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“All my life, all my fucking life and we’re talking since I was seven, that asshole would jack with me. Beatings, inventive punishments, you name it. He did what he wanted, and he did that to keep me and my brothers under his control.”
“Marco—”
“You wanted it, Princess. You’re going to get it.”
“Okay,” she finally responds staring into my eyes.
“It got so commonplace, I fucking thought it was normal, Ena. I was so twisted up, I thought everyone had a father who did this shit—shit no child not a kid who was seven, or hell even twenty should know existed.” I look at her and she’s biting her lip but she’s not talking. Instead, she’s looking at me, taking it all in. I let out a breath and then forge on. “Finally, when I was eight something happened that locked everything into place for me.”
“What happened?”
“You’re not getting that. I’m not ready. No one will get it but you, Helena, but that will come when I’m ready.”
She bites her lip and nods. “Okay, but what locked into place? I’m not sure I understand.”
“I shut down. That night killed something in me, and I shut down. Nothing my father could do to me after that night got through. I may have only been eight, but that night, I got it.”
“What did you get?” she asks. I don’t want to. God, I don’t want to give it to her, but I find I do it just the same.
“He could do whatever he wanted to me physically but pain only lasted so long. I wasn’t going to fall in line for him anymore. I was done. He could kill me, and I don’t mind telling you, Princess, I was hoping for that. Fuck, I was praying for it.”
“Marco, you were only eight,” she hisses, her voice pained.
“And those eight years were hell on earth, Princess. I was ready to die.”
Her eyes go wide, dilating as her breath is physically forced out of her lungs because it burns. Taking that in, I can see she gets it.
“What happened next?”
“Father decided to test a theory. He decided since I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of doing as he demanded, he’d use my brother against me. Gio was five.”
“Oh God.”
“Sometimes I think the bastard just kept having kids because it gave him someone else to use against me and in the process, he could hurt my mother. As my brothers got older and could help defend themselves against the asshole, he got more inventive with any woman I found in my life and the shit he did, was over the top.”
“Like what?”
“It could range anywhere from fucking them and paying them for their services—either willing or non-willing—the bastard wasn’t choosy. Or, if the girl is one I met because her mother or father worked here, he’d fire her family and then proceed to make it impossible for them to find another job.”
“Damn…”
“My father always had to have complete control. He scored the fucked-up jackpot when Mom gave him twins and those twins were as evil as he was. At first, they were babies and innocent. So, we took his orders to protect Atlas and Aden—that is until we discovered how twisted they were, too. By then it was too late again, because…”
“Melina,” she whispers, interrupting.
“I wanted you, Helena. I’ve always wanted you. At first it was the promise of you that I wanted, but you have to know that night in your bedroom, you became mine. I couldn’t allow myself to claim you because doing that put you at risk. So, I kept myself distant. I know it hurt you, but that was the only thing I could do to keep you safe.”
“I knew, Marco.”
“What?”
“I knew your father was evil and I knew that’s what you were doing your best to protect me from and that you had always done it for Melina. I fell in love with you before I knew what love was. I watched how you tried to watch over your sister, and I wanted that for myself.”
Her confession is like a punch in the gut. I brush some hair out of her face and let my fingers glide against her cheek. “Baby…”
“Doing that was wrong, Marco. I did that and used that to get my father to make his move to get you for me.”
“Baby, that took me to agree to it, too.”
“One thing you don’t know about my father. He’s not a great father.”
“I know that, Ena. Discovered that the night I claimed you.”
“You gave me an orgasm. I don’t think you can call that claiming.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” I argue.
She huffs out a breath of air and shakes her head. “With my father he’ll give me anything I ask for in order to get rid of me. I am…” she seems to struggle for what to say and then sighs, “an irritation.”
