Chapter 3 #3
I give her the condensed version of his behavior over the past few months and the culmination of everything that happened tonight. When I finish, she looks like she’s contemplating a trip to the city to murder him right now.
“That fucking asshole,” she mutters under her breath. “Say the word, and I’ll make him disappear.”
“I know you would.” I laugh. “But I just want to move on and forget I ever made the terrible decision to sort-of-date him in the first place.”
“Why did you?” she asks.
“He was predictable.” I shrug. “Before he went off the rails, I knew exactly what I was getting.”
“You mean predictably disappointing?”
“Something like that.”
“I get it.” She sighs. “Sometimes it’s tempting to find someone I know I could never love. Maybe I should take a page out of your book.”
“Just don’t choose someone like Marco. Ten out of ten don’t recommend.”
Mariella laughs. “I never liked him, but I also understood. He was hot. Smooth-brained, but hot.”
“So incredibly smooth-brained.” I bite back a smile. “I want to tell you not to settle for someone like that, but honestly, I don’t know a single man who could ever be worthy of you.”
She shrugs, but I get the impression that praise feels hollow and probably always will. She grew up in a family of men who had predetermined roles of importance. As the don’s daughter, her only expectation was being a Mafia princess.
Mariella was never happy with that because she knew she was just as capable as her brothers. So with her father’s blessing, she set out to prove herself and excelled at everything she did.
She became a doctor, a master violinist, a weapons expert, and created a global network to help victims of abuse.
But no matter how much she accomplished, her father never told her what she needed to hear the most. That she matters.
That what she does is important. That she’s a shining beacon of hope in a world of darkness.
We could all tell her these absolute truths until we’re blue in the face, but they’ll never validate her in the way that he should have.
“Hey, I have an idea.” I curl my knees into my chest and lean back against the lounge. “I’ll be your baby daddy if you want, and you can be mine. I can teach them how to dance, and you can teach them how to kill a man with their bare hands.”
Mariella smirks. “I mean, how could I say no to that?”
“I just need a willing sperm donor,” I muse.
My phone chimes, and I glance down to see a message from Bran.
“Are you going to make me guess who’s texting you so late?” Mariella asks.
“You remember that guy I mentioned from the club?”
“Bran something?”
I nod, and she arches a brow.
“Well, if that isn’t divine timing, I don’t know what is,” she says.
“What do you mean?”
“There’s your sperm donor.”
I laugh at the idea and shake my head. “I’m pretty sure the man knows how neurotic I am by now. I think he’d be the last to volunteer.”
I mean it as a joke, but as I say it, there’s a slight hitch in my voice. Things with Bran will always feel complicated and unfinished, and there’s a certain level of guilt that comes with that.
“I didn’t realize you were still talking to him,” Mariella replies.
“We’ve stayed in touch as friends. Our conversations don’t stray outside of that, and Marco knew we talked.”
“You never really told me what happened with him.” She eyes me with a curious expression.
I offer her a weary smile. She and Marco are the only two people who even know about Bran. In Marco’s case, it was for transparency, but Mariella just happened to catch me texting him once. At the time, I gave her the short and simple version about matching with him through The Society’s sex club.
Now, that chapter of my life feels like so long ago, even though it’s only been three years.
Sometimes, when I try to remember his voice or the faintest glimpse of his eyes behind the mask, I’m not sure he ever even existed.
I locked those memories so deep inside me, I don’t think I’ll ever get them back.
“I’m not sure where I’d even start,” I say.
“How about the beginning?” Mariella suggests. “You met him at Sanctum, right? Was it just a random encounter?”
“I did meet him at Sanctum, but it wasn’t random. I was working through some stuff, so my request for a partner was pretty specific.”
I don’t feel the need to shy away from this part, because I’ve spent years unburdening myself of shame.
It’s the reason why I started writing an anonymous sex column in The Society’s digital publication, The Fifth House.
It was healing for me in some ways, but I also wanted to help other women who came from a similar background of repression.
“There were dynamics I wanted to explore,” I explain. “But I’d never really had the opportunity. I wanted rules and structure. I wanted someone who could liberate me from my thoughts, without asking nicely.”
