Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Sienna
The present
“Seven thousand for the lovely Merlot, do I hear eight?” I announce to the packed crowd.
“Eight.” The stage lights are blinding, but I know that booming voice all too well. My husband has already purchased Fiona, and now he’s going after Merlot.
Interesting how Michele has money for prostitutes but not payroll.
“Eight thousand,” I repeat nonchalantly. “Do I hear nine?”
“Nine thousand,” he bids.
My nails dig into my palm as I resist the urge to smack myself on the forehead. “Sir, you don’t have to bid against yourself.”
Laughter fills the room, and I know I’ll pay for that comment later.
“Nine thousand, going once.” Pause. “Nine thousand going twice.” Pause. “Sold.” I bring down the gavel. “Congratulations to our winner. As for the rest of you gentlemen, hostesses will be around to make sure everyone’s a winner, for the right price.” I wink. “Enjoy your evening.”
Making my way through the crowd, I reach Michele’s table. “How would you like to pay for the girls?” I ask with a tight smile.
“With you on your knees. Men, how much for my whore of a wife to blow you?” Michele booms for all to hear.
“I’m starting to understand why this racket is having financial difficulties.” Nic appears. “From hereon out, you will refrain from bidding on the girls.” He points at Michele.
“Aww, now Nicholas, I’m just having a little fun.” Michele purses his lips, blowing a smoke ring in Nic’s face.
“Eighteen grand. Pay up now,” Nic demands.
“I don’t have the cash on me at the moment, my boy,” Michele says dismissively.
“Then you didn’t buy these girls,” Nic retorts.
“You trying to tell me what I can do in my own club, Nicholas?” Michele’s eyes have shifted to that soulless black I’m all too familiar with.
“No trying about it. This is a family racket, not your personal dating service. Sienna, get back on stage and resume the auction,” Nic orders me.
My attention ping pongs between the two men. Nic is just trying to help, but I fear he’s only made things much, much worse for me. With a practiced smile, I ignore the daggers Michele is shooting my way. “Of course. Girls, follow me.”
Returning to the stage, I grab the mic and give it a tap. “Gentlemen, may I have your attention?” The room falls silent. “That was just a little edging. Our two lovely virgins are back on the market, cherries intact!”
Everyone hoots and hollers.
For whatever fucked up reason, men like hymen blood on their cocks.
God, I hate that Jade was right about everything.
Twenty-two grand later, I get payment squared away and slip out while Michele’s distracted.
“Sienna, hold up.” Nic chases me down.
“Sorry, I don’t have time to chat. I actually need to get home…” Before the back of Michele’s hand connects with my face.
He looks around before asking quietly, “Are things alright at home?”
Alright at home?
It’s so absurd it’s laughable.
“Michele can be…” Nic trails off.
A monster? A man-child? A mob boss with too much authority that’s gone unchecked for years?
“Michele,” I supply. “Nic, I appreciate your concern, but we should drop this conversation—”
“He’s getting out soon.”
The air stifles. Too heavy, too thick, even for New Orleans.
This is the first time we’ve talked about “him” in nearly ten years.
“And what does that mean for you?” I dare to ask the question that’s been on my mind.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Nic says quietly.
“Nothing. That’s what it means for me. Have a good evening.” I walk briskly to my waiting town car, the driver opening and closing my door.
My head hits the back of the seat as I close my eyes.
Nothing. Nada. Not a thing.
Zero real estate.
Returning home, I quickly shower and crawl into bed. My pillow receives a good punch, and I flip off the light.
He’s getting out soon.
It’s not like I didn’t know Fabien’s release date, so I’m unsure why Nic bringing it matters.
My pillow gets another punch.
Fabien would never in a million years start an intra-family war over me. I’m married to a Calvani capo. End of story.
Punch.
Besides, Fabien made his feelings clear the night when everything went to hell.
Punch.
And considering I haven’t heard from him since his pathetic jailhouse marriage proposal, it’s safe to say those feelings haven’t changed.
My eyes burn as I shove the pillow over my head; I’d rather suffocate than shed another tear for that man.
Sienna
Eighteen-years-old
“You’re on the pill, right? Please, for the love of all things holy, tell me that you’re on the pill.” Fabien grabs ahold of his cock, lining it up with my pussy.
My tongue darts out, wetting my lips. “I just started taking it.”
“Sienna, I swear to you that I’m clean.” He nudges my entrance with the tip. “Let me go bare.”
“Okay,” I breathe.
