6. Chloe
I wake up to a note, summoning me to attend a family meeting at lunchtime. I’m fucking fuming that I’m being summoned like a pet, but that’s the story of my life—being given instructions that I blindly follow without question.
The longer I have to stew over the invitation—or demand, as that’s what it really is—the more confused I become. I rarely get invited to family meetings. Mostly they just tell me what's expected of me afterwards.
They usually catch me off guard over dinner, letting me know that my future was discussed at a meeting I wasn’t invited to, and decisions have been made that I’m just expected to go along with. That’s how I found out I was fucking engaged.
Just the word makes me nauseous, nevermind the giant fucking family heirloom engagement ring that’s sitting in the top drawer beside my bed. It’s not at all my style, but then again, I don’t think it was meant to be. The whole point is that you can see the rock from a mile away, and everyone will know who I belong to.
I’ve only met Scott Caprillo once, and that was the other day when I found out I was marrying him, and he gave me the ring that’s worth more than most people earn in a year. Besides that first moment when he slid it onto my finger, I’ve never worn it since.
I’ve been engaged for just a couple of days and my life feels like it’s spiralling worse than ever. And given the horrors of my past, that’s saying something.
I’ve spent the last two years trying to claw back some semblance of control in my life, and all my hard work has been undone in the blink of an eye. Even though I knew this day would come eventually, I was vastly under-prepared.
So, naturally, I did what any self respecting person would do when faced with a loss of control over their own life…I got paralytically drunk and tried to shag a stranger in the middle of my brother’s best friend’s club.
What happened with Marcus afterwards will be seared into my brain for all eternity. The way he crowded my body with his, his possessive edge dominating me in a way I never expected to like. His touch took my breath away, and scared me shitless at the same time.
I’ve had a crush on Marcus Morelli since I was a kid, but I’ve known it was unrequited since that very first day. I smiled at him and he pushed me over. Ever since, he’s made it clear that he only tolerates me because I’m Jake’s little sister, and that’s all he’ll ever see me as.
I’ve watched him grow up, and the more devastatingly handsome he became, the more his ego grew. He knew he was hot, and that girls were throwing themselves at him every chance they got, and he let them. I’ve watched him sleep around, leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake.
Though, to be fair, that was always the girl’s own fault. Marcus may be a man whore, but he’s always honest with them. He’s never wanted a relationship, he only offers no-strings attached.
Yet, no matter how clear he makes this, the girls always think they'll be the one to tame the bad boy. Little do they know, he can’t be tamed.
The night before last, in the club, I got a tiny taste of everything I ever wanted with him. I never, in my wildest dreams, thought anything like that would ever happen with Marcus, and when it did, I never wanted it to end. But it did, and I was left aching in the worst way, while wondering if he meant what he said about the deal we made.
What the fuck was I thinking making that deal with him? I have no idea how to get Jacob to stop fucking around .
That’s bollocks. I know exactly why I made the deal with Marcus—I will do anything for even just a fraction of his attention. If he really thinks he can delay my marriage, I’ll work out how to help him with Jake .
I’ve been worried about my brother this past year. He’s been slowly spiralling since he was placed into the heir position at twenty-five. Though, if we’re being honest, he started going off the rails during the last year of high school.
Jake tried to negotiate with Dad, telling him he wasn’t ready, but he didn’t listen. Marcus was ready to rule, which meant Jacob had to be too.
I hate that I’ve been so caught up in my own shit this last year that I missed how bad Jacob has become. I had no idea he was doing heavy drugs, or making enemies of the wrong people. In our world, that sort of behaviour is what gets you killed, and I can’t have that.
Besides, if Jacob isn’t leading the Santoro family, that means our power will pass to Scott when I marry him, and there’s no way I want that dickhead to lead.
Desperate to know what the meeting is about, I make sure I’m ready in good time. As I don’t normally attend these things, I have no idea who will be in attendance, but there will be an expectation for me to present my best self. Which is why I’m dressed up much fancier than I’d normally be on a Sunday lunchtime.
My black pencil skirt sits just above my knees; long enough to be decent, but short enough to show off my legs, which I accentuate by adding four inch black stilettos.
I pair it with a plain white blouse, leaving the top two buttons undone. The sheerness to the fabric means you can see the outline of my lace bra underneath, and the open buttons show off a hint of cleavage.
I look like a secretary, with a hint of sex appeal. After I’ve put on a little make-up, mostly to hide the bags under my eyes and the blemishes my mother is quick to point out, I couldn’t feel less like myself. I look like the perfect Santoro wife, which I guess is exactly what I am.
Fifteen minutes before the time I’m supposed to meet my family, I head downstairs. The meeting is being held in my father’s business wing, which is on the left side of the house.
