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But the last few weeks cannot be described as me being my normal self. Francisca's wedding was an irritating event. Following myconsigliere's advice, I made myself available, dancing to song after song with one of my mother's perfect wives-in-training. And, as I suspected, none of the dances were anything less than tedious. The modest looks didn't tell me anything, the rehearsed lines instigated me as much as a sheet of paper, and the technically perfect dances didn't arouse any emotion in me. I wasn't looking for anything, but thebambinatook over my thoughts with such force that it was impossible for me not to make comparisons. Or that I wouldn't ask myself, over and over again, what Gabriella was doing at home while I became angrier with each song I needed to dance to.
Every moment alone with Gabriella, whether it's over breakfast or an event designed for the paparazzi's lens, has been a colossal exercise in self-control. One that, instead of giving me everyday satisfaction, seems to be taking me to a place increasingly distant from where I'm used to being.
I turn my back on the employee and walk back to the room, my heart pumps fury instead of blood, and it only gets worse when I reach the room and find Gabriella in the exact same position I left. Hands raised, eyes closed, and every inch of hercurvy body marked by gym clothes that I have no idea where she got them from.
A blue and pink jumpsuit that sticks to her body like a second skin. Suddenly, I also find myself furious at the fact that the men I'm with are having the same vision as me.
“Get out.” The words are a growl. Gabriella doesn't move, and I rest my hands on my hips, not knowing what to do with the girl.
I became obsessed with reading everything they wrote about us, every issue of the newspaper and magazine, looking for what they said about her. Comparing the speculations of the sensationalist press with the truths that only I know and correcting them in my own thoughts. It's absurd!
I could fuck her, give in to the desire, end this irrational urge, regain my control over myself. I would do it if the same instinct that made me mark her with the damn necklace, I've gotten into the habit of constantly looking at didn't tell me that this isn't going to happen.
Just as feeding on her downward glances, her desire for approval, her constant obedience have not diminished my uncontrolled desire for her submission, sticking myself between her legs just once will hardly do anything to appease my hunger for her body, for her moans, for seeing her beg.
I clench my teeth to the point of pain and that's still not enough to make me get the images evoked by my own thoughts out of my head.
“Open your eyes, Gabriella.” She opens it, and immediately two thick tears roll down her face. The girl swallows hard, but she doesn't move. Her look is pure and absolute fear of death, yet she is still here, standing still, waiting for it. “Have you done anything wrong?” Her response is a slow shake of her head, denying it. “Then why are you standing there, like a lamb, justwaiting for the slaughter?” She blinks, but no words leave her mouth. “Answer me!” I demand through gritted teeth, needing her to say whatever nonsense will throw me back into the reality I've become incapable of returning to alone.
My biggest irritation is, of course, with myself, and it doubles in size when Gabriella's answer makes me regret having asked the question in the first place.
“Because my life is yours, sir. To do whatever you want,” she says with watery eyes, and I look at her in disbelief.
“How far, Gabriella? How far does your submission go?” The question is directed at her, but the truth is that I ask it for myself. No response comes, and in the end, I think that's a good thing. It's entirely possible that she would answer me as much as I want, and that would explode what little control I still have left. “Finish your exercises, Gabriella,” I say, taking two steps away before turning my back on her, determined to go to Sagrada's training center and take out all the fury being produced by my body on whoever dares enter the ring with me.
I'm not a man who asks for permission to get what he wants, but I'm also not a man dominated by his own desires. Until today, these two conditions had never faced each other. Where one ruled, the other had no part. To this day, because with every determined step I take in order to stay under my own control takes me away from Gabriella, and the beast that lives under my skin seems ready to explode it to get what it wants.
***
The house is dark and that's a good thing. Looking at Gabriella now couldn't be a good idea. After spending hours in the ring at the training center and knocking out more than half the men there, I locked myself in the office and worked until thefury with myself cooled, but the sensations provoked by the girl, I couldn't get rid of.
Keeping the lights off, I walk through the familiar hallways towards my office, the folder in my hand needs to be left there. On the way to it, however, a slit of light catches my attention and I follow its trail, looking for it. I reach the library hallway and realize that's where it's coming from.
There is only one person who could be there, and I turn around, walking back to my office, but after leaving the folder on the table, as I make my way to my room, I find myself unable to take the shortest route. I pass by the library again, and the light is still on.
The knowledge that I'm being controlled by impulses rather than my willpower makes me irritable again, but it doesn't stop me from walking to the door and opening it. What I find, however, makes me exhale loudly. Asleep. Gabriella is asleep on the library couch.
One of her arms is resting on her stomach, next to an open book, while the other is hanging off the seat. I look away, too aware of what I'm about to do. I walk towards the girl and stop in front of her, as aware of what should be done.
I take the book off Gabriella before leaning over her sleeping body and fitting my arms between it and her upholstery, picking her up and lifting her. Thebambinadoesn't wake up, quite the opposite, she turns over in my arms, rubbing her face on my chest dressed only in a sleeveless t-shirt before letting out a satisfied sigh.
My skin vibrates with the sensation triggered by Gabriella's simple, unconscious gesture. I carry her around the house, with every step I take, wondering how she would react if she woke up. She doesn't wake up; however, thebambinacontinues sleepinga deep and apparently peaceful sleep all the way from the library to her room.
The first thing I notice when entering is the pile of bedding on the floor. So, she keeps doing it. I place her on the bed and Gabriella immediately turns over, snuggling into the pillow and sinking into the soft mattress. And before I leave the room, I feel the fleeting desire to be here in the morning when she wakes up to discover that, for the first time in years, she's slept in a bed instead of on the floor.
CHAPTER 40
________
Gabriella Matos
I've come to look forward to the invitations, and as the sun sets on Friday without any having been extended to me this week, it's impossible to stop the disappointment from spreading through my body and mind, especially since that wasn't the only change since the night when, for the second time since arriving in Italy, I thought I was going to die.
My heart quickens just at the memory of being at Vittorio's gunpoint, even though the moment didn't last more than ten seconds. Raising my hands was a reflex, as was squinting my eyes. I was sure my time had come, even if I didn't know why.
In my head completely flooded with adrenaline, I had done something serious enough to simply be killed at that moment and I only realized that I was not the target of the Don's raised gun when he returned and told me to open my eyes. His gaze was pure undisguised anger when he asked me why I was there, standing like a lamb ready for slaughter.
That should have been enough for any lapse in judgment I might have been under to disappear. However, it wasn't. That night I rolled from side to side on the padded carpet until I gave up my ridiculous attempt to sleep and went to the library. I wondered, again and again, where Vittorio had gone and what could have made him so enraged that he had acted the way hedid. Not that the Don being angry was anything to be surprised at, it was just that at one point it seemed like he was irritated that he couldn't blame me, and that doesn't make any sense, but it's not like much does anyway. I fell asleep in the library without realizing it.
