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To narrow it down, she hates surprises and I’ll keep that in mind for when we have to deal with my family. For now, she better not faint on me. Again.
The moment her eyes meet mine she goes static. Her glass green eyes stretch open. That’s a first. And as she regains consciousness, she blinks repeatedly and cowers. That’s her usual.
I snap my fingers to call her attention back to my face but instead, she goes down on her knees and bows. I clench my teeth. I want obedience, but not this kind. This kind of obedience is for cowards. I don’t need men cowering at my feet to show me their loyalty. Hell, nobody is ever loyal to a boss that makes them cower. They think they’re loyal until a better offer shows up. I can bet my ass that the Camorra men will turn on their boss when offered something better.
“On your feet,” I say, hoping she has two working ears because I hate repeating myself.
She stands, almost as immediately as she bowed.
Good girl.
“Sit,” I point to the sofa so she doesn’t make the mistake of thinking I’m asking her to sit on the floor. For all the time she takes scanning me, she is quick to do as told. She scampers over to the sofa and sits, holding on tight to the plastic bottle.
“Meet my eyes.”
Now that’s something that stirs a different reaction. Instead of looking at me, she looks down and is about to rest her cheston her lap. “Don’t you…” She sits up and I don’t bother with completing my sentence.
It will take time to make her into a woman fit for the role of my wife but I will manage. I want obedience, not servitude.
“For this next phase of your life, your eyes have no business with the floor,” I sip my whiskey and continue. “Your role is simple, you’re to be my wife,” now her head springs up.
Those eyes she couldn’t keep up stay wide open, and her lips start to twitch. The plastic bottle makes a crumpling sound as she tightens her fingers around it.
Don’t you dare faint on me. Fuck me, this is already feeling so stressful.
Damn Vittoria and her family. Damn my family for agreeing to it. Damn me for saying I have a fiancée. Damn Claudio for his crazy suggestion. Damn the Camorra for having that exhibition… and to hell, damn her for catching my attention.
I’m stressed out already, and this is just day one.
“You’ll play the obedient wife while I take over my family business. You need some adjustments to fit into your new role, you will learn etiquette and politics. It will help protect you in this new world, politics especially.” They will. Also because if I want my family to believe our love story, I need her to have at least a basic knowledge of something I enjoy.
She is gaping now, her halogen green eyes still stretched open with the upper part of her long rich black lashes touching under her eyebrows.
“I will provide any doctors you may need to help you heal from the inside out., and if you cannot get back to your initial shape, the excess skin around your stomach and arms can be worked on, of course, if that’s something you’d want.” Her body is hers to do as she fucking wishes.
I need a decent woman and once she is taken care of, nourished and healed inside and out, I think she’ll do just fine. If I had wanted a supermodel, I would have known where to look. Besides, the supermodels I’ve met have got nothing on this woman in front of me, although she will never hear that from my mouth. She’s defiant and – in every sense of the word – beautiful. I’ve had enough women in my bed to assert this.
“You will have to learn to go shopping to suit your status, and if not I’ll pay someone to do it for you.”
This one is important. I don’t want to see her in inferior clothes, or see her walking about naked in the house. I wouldn’t put it past her. I take care of everyone around me, it is one of the ways to command loyalty and respect. I take care of what’s mine. Every woman I’ve had might complain of my indifference towards them but never about lacking anything money can buy. The devil knows I didn’t love them. So let’s solve the math in regard to this woman I’m introducing to my family, which I do love. My family I mean. There will be no limitation to what she can have, if it can be bought with money.
“You will behave yourself in the presence of my family, friends, and associates as a submissive wife, with emphasis on the word submissive.” I don’t want nobody talking back at me or getting out of line and showing my enemy a weak link. If we want this to work, she needs to do her part well, for her sake more than mine.
I sip my whiskey, taking my time before revealing the big part. Every other thing I have said is just a preamble. This will could make her faint again or even pass on to the devil.
“Our marriage will take place one month from now, and while married, you owe me no sex, nor do I owe, except for procreation,” I wait, because I know she needs to take that in before I continue.
She has been worked out sexually and not just by one person. I know in my guts that she has been with more than one cruel, sexually depraved man to be shuddering the way she is at the mention of the word. Her face contorts and I can tell she repels me.
It makes me want to erase everything she’s come to know, from teenage boys with inexperienced fingers and sloppy kisses to the lowlifes that disobeyed the first rule of sex, which is consent. I would like to give her new memories but that’s not in my place to do. I am not the savior here. Too bad she will never know anything better. She will become my wife and that will be then end of her sex life.
I will never force a woman to have sex. I was still generous when my lovers were not in the mood. The women I fucked canconfirm that. But I’m no saint in the bedroom, I can be quite feral. I am ten thousand miles away from a saint.
“Your first task is to fall in line, and we both need to work together to convince my family, the media, and any onlookers that we are who we say we are. Be good and I’ll make sure you have a life of abundance.”
The make-believe is where things get tough. She can be in my space and I can pretend all I want that she doesn’t exist and demand she only be submissive. It is convincing the media and most importantly the Mancusos and my family that will be the most difficult part of the sham.
She needs to know me for that to be plausible, and I need to know her. The stupid file sent by the Camorra after the purchase with no relevant information other than her name, height, and nationality is far from enough. And I can command her to speak and tell me things about herself, but am I ready to share things about myself with her?