A look of pure bliss crosses Fabien’s face as he gently rolls his hips forward, the head of his cock slipping inside.
“Oh.” It’s a delicious stretching feeling.
His wild groan contrasts with his look of restraint. “Baby, I want this to be so good for you, so I’m gonna go real slow. Tell me if you need me to stop.”
I grab his cheeks, pulling his face to mine and distracting him with a kiss. Bridging my hips up, my pussy greedily swallows more of his length.
“Oh, fuck!” he cries, and I hiss at the bite of pain.
Fabien presses me back down to the bed, holding himself up as he slowly pulls out his cock—his expression turning absolutely feral at the small streak of crimson. “Mine now,” he says with the most possessive snarl, and my pussy flutters wildly.
My mouth falls open on a silent scream as he powers his hips forward, our pelvises becoming flush.
“I’m sorry. That was too hard,” he says, pulling out gently and then inching back inside. “Slow. I promised to go slow.”
With bridged hips, I swallow his cock, and his head falls back on a groan.
“I don’t want you to go slow. Fuck me, Fabien,” I beg.
“That’s my girl.” He powers into me, and my ass slams onto the mattress.
The primal sound of our bodies slapping.
Heavy breathing.
Words that sound like filthy Italian.
I’m on fire.
Sweaty.
Hot.
Cold.
“Fabien, I need…” I trail off. The unfamiliar tug beginning deep in my pelvis has my entire body trembling.
“I know, baby.” His body shudders. “I’ve got your blood on my cock, and now I need your cum. Give me all your firsts.”
He hovers over me, supporting himself with one hand as he snakes down his other, rubbing my clit like he’s trying to start a fire.
My vision spots as I dig my nails into Fabien’s muscular back. “Fabien,” I cry, my entire body convulsing before it feels like my bones have liquified, and my body goes limp.
“Open your eyes.” Fabien’s gravely voice has me peeling them open.
The look on his face is so lustful, I might come again.
“That was—”
“The goddamn sexist thing I’ve ever seen.” He groans, thrusting faster. “Let me come inside you.”
“Yes,” I say with a raw throat, my legs falling apart further than I thought my flexibility would allow.
“So fucking beautiful.”
Thrust.
“So fucking perfect.”
Thrust.
“So fucking mine.” He roars, and with the final violent thrust of his hips, a warm feeling spurts between my thighs.
My eyes snap open, disoriented.
The bed shifts behind me, and I inwardly groan. It’s morning, based on the light peeking through the window.
Without asking for permission, Michele slides my panties to the side and shoves his woefully useless cock inside me.
Happy birthday to me.
“Always so wet, my filthy whore of a wife.”
As fucked up as it is, I’d rather let Michele think he turns me on than admit the truth: that I replay Fabien and my greatest hits when my husband is inside me.
“In celebration of your birthday, we will dine tonight at the lounge.” The fact that I share a zodiac sign with this man is beyond offensive.
“Sounds wonderful.” I’d rather shove bamboo rods underneath my fingernails.
Michele grunts and thrusts wildly, and I halfheartedly fake an orgasm, praying he isn’t far behind.
“Oh, fuck, Sienna!” His cum spurts in one short burst before his body stills. “I just put a baby in you,” he murmurs, pulling out.
“Mmm, I hope so,” I lie. Not only am I secretly on the pill, but I also religiously track my cycle and time my “headaches” to fall during my ovulation window.
A surprised squeal escapes my lips as Michele flips me onto my back. His hand bands around my throat as panic floods my body. He flashes a chilling smile—the smile of a predator who knows his prey’s weakness. And damn if the man doesn’t know every one of mine.
I hate him for it.
With his free hand, he flings my birth control at me, and I snap my eyes closed as the plastic container bounces off my forehead. “I should kill you. Embarrassing me last night, and now this.”
Me embarrassing him? What a joke.
Giving my throat one final warning squeeze, he releases me, and I greedily suck in a breath. “My doctor prescribed it to help with period cramps,” I lie between pants. “I was going to tell you…”
Michele silently rolls out of bed, grabbing a black jewelry box on the nightstand that wasn’t there when I went to bed last night. “What do you think?” He dramatically pops it open, displaying a beautiful diamond necklace.
“It’s stunning,” I say with a scratchy voice, trying to appease him so he doesn’t go ballistic again.
“I’m glad you think so, because you will be seated by my side, as I present this stunning piece of jewelry to my mistress.”
Which mistress? I want to ask, but bite my tongue.