Unless invited, that wing is off-limits to me. It has a side entrance that Dad’s business associates use, so we don’t have men with guns traipsing through the house at all hours.
Not that I care. My room is on the top floor, the opposite side of the house to his business wing. I used to share a corridor with Jacob, but he has his own apartment now, though his room is still here if he needs it.
I have my own living space and bathroom, so the only time I’m likely to run into family is in the kitchen, the family dining room, the gym, or the indoor pool. Though, even then it’s rare. The house is so fucking massive, we’re like ships passing in the night, and I’ve never complained.
As soon as I reach my Dad’s meeting room, I’m thrown to see the door is closed. In our house, everyone knows you don’t enter a room where the door is closed without knocking first. Before I even get a chance to knock, one of my dad’s security guards walks towards me, clearly having seen me approach on one of the many security cameras littered throughout our house.
“Your father has asked that you wait here until you’re called,” he states with a clipped, professional tone.
I narrow my gaze at him, trying to work out what the hell is going on. “I was told to attend the meeting at twelve. Has it already started?”
“You are here at the right time,” he replies cryptically, his gaze stoic.
I don’t know this guard, but that’s not a big surprise. My family has a lot of staff members, and it’s fucking impossible to know them all, particularly as they rotate around a lot. I may not see this guy again for months.
Some, like my dad’s own personal guard, or the ones who guard me regularly, are familiar faces that I remember, but most all blend into one. I hate having guards that follow me, so one of the agreements I made early on with my dad is that I could have a say in who was on my team, and unless it’s an emergency, I get the same people.
What can I say? I have trust issues, and knowing that the same guards have been with me for a while helps. Though not a great deal, given I should have had a guard detail with me when my life went to shit, and they weren’t there to protect me.
“Could have at least left me a fucking chair to sit on and wait,” I grumble, more to myself than to the guard, as I shuffle from one foot to the other. These shoes may look great, and accentuate my legs and arse in a perfect way, but fuck are they uncomfortable.
At this, he looks a little startled, his gaze flicking around uncomfortably, as though he’s trying to decide whether he should go and get me a chair, or if it’s more important to stay here with me.
In the end, the decision is taken out of our hands when the door to the room flies open and my father sticks his head out into the corridor. He winces when he sees me, and my heart rate begins to accelerate, anxiety creeping in.
“Ah, Chloe, you’re right on time,” he says.
I resist the urge to reply sarcastically. I know better than to be late, or to sass him when he’s in professional mode, and the suit he’s wearing indicates this is a formal meeting, which is why I’m now more on edge than I was before.
He opens the door and indicates for me to come in. As soon as I step into the room, my heart stutters. Marcus and Jacob are sitting beside each other, my father’s empty seat opposite them.
Jacob is looking down at the table, unable to meet my gaze, which makes me even more agitated. Yet, Marcus’ piercing blue eyes are what has my stomach flipping. He stares at me unapologetically, not even bothering to hide the way his gaze travels over my legs.
I’m broken out of my trance when Dad indicates for me to take the seat next to him, opposite Jacob and Marcus. Once we’re all seated, the silence hangs heavily in the air, like we’re all waiting to see who will cut the tension first.
After a few seconds, Jacob lets out a sigh, and when his gaze meets mine, he looks devastated. My heart is racing so fast, while nausea bubbles away in my stomach.
“I’m so sorry, Clo,” Jake says, his big brown eyes pleading with me in a way I don’t understand.
I look over to Marcus, who has an unreadable expression on his face, but that signature smirk of his is still there. His eyes are guarded, and that worries me.
“What’s going on?” I ask, slightly panicked.
Jacob looks like he’s going to respond, but my dad’s firm, authoritative tone cuts him off. “As usual, your brother has fucked up, and we’re having to clean up his mess.”
I turn towards Dad, and I’m surprised to see him looking at Jacob with obvious disdain. He’s been struggling lately with Jake’s behaviour, and he hates having to cover for him, but he’s always been his favourite. I’ve never seen him look at Jake like this, and I don’t like it.
“Don’t talk about him like that,” I snap at my dad. As all the eyes in the room hit me, I regret my outburst.
The giant grin on Marcus’ face almost makes it worth it, until I see the rage my dad is struggling to hold back. “You won’t be sticking up for him when he tells you what he did.”
This time I turn to Jake, trying to blank out everyone else. Looking straight at my brother, I give him a kind smile. “Tell me, Jake.”
He lets out a loud sigh, seeming to deflate at the same time. “I fucked up, Clo. You know how me and Marcus have a poker night every month to work out all the issues we have running Blackthorn?”
