You think so?”
“I would have preferred you married Marcello over Luca.”
“He’s not much better,” I pointed out. “Marcello takes orders from Luca. They won’t even let me sleep by myself. Last night, Marcello shared a bed with me. Someone is watching me every second.”
“I’ll talk to Arlo.” Pops shoved a curl behind my ear, his face twisted with emotions. “You won’t have to live this way for long.”
He sighed, his eyes drifting to the Roman sculpture on the opposite side of the room. “I’m sorry.”
My shoulders slumped against the couch. “I thought we were free of them.”
“Luca needs an heir.” He sipped from a glass of scotch. “Arlo is blackmailing me into doing what he wants.”
“Why is it so important Luca has an heir with me?”
“Luca is about to become the leader of The Devil’s Knights.”
“It’s a secret society, right?”
He nodded. “Things are different for people like us. We don’t have as much say in our lives as others. Marriage is about power in our world, not love. I know it’s hard for you to understand this concept, but I didn’t marry Blair for love.”
“It shows.”
He smiled, then tipped his glass to his lips. “Blair’s family is more connected than the Wellingtons. My father forced me to marry her after I’d graduated from medical school.”
Most of the men in my family were doctors. My grandfather owned Wellington Pharmaceuticals, which had been in our family for over a hundred years. Pops had high hopes for Aiden, but he was an artist and would never change.
“Would you think differently of this arrangement if you had the final decision?”
My lips parted in shock. “I didn’t think I had a choice.”
“The more important question is, do you want one?”
“Yes, but I hate the Salvatores. They know what happened to Aiden. I could never marry Luca after he kicked me out of Devil’s Creek. I hope he rots in hell.”
Pops patted my knee. “You underestimate Luca’s feelings for you.”
“Luca Salvatore doesn’t have feelings.”
“I know he pushed you away, and you took that as an offense, but he keeps tabs on you. He cares about you, Alex. If Luca hadn’t watched over you, I don’t know where you would be now.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He turned away, avoiding my gaze. “Nothing. I’m just thankful he worries about you as much as I do.”
“Luca only cares about controlling me.”
“We can use this situation to our advantage. Keep your eyes and ears open. Those Italian lessons will be handy the longer you live in that house.”
I always knew when Luca was doing shady shit by the language he chose. He had an MBA from Harvard University and spoke seven languages fluently. But he reserved Italian for his criminal underworld dealings.
“Do you think they killed Aiden?”
He lowered his gaze to our joined hands and sighed. “No.”
I trusted my grandfather more than anyone. My parents never cared about me, but Pops was always my shining beacon of hope.
“You can do this, Alex.”
To play a game with monsters, I had to become one. And if the Salvatores wanted to trap me in their mansion, I would be their worst nightmare.
“So the deal with Arlo wasn’t to marry Luca?”
“It was to marry a Salvatore and produce an heir.”
I thought about Marcello and wondered if my life would have been different with him. He was about as soft as a turtle’s shell but not mean like Luca.
“Does Luca know this?”
“His father automatically assumed his first-born son would marry a Wellington. But there’s nothing that says it has to be Luca.”
A wave of heat rushed over me as I considered my options. I only had two since Bastian and Damian were not Salvatores by blood. Luca was a bastard who had his moments. I thought of the clothing and gifts he’d sent me. Like clockwork, his assistant delivered a package to my door every morning.
That was the problem with our relationship. I waited around for the scraps when I wanted all of him. No matter how much I pushed, I never got more.
Marcello was as gorgeous as his brother, with even more muscle. He comforted me this morning and held me in his arms until I stopped shaking from my nightmares. I didn’t know enough about him to decide whether he would be a better husband than Luca. But it wouldn’t be hard with how Luca treated me.
I fanned myself with my hand and shot up from the couch. “I need fresh air.”
Pops nodded. “Take your time.”
I power-walked down the hallway, flung open the front door, and pondered my grandfather’s proposition. Needing an escape from the confines of my life, I moved toward the entrance gate. I had a few hours of freedom until Marcello would be back to collect me.
I approached the gate and remembered I needed the access code to open it. Since I didn’t have my phone, I shoved my heels through the slats in the fence. One way or another, I was getting out of here before Marcello returned.
I gripped the metal bars and scaled the tall fence. When I reached the top, I mounted the brick post. A wave of nausea swept over me as I stared down at the pavement. I drew in a few deep breaths to still my pounding heart.
I hated heights.
What was I thinking?
A set of headlights flashed in my eyes, and I shielded my face with my forearm, waiting for the car to pass.
No such luck.
Marcello parked his black Maserati GranTurismo in front of the gate and popped his head out the driver’s side window. “Where do you think you’re going?”