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What is wrong with this woman? What is it about her that leaves me this way? I should hate her with every fiber of my being and even though in a way I do, it’s not because of the reason I should. I should hate her because she is the spawn of the man that has ruined my life, that has stolen all of my hope and joy. But I do not hate her because of that. I hate her because I want her. Because I think of her at every waking moment of the day when I shouldn’t. I hate her because somehow, she’s gotten inside of me and instead of me being focused on this plan I’ve been working on for a decade, I’m wasting my time thinking of her.
I need more time with her here. I need to get all of this bullshit out of my system, but most importantly, I need to be prepared and fully ready for when her family comes. I cannot be distracted by thoughts of wanting her. I need to break her down—to see her for what she really is: a witch that has me spellbound. And once I’ve broken her spell, I will expose her for being a spoiled little princess who will manipulate anyone into giving her what she wants. I just want to know why she wants me. Is it to escape? Or because she truly does crave me as I do her?
I turn the shower off and step out, drying myself before I walk into my closet and dress in a fresh, dark gray suit. I walk into my office, fixing my cufflinks before I pull out my phone and dial Diego.
“Yeah, boss?” He says, my phone now on speaker as I pour myself a glass of bourbon.
“I need you to lead the Saracino’s away for the time being, distract them a bit with false leads. I’m reconstructing phase two,” I say sitting at my desk as I pull up more recent footage of her brothers, who are biting at my bait and finding their way here a lot quicker than I want right now.
“What going on, boss?” Diego asks, concern in his voice.
He’s the only person I will allow to question me, mostly because I consider him an uncle. He has worked for my family and alongside my father for nearly twenty years before he passed. Quite frankly, he’s the only person that I can trust.
“Some issues with the girl have arisen, and I need more time. I don’t want a mess. I want everything to be precise, down to the second. So lead them astray for a little while, will you?” I ask, trying not to sound edgy with the man.
He confirms and we disconnect the call. I lean back in my chair and cross my legs on my desk, glass in hand as I pull up Lori’s file. I’ve done my fair share of digging on the girl, but not enough. I need to know everything now. I need to know what her boss looks like, who her college friends are, if another man has ever touched her before. I need to access every personal document of hers that I can find.
If another man has ever touched her before...
The words echo around in my head on a vicious loop, replaying over and over again until that stupid, jealous rage fills me once more. Although she was a virgin, there’s no telling if another man has touched her intimate places, the places sworn that only I have explored. Although this information this obsolete, it gnaws at me like a rabid dog. It bites at my insides and claws at my chest, ripping away at every sensible part of me that I have left.
This is what I mean by her being a witch. These thoughts should be non-existent, they shouldn’t matter. They shouldn’t even be here in my head in the first place, but here we are, tracking her social media back nearly fifteen years in search of any man that I can find. Searching for a prom photo, an arm around her waist, anything. When I come up short, relief fills me, pride even, and that pisses me off even more. I swear, because of her, I feel like a hormonal teenage boy again. I feel like less of a man and more like a stranger and it’s all her doing.
It’s all because of those hazel eyes and pale flesh, because of her soft voice and her endless submission. Because of her eagerness for me, her want for me.
It’s all because of her.
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
Lori
He leaves me cold and lonely on the bed, my feet tucked to my thighs as I hold my legs and weep. My body is sore and my heart feels like it’s going to fall straight into my stomach, where the acid will eat it alive and deliver its untimely demise. My breaths are ragged and my eyes are swollen, but I don’t stop. I lay here for hours and cry—I feel degraded. I feel used and betrayed, even though I know I shouldn’t. I know what kind of man Marco is and I still expected him to be different. Although my first time was rough, it felt good. Especially his declaration about me being his. I know he meant it to be controlling, but as soon as the words left his lips, I felt like I was on cloud nine. I felt seen, wanted. Things that I’ve never felt before in my entire life. I felt like he gave me things that I’ve always wanted, but could never voice. Deep, dark and relentless pleasure amidst a pain that only heightened it.
But all of that vanished as soon as he walked out on me. I wasn’t even upset about being denied my release, I was upset that he used me thoroughly. That he looked at me and all he really saw was a warm body that he had his fun with. Even when I called for him, when I asked for him to stay, I allowed myself to think that maybe he would. That maybe he would turn back around and pull me into his arms. That he would hold me and care for me and ease me to sleep so that I could live in that strange moment of bliss forever. But he left. He left me without any words or apology. He left me because he genuinely wanted to.