I narrow my eyes at him, wondering where he’s going with this. “Yes?”
“Well… I was sure I had a winning hand, but Marcus had way more chips than me. If I wanted to match his bet, I had to offer something of great value,” he explains, fidgeting nervously in his seat as he picks at the skin on one of his hands .
My brain is working a mile a minute, trying to predict what he’s about to say. It’s clear he lost the bet, I’m just wondering what high value item he sacrificed. It must be something big for Dad to be involved.
After a few moments of silence, Jake rushes out, “IbetyouandIlost.”
The words tumble from his lips, and I struggle to make out what the hell he just said. “What?”
Jake’s eyes are wide, glistening with unshed tears, and he looks like he’s in pain. He takes a deep breath, almost as though he’s trying to pull in the courage he needs to finish his story.
Marcus seems to take pity on Jacob, and fills me in on what I missed. “Jacob made a bet involving you that he lost. As a result, you now belong to me. You will come to live with me for the next sixty days, and you will be expected to do everything I tell you. No exceptions, no loopholes. This was the bet, and now I’m cashing in my prize.”
Each word is like a knife to my gut, and I feel as though all my blood is pouring out of me, leaving just a shell. Jacob can’t look me in the eye, and my dad looks furious, though I’m not sure who he’s mad at most.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. I’m not a fucking object that can be owned. Jacob can’t have used me in a bet, as I don’t belong to him,” I snap, fixing my stare on Marcus.
The right side of his lip quirks up, like he’s challenging me with that fucking cocky smirk. “No, you belong to me.” The possessive edge to his voice makes my body tremble, but not in fear like it should.
I push those inappropriate thoughts to one side and focus on the indignation I’m feeling at once again being used like a fucking object.
“I don’t belong to anyone.” I try to keep my voice firm, hating the way it cracks at the end.
Dad interrupts Marcus before he can say anything more. “Actually, Chloe, you belong to this family. As much as I hate this, Santoros honour their agreements.”
My mouth literally pops open in surprise, and as I shake my head at my dad in disgust, I point out the obvious issue he’s clearly ignored. “Have you forgotten that I’m supposed to be marrying Scott in six weeks? Surely that’s an agreement that we can’t get out of either.”
At the mention of my engagement, the smirk on Marcus’ face disappears and his gaze narrows. His hands, that were resting on the table, are now balled into fists, and he looks seconds away from losing his temper, which is very unlike Marcus. He’s usually in complete control, devoid of any real emotion.
My dad lets out a huff beside me. “We will still honour the marriage agreement, we will just ask them to delay it by a couple of weeks. I’m sure we can come up with an adequate excuse.”
Now it’s my turn to get mad. “Maybe Scott won’t want to marry me when he finds out we’re delaying the wedding because you’re whoring me out for sixty days to our rival family.”
Jacob slams his fist down onto the table, startling me. His eyes are wide but fierce. “You are not being whored out. This agreement is not sexual…I made sure of that.”
“Oh, well, if you made sure it’s not sexual, I don’t know what I’m worried about,” I reply sarcastically, ignoring Marcus’ chuckle.
“Well, I won’t say no if you ask nicely.”
He ends his cocky comeback with a wink—a fucking wink. We’re going to pretend it sent fury rippling through my veins, instead of a completely different feeling. I hate the way he can heat me up from the inside out with just one look, especially when he’s not even trying.
This time my dad slams his fist on the table, startling us all. “Don’t even fucking think about it, Morelli,” Dad growls, leaning towards Marcus in a threatening way.
Despite Dad being the elder, Marcus doesn’t answer to him the way we do, and he doesn’t cower under the weight of his glare. He maintains eye contact, looking utterly bored by the whole situation.
Fuck, he’s going to have to teach me to stand up to my dad like that.
Marcus shrugs his shoulders like he doesn’t give a shit, and he’s never looked fucking hotter. God, I hate myself right now.
“So if this isn’t a sex thing, what the hell is it?” I don’t aim the question at anyone in particular, and we all seem to wait for someone to answer.
Jacob reaches over and takes my hand in his. “I’m so sorry, Clo.”
I want to pull away, but I hate how sad my brother looks. I think he’s finally realising the consequences of his actions. It’s just too bad I’m the casualty.
“No matter what Mr Morelli’s motives are, as you well know, the bets made at their stupid poker nights are binding. As part of the peace treaty between our two families, if we break this agreement, it will be seen as an act of war on our part. I’ve tried to discuss altering the terms, but Mr Morelli is not amenable. So the bet stands,” my dad says through gritted teeth as he glares at Marcus.
“What does this mean for me?” I hate how fucking small my voice sounds.
