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“Then congratulations,” she snaps. “You got what you wanted, too.”
“This isn’t what I fucking wanted!” I yell, almost knocking over my tea. “I wanted to go to college. To be normal, not married to a fucking gangster at 20 years old!”
The slightest hint of guilt flashes across my mother’s face, but she chooses defensiveness. “I never even saw why you wanted to go to college. It’s not like you’ll ever have to work.”
“I don’t care if you understand it! It was what I wanted for my life, and you took it away from me. I can’t believe you would do that to your daughter.”
“So go get it back,” says my mom, shrugging. “If your new husband is so powerful. Like you said, your father and I don’t get a say.”
***
When Alessandro gets home that evening, the first thing I notice are the bruises on his knuckles.
“What happened?” I ask, wincing. I remember my father coming home like that. “Are you okay?
“Fine,” he grunts. “Stopped at a boxing gym today, hit the heavy bag for a while.”
I raise my eyebrows. “No gloves? No hand wraps?”
“Okay, you got me. You want all the gory details, then?”
“I wasn’t trying to pry. Are we in danger?”
He gets an ice pack from the freezer and presses his hand against it. “No.”
It’s obvious he doesn’t want to talk, and I get it. But I wish he would let me in. He plops down on the couch. I sit next to him. “You can talk to me, you know. If you ever want to.”
Alessandro looks uncomfortable. “Thanks. Noted.”
“You really just keep it all inside, don’t you?”
He shrugs, not looking at me. “Safer that way.”
Safer for me? Or for you?
I decide to change the subject. “I visited my mom today.”
He looks surprised. “Oh? How was that?”
“Fine, I guess. She didn’t start screaming at me the moment I came in the door like I thought she might.”
“Did she say anything about your dad?”
It would be easy to assume that his question was out of interest in my life, but I know better. Any inside information about my father’s circumstances could be helpful to him. The biggest threatto his leadership is whatever power Tony Gagliardi may or may not be wielding from his jail cell.
I shake my head. “No.”
The distance between us is killing me. I felt so close to him before, when we were exploring our sexual dynamic. But outside the bedroom, it’s like there’s a pane of glass between us. Like he’s playing defense, preventing himself from getting too attached.
“Stand up.”
My body reacts immediately to his tone. He’s using what I call his “dom” voice—it’s low and gravelly, with just enough edge to let me know his words are a command. I’ve become accustomed to it lately, and I obey him instinctively, standing up from the couch.
Alessandro watches me with lidded eyes, looking satisfied for the first time since he walked in the door. He doesn’t get up immediately, staying in his seat and watching me as I stand in front of him. I know better than to move, even though I feel awkward and vulnerable.
That would earn me a spanking, at minimum.
“Okay, let’s get your collar,” says my husband, standing up. He walks behind me and puts his hands on my upper arms, gripping them as he guides me forcefully to the bedroom.