“And let me guess. Marco couldn’t understand the difference between dominant and domineering?”
I can’t help but laugh at the painful accuracy. He’s always been ego-driven, and he’s used to getting his way because of his name. He never understood that power can be taken, but control can only be given freely.
“I actually knew Bran first,” I admit. “I didn’t meet Marco until after our arrangement ended, and he wasn’t the type I wanted to explore with.”
“But Bran was?”
“He was different.” I close my eyes, and a shiver moves through me as I recall our time together.
“He understood how to give me direction, and he was willing to take things at a pace I was comfortable with. We never even had sex, but he gave me the most mind- blowing orgasms of my life. Of course, it didn’t hurt that he was built like a Viking, and dominant in that ruin-you-for-anyone-else kind of way. ”
“Why did you end it?” she asks.
“It got way too real,” I confess. “Being with him was addicting, but terrifying. When I felt myself starting to trust him too much…I ran.”
“So that’s how you ended up with predictable Marco?”
“Yes. You don’t have to tell me how dysfunctional that is. I already know.”
“I have no room to say anything on that subject.” She tips her head back and stares up at the ceiling. “The thought of trusting the unknown terrifies me too.”
“Is that why you haven’t had another relationship?”
A shadow passes over her features before she gives me a subtle nod. “Ares made a fool out of me. It’s hard to come back from that, but especially when he destroys any potential for me to be happy. If he isn’t fucking up my prospects’ lives, he’s disappearing them entirely.”
I release a rough exhalation as I acknowledge her. Mariella fell for her family’s biggest rival, and it didn’t end well. I don’t know what actually happened between them, but whenever this topic comes up, I can’t help feeling like a terrible friend.
I can’t even despise Ares Stavros on her behalf because I owe him a debt of gratitude I can never repay. He saved my life, but at the same time, he complicates it.
Mariella thinks his men found me as a stray on the street, and that’s why they took me to her. But if the Vitales ever knew I was associated with Ares, I’d probably never be welcome in this house again.
“Are you ever going to check that text?” Mariella asks, interrupting me from my thoughts.
“Oh.” I glance down at my phone, remembering Bran sent me something.
When I unlock the screen, Mariella leans over to take a peek. “What was the reason for the name again?”
“Anonymous connections at Sanctum only know each other by their alias,” I explain. “Mythological figures are common. Mine is Morrigan, and his is Bran The Blessed.”
“Do you mean to tell me you still don’t know his real name?”
“I don’t even know what his face looks like. That was our agreement.”
“Wow,” she murmurs. “That’s kind of hot.”
“It is. It also helps keep things emotionally neutral.”
Or at least, it’s supposed to.
“So what did he send you? I’m invested now.”
When I open the message, I’m not surprised to find a random photo with no context. It’s a glass of whiskey on a bar top, and the room is dimly lit with a soft LED glow that feels weirdly familiar.
“What’s up with that?” Mariella asks.
“It’s a game we play.” Amusement softens my voice. “We send each other random photos, and the other person has to guess what it means.”
I tap out a reply, going with the first thing that pops into my mind.
Morrigan: Business or pleasure?
Bran: Your turn.
I blink at the screen, confused by his lack of answer. Usually, he’ll give me something to go off of.
While I think it over, I peek around the room, noticing an empty wine glass on the coffee table. It’s a good representation of my current mood, so I snap a photo and send it to him.
“Hey, look.” Mariella points at the logo on the glass he sent me. “That’s your club, isn’t it?”
I suck in a breath as I realize she’s right. It’s the logo from Black Velvet.
My thoughts spiral as I try to make sense of this turn of events.
I never told him I work there, but that doesn’t mean anything.
He’s a member of The Society, and men from IVI frequent the club.
It’s not a stretch to think he probably has too.
But as I imagine him sitting there watching the other performers, something unmistakably heavy settles in my chest.
It doesn’t make sense, and I have no right to whatever this feeling is. So I force it down and lock it away. But then I notice something.
That logo is from the club, but that bar top was replaced a few years ago, which means this is an old photo. I stare at it in confusion, trying to figure out what that means.
Then comes his reply.
Bran: Sleep well, little thief. Tomorrow’s a new day.