Dad looks like he’s going to answer, but Marcus cuts in. “I’ll give you tonight to sort yourself out, and tell your fiancé. I’ll be back at nine in the morning to take you to my apartment. Bring what you want, but I’ll happily supply anything you need. Your sixty days with me will begin tomorrow. ”
The smile he gives me is dripping with sin, and I have no fucking clue what to say.
“You’re really not going to change your mind, are you?” Jake asks Marcus, sounding so fucking desperate it leaves a pang in my stomach.
Marcus slowly shakes his head, but he doesn’t say anything. Jake gets up so quickly his chair slams backwards onto the floor. Without a word, my brother sweeps out of the room in a huff, slamming the door behind him.
I look over at my dad, who has his eyes pinched closed, like we’re just annoying children who are interfering in his day, giving him a headache. “Well, I think this meeting is over,” he says, pointing at the door.
The look he gives me tells me there’s no room for discussion. Once again, decisions have been made on my behalf, and I’m just expected to fucking go along with them. Control has always been a fucking illusion to me.
Without a word, I get up and walk out of the room, very aware that Marcus is following me. I hear him slam the door, but I’m too busy stomping down the corridor, desperate to get away from him.
I trusted him to help me, and instead he goes and fucking does this. What the hell?
My anger is sizzling away under the surface, and I’m desperate to get to my room so I can let it loose. Suddenly, his hand grips my arm, and he spins me until my back hits the wall. Before I know it, we’re in the same position as in the alley, his body pressing me up against a wall.
I try to avoid meeting his gaze, not trusting myself. He leans in until his breath is fanning my face, and his voice tickles at my ear. “Aren’t you going to thank me?”
I splutter, my eyes widening as my nerve endings prickle with rage. “Thank you? Why the fuck would I thank you?”
He takes a small step back so he can meet my gaze, and he looks genuinely confused by my outburst. “You asked me to buy you time, and that’s exactly what I’ve done. You have around eight weeks away from your fiancé. In that time, I’m sure we can come up with something to make it more permanent.”
“You made me your whore. You said you own me,” I seethe, genuinely confused how he can’t see what’s wrong with that.
“I said I own you, not that you’re my whore. As I told you the other night, if you choose to be my slut, that’s your choice. I’d never force you.” His voice is dripping with sincerity, and my brain is spinning.
“I’m confused.”
Marcus lets out a small chuckle, and I hate the way my core heats up at the carefree sound. “Honestly, I know I’ve not gone about this in the best way, but it’s all I could think of at short notice. Jacob feels bad, which we can work on. You get out of this house for sixty days, and we’ve delayed your wedding, which is what you asked for. It might not be the greatest plan, but it’s achieved the goals.”
He’s right, yet I can’t help but point out something glaringly obvious that he’s failed to mention. “Dad looked so close to breaking the peace treaty over this. And if Scott takes the news the way we think he will, Dad may be forced to take sides.”
Marcus’ eyes darken, and as he presses his body against mine, I feel his hard length against my stomach. “Your father can make his own decisions. I, personally, can’t wait to see the look on Scott’s face when he finds out.”
I slap him on the chest, which earns me a glare. “You could enjoy this a little less.”
His smirk grows as he leans in close again. “I think I’ll enjoy this a lot. After all, you wanted someone to teach you what it means to be a slut, to be in control of your own body, and to have power over the man you’re a slut for.”
My eyes widen and my heart stutters. “What? That was just something we talked about after too much fucking vodka. You said this wasn’t about you forcing me into sex.”
“I won’t force you. It’ll be your choice,” he states firmly, but his smugness is driving me fucking crazy. I hate how sure of himself he is, when I’m a mess of emotions.
“So if I choose to stay away from you for sixty days, you’d be okay with that?” I challenge.
“Of course,” he replies, as he removes a hand that was resting on my hip and glides it up over my ribs, stopping to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. Then he cups my cheek, rubbing his thumb across my lip in a way that makes my fucking knees weak. “In fact, I’ll make you a promise. I won’t touch you unless you beg me to.”
“Beg you?” I splutter, my brain a fog of emotions, intoxicated by his scent and proximity.
“Yes, you will need to beg me.”
I gather as much confidence as I can muster, and hope like hell it’s enough to be believable. “I won’t beg you.”
His smirk grows, and as his thumb traces my lower lip, he leans over until his mouth is almost touching my ear. A shiver ripples down my spine and my core tightens at the feel of his breath on me. “I’m up for the challenge. Game on, Mio.”
Before I can even comprehend how much he makes my world spin, Marcus pulls away, and I watch as he saunters down the corridor, like he didn’t just leave me in a puddle. I’m so fucking screwed.