Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance (19 page)

He doesn't even know, can’t even begin to understand how that makes me feel. Every private moment that I ever thought I had is a lie now. Everything is ruined. Splintered and crushed like that tiny transmitter he stomped under his muddy heel.

And knowing that I can't leave, that even if I tried I'd be snatched back just like last time… It's too much. It's too much to think about. I can't get my head around it.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do now. I've got all this pointless anger bubbling around inside me and nowhere to put it. I can't just call Daddy and accuse him of watching over me like I was his prisoner, right? I can't just call Gianna and complain that my escape plan failed miserably just like she said it would, right? And I certainly can't tell her that now that I'm stuck here, married off, end of the chapter, close the book… I can't just tell her that this supposed marriage is what it is, right?

Crazytown. Absolute crazytown. Population: three.

And the only people who seem to understand just how crazy this is are me and Roman. Alek keeps wandering around my house looking like he just got an all access pass to Disneyland. He's grinning and bouncing around like an absolute jackass, and he is really getting on my nerves. Every time he sees me, he gives me this long, simmering look, like I'm just gonna fall into his arms and play house, just like that.

Well, I have got news for him.

But Roman, I think he gets the picture. He's barely muttered a word since he dumped his crappy cardboard boxes in the middle of my nice, white bench in my bedroom. My bedroom.
Mine
. If he thinks he is sleeping up there, then I don't know what. I'll sleep on the couch. That's it. I’ll lock myself in the basement.

Oh my God. Can I really spend my whole life like this?

I keep thinking that somebody's going to come in and save me. But then there's nobody. At first, I couldn't believe that Alek was telling me the truth. Nuncio was just gone? Just like that? But apparently he was right. I guess when the priest said man and wife, Daddy figured he was done with me.

But I can't shake this feeling like something is going to happen. Something has to happen. This can't be the end of it.

As the sun starts going down I notice that Alek and Roman keep passing this look between each other, glancing at me. I'm just in the kitchen on a high stool, breathing deeply over a cup of peppermint tea. I don't feel nauseous, exactly, but I do feel like I can just go ahead and throw up. Maybe never stop. This tea is nice. Solid. Something to hold onto. Something I can throw if I need to.

Finally Alek stops bouncing around the living room and comes into the kitchen and looks at me. He cocks his head to one side and crosses his arms.

After a few minutes of him I finally look up. “What is it.”

“Oh, nothing!”

He takes a half step forward and I reflexively push myself back in my chair. Every time he is near me, for some reason I just sort of stand there. I don't know why. I should run. I should push him away, but somehow that's not what my body does. I just kind of hang out like I'm expecting to be petted or something. Maybe it's a symptom of early onset dementia. That’s the only explanation I can think of.

“Seriously, Alek. What is it?”

He shrugs. “Are you getting hungry?”

I shake my head. It suddenly occurs to me that starving myself might be the only dignified way out of this situation.

He just keeps staring at me, so I stare right back. His eyebrows go up.

Oh my God. He cannot be serious.

“Are you waiting for me to cook for you or something?”

He frowns and rocks his head back and forth, rolling him his eyes in that unmistakable gesture of
Hell yes I was expecting you to cook for me
.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“Why would I joke about that?”

“No, seriously. Do you actually think I’m going to be cooking for you?”

“Of course you’re going to be cooking for us,” he scoffs. “I'm certainly