AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Yes. I’ve had a camera on me since I was a little girl. I found that if I couldn’t see the world in front of me clearly, then I would at least show the world the beauty that I’m missing, the beauty that I’ve been dying to see,” I say, wishing that I could be in Central Park right now with the sun warming my skin and sounds of laughter all around me.
“What do you like to photograph?” she asks, genuinely curious.
“Anything, but nature mostly. Being outside brings me peace,” I speak.
“I know what you mean. I’ve spent most of my life growing flowers, walking barefoot through gardens,” she says fondly and it doesn’t take me long to imagine a young Mariella walking through miles of roses, a smile on her pure face.
I ask her about her favorite flower, about how long she’s been gardening, what life was like when she was a child. I ask her anything and everything to pass the time, to ease the loneliness that has stretched across my heart. She tells me everything, of her love for plants and cooking, her love for her fallen husband, how grief has overtaken her in the years since his passing. And then she starts talking about her love for her son. She tells me stories from when he was a child, how he grew into a hardworking man that only wanted to provide for his family. She tells me that when he turned sixteen, he declared that he wanted to be a husband one day and have six children. When she says this, I scoff. When she talks about Marco, I hate how my heart softens for him. I hate that I start to picture him as a man instead of a monster. I hate it almost as much as I hate him.
When she brings me food and water, she feeds me like I am a child. When Marco does this, I feel angry, spiteful, but with Mariella, I feel cared for in a way. She is gentle and soft, talking to me the entire time. Which is why, when she leaves, I start to cry once more. I cry into my chest, chin dropped with snot falling from my nostrils. I feel disgusting and ridiculous, but most of all I feel lonely. I do this for quite some time. Until the birds stop singing outside and the sky grows darker with impending nightfall.
Dusk comes quick and soon the room fills with darkness, bringing me anxiety instead of peace. My mind races with thoughts of Marco, with the memory of what happened this morning, tainted with the newfound knowledge of his humanity. I feel my body pining for him, for him to come back into this room and talk to me like his mother did. To want him to know me and to allow me to know him. Most importantly, I want him to touch me again. I want him to explore my body, to touch every inch of my skin with his rough, strong hands.
And as I sit there wanting him, I begin to despise myself—hating that I pinefor a man who has treated me like a creature of lesser importance.
“What is it about you, Marco De Vico?” I whisper into the quiet room, darkness spreading all around me as my question goes unanswered.
I hear a soft creak coming from the doorway. When I turn my head, I see nothing. Mostly because there are so many shadows interfering with my poor vision. I sigh and turn my head back up to the ceiling, my arms sore to the point where my jointsare no longer screaming, but rather whimpering and whining like a wounded dog.
When I close my eyes and force myself to sleep, I hear something else. It's the sound of a door shutting.
My door.
CHAPTERSIX
Marco
I close her bedroom door, my blood boiling inside of my veins. When I saw her laying there, breasts pressed against her silk top and hair fallen around her in a mass of waves, I had to stop myself from entering and forcing my cock into her mouth again. As soon as I heard her murmur my name into the room, something inside of me snapped. Something old and dead, something I buried deep within me a long time ago. Something a whole lot like boyish curiosity.
You can see my dilemma here. Not only am I one of the most powerful men in Manhattan, but I’m also the most ruthless. And ruthless, powerful men do not become curious over a woman that they are holding hostage. A woman that is the daughter of his father's killer no less.
I fix the lapels of my suit jacket and march down the staircase to my office in the right wing of the mansion. It used to be my father's, but as soon as he died, I completely gutted the old room and knocked down a couple walls to make it one massive office coupled with a boardroom and bathroom, since I am in here majority of the time. I’ve made sure to remove everything that reminded me of him, except for his gun collection. I wanted the space to be simple and strong, not adorned with family photos and reminders of the life that I once had.
Right now, in said office, sits a man that owes me a large sum of money. He’s a gun dealer from New Jersey and one that I’ve been doing business with for a couple of years now. During our time together, he’s mostly been on time with his payment. See, I smuggle over his new merchandise from a source down in Columbia and it costs me a pretty penny. A pretty penny that I double for him and, thus far, he’s been on time with what he owes. Until this morning.
I walk into the large boardroom and my men already have him tied up, his face all bloody and bruised from their interrogations earlier. He's been avoiding my calls about his new shipment, and after the fourth unanswered one, I dispatched my men to his small store, which is primarily in business because of me.
“Mr. Mueller, it’s great to finally see you,” I say, sitting across from him at my large conference table, his mouth sealed by a thick slab of duct tape.
He mumbles something incorrigible, and it causes me to laugh. If I wasn’t so amped up from the last few days of having Lori in my house, maybe I’d go easy on him, but as it seems, my restraint in limited and my frustration is at an all-time high. It would appear so that lately all I want to do is wreak havoc on anyone that dares to fucking cross me.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Mueller, but I can’t hear you. Not that I want to anyway,” I say, folding my hands on the table after I pull my gun from my pants and set it on the worn oak. When he sees it, his eyes widen in fear.
“You see, Mr. Mueller, now is not the time for me to hear you. It’s for you to hear me. And perhaps what I’m going to say will make perfect sense so that I will only need to say it once. I’m not in the mood to reiterate today.” I snap, standing and grabbing my gun as I walk towards him, his old eyes fixed on me as he watches me approach.
I motion with my hand to one of my men to move the gun dealer's chair back so that I have a clear shot. When he does, I cock my gun and aim it squarely at Mueller's crotch, causing him to whimper like a helpless animal.
"We agreed that when I call to notify you that your shipment is ready, you have approximately one hour to respond, make your way to the premises, and provide payment." He starts shaking his head, snot dripping from his nose as I narrow my eyes and move the gun to his head.
"I called you four times and received no response. You can see why I’m a little on edge, right? You can see why I’m not happy. Mr. Mueller, I don't do business with flakes. I made that abundantly clear when we made the deal.” I lean in close to his ear, ensuring that he hears my next words clearly and without misunderstanding.
"I said I would kill a man if he did not pay me for my services. You remember that, don’t you?” I ask, tilting my head at him as tears fall from his eyes and his head shakes violently.
What a pussy.
“I'm going to have Diego remove the tape and when he does, the only words that I want coming out of your mouth are the ones describing where the fuck my money is,” I snap, slamming my gun against the side of his head before I straighten myself and stand, his howl muffled against the tape.
I look to Diego and nod, his hand ripping the tape away from Mueller's face immediately after I issue my silent command.