That knowledge only makes me feel depleted. My thighs feel sticky and my sex aches with a throbbing I’ve never known before. I want to stand up and walk to the shower, to cleanse him from me and then go to bed and forget all of this happened, but I can’t. My heart just continues to crack because of him as I lay on the bed like the broken woman that I am. I know that he’s not coming back tonight. He’s had enough of me and even though he claimed me for himself, I have no doubt in my mind that he really does hate me. I am nothing but a toy and the only person I should be mad at right now is myself for believing otherwise.
After a while, when the sun goes down, my tears have all but run out and dried to my skin. My body feels numb and weightless and shortly after nightfall comes, my heart begins to feel the same way. I become paralyzed all over, physically and mentally. I become nothing because I realize that the numbness erases the violent thrashing pain that I feel inside of my chest. I welcome said numbness with open arms, crawl into the shell that I’ve created and accept my fate. Marco will continue to use me and torment me until he, finally, kills me and my entire family. The family that I feel like I have let down because I’ve always been a weak point for them. They had to hide me for so long due to my sight and vulnerability and now that weak point has been exploited. Now, I hate myself for putting them through this.
When I allow myself to think of them, I don’t cry. I just let the impassivity spread from my heart up into my brain, when the memories of them begin to recede and darkness takes over. I become vacant, unfillable. And when the memories of them finally vanish and the pain subsides, I somehow pull myself from the bed and walk to the bathroom. I don’t allow myself a glance around, because it’s all pointless. These are just rooms for me to rot in until he finally claims my life, no amount of roses or ivory tiles can erase that fact.
I undress myself and step into the shower, turning on the spray and letting the warm water wash over me as I turn my face up and stand there. I bring my hand down to bring water to my sex, my fingers pulling up to reveal a bit of blood on my fingertips, the blurry red sight doing nothing to me now. I let it all wash away and stand there until the water runs cold. I don’t bother with any soap, I don’t even look at the shelves that Mariella had arranged for me. I just turn the water off and step out of the shower, grabbing my sweatshirt and leggings from the floor from earlier this morning and stepping into them.
When I reach the bed, I pull the covers back and lay down, not even bothering to pull them back over me. The room is incredibly cold and although there is an electric fireplace that Mariella told me about, I don’t bother with that either. Hours earlier, before he came in here, I probably would’ve daydreamed on this bed with the heat blasting me. I’d allow myself to get carried away with thoughts of him and when those would run dry, if they even would at the time, I would allow myself to indulge in memories of my life before him. Now, when I think of my life, it all feels like a dream. A long, distant dream that now brings little pleasure or pain to me. I feel like a stranger now, like a woman that I’ve never known who is now occupying my body and my mind. I give into her. I give into the darkness that overtakes me, crawling down into its open hole until I finally reach rock bottom. Until I finally can rest inside a place where nothing can touch me.
* * *
When the morning comes, I am awoken by rough hands. I blink slowly until a blurry Marco comes into view. He seems angry as usual, but I don’t feel anything when I look at him briefly. I don’t feel scared or anxious or lustful, I just take one slow look at his face and turn away, closing my eyes again and waiting for sleep to claim me once more. His hand pulls at my shoulder, turning me back towards him, however this time, I do not open my eyes. I don’t fight back, I just lay there and that seems to make him even angrier.
“Look at me, Lori,” he commands, so I do, but not instantly.
I lay there like a lifeless doll for a while longer until I slowly lift my lids and give him a blank stare, nothing but a dark shadow before me. He growls something, but I don’t hear it. It feels like I’m stuck in a dark cloud that has all but blocked anything from entering it. I can tell he’s still staring at me, but I don’t allow my body to react to his gaze, mostly because this time, I cannot feel it. I cannot feel the familiar burn from its heat or coldness from its ice. And as I lay there and stare at him blankly, he continues to stare back until, finally, he mutters a few words that I can actually hear.
“There is food for you here. Eat this and my mother will be back in a little while to clean it up,” he barks before walking towards the door.
When he stops and turns around, I don’t look at him. My eyes slowly move to the tray of food on the nightstand, but my body does not follow.
“You can’t hide from me or fight me, Lori. It will only make things worse. You have to accept your fate,” he says, but I don’t respond then either.