“In front of everyone, you will dine with us in silence, as punishment for your deceit.” He snaps the box closed with an evil glint in his eyes.
“I’ve let you off easy this time, Sienna.
Stop taking the pill, unless you want to wind up in a box.
” He strolls out of the room with the jewelry box and my pill box.
I grit my teeth back and forth, throwing the covers off me.
Marching to the bathroom, I turn on the shower as I strip. Not waiting for the water to heat up, I climb in and suppress a squeal as I move the freezing spray between my legs.
Nearly ten years of wedded “bliss” to this man, and I only have myself to blame.
And the only pill I’ll be swallowing is a bitter one.
I take my time getting ready, hoping Michele’s already left for the hotel.
Damn. It’s going to be one of those days.
Seated at the table, my husband’s back is to me as I enter the kitchen. Silently, I get to work with the espresso machine.
Daring to turn around, I ask, “Would you like an espresso?”
The mini cup slips through my fingers, shattering around my bare feet.
Michele is slumped over, his eyes wide and fixed on the newspaper folded on the breakfast table.
Taking a large step around the broken shards, I place my fingers on Michele’s pulse point.
Nothing.
A part of me worries it’s too good to be true, and like a villain in a horror movie, he’ll pop back up. But as the minutes pass, and he doesn’t so much as twitch a muscle, I do a happy dance, grinning from ear to ear. The first genuine smile in as long as I can remember.
My celebration comes to a screeching halt when I see it.
A small fox figurine is positioned next to the newspaper.
That son of a bitch.
Not that I’m upset my husband was murdered, but that Fabien thought he had the right to waltz back into my dreams, and now my life.
“Long time no see,” I tell Saint as I climb into his vehicle. “Did you know my husband was murdered this morning?” I ask casually, as if we’re exchanging pleasantries.
“My condolences. Or should I say congratulations?” He locks eyes with me before turning his attention to the road, and we pull away from the curb.
“Your wedding ring is gone.” I change the subject. And yes, congratulations are more fitting. “Don’t tell me Fabien murdered your husband too.” A faint hint of a tattoo remains around his right ring finger, likely from laser removal. “My condolences. Or should I say congratulations?”
He doesn’t comment.
“You’d think after nearly a decade, you would have worked on your communication skills,” I muse.
Silence.
I sigh heavily. “Why does your boss want to see me?”
“Mr. Calvani can speak for himself.”
“But he can’t murder for himself, logistically speaking. Don’t tell me that Clark Kent helps little old ladies across the street by day, and goes on killing sprees by night?” I feign shock.
Saint looks amused. “Clark Kent. We still going with that?”
“If the glasses fit,” I muse, rifling through the bottom of my purse for my nail polish. The drive to prison gives me time to touch up my red manicure while I mentally gear up for another round with Fabien.
Zero real estate.
We arrive at the prison, and like last time, my body thrums with an electric feeling as I’m escorted to the attorney/client room.
“I’ll be outside,” Saint says in a very deja vu way, slipping out and closing the door.
Fabien rises with a cocky smile on that handsome face of his. It’s been nearly a decade since I’ve seen the man; you’d think my heart wouldn’t do this ridiculous pitter-patter.
You’d think.
“Happy birthday, piccola volpe. Did you like my gift?” he asks, so fucking proud of himself.
I sit, demurely crossing my legs and wrapping my hands around my knees. “Took you long enough. Prison’s made you soft,” I goad him.
His nostrils flare as he takes his seat, leaning across the table with shackled hands. “The only thing soft was that man’s flaccid cock.”
“You’ve been thinking about another man fucking me.” My lips curl into a smile. “Had no idea that you were a cuckold. Interesting.”
He tries to hide it, but I spot that tiny flicker of rage in those baby blues. “You’re no longer married, Sienna. My offer stands.”
This is why I came all the way out here? Pathetic jailhouse proposal, take two.
Feigning amusement, I inform him, “I’d rather crawl naked over broken glass than marry you, Fabien. If you’ll excuse me, you’ve made a huge mess that I’m left to deal with.”
Again, I don’t add.
A tsunami of emotions threatens to knock me on my ass, but I appear completely unaffected as I rise and sway my hips to the door.
“Aww, baby, we both know you’ll come crawling back, but since I’m a nice guy, I won’t make you do it over broken glass,” Fabien calls. “Will make you crawl naked, though. You used to like doing that for me.”
Throwing him a withering look over my shoulder, I tell him, “Not even a snowball’s chance.”
And this time when I say it, I’m standing on business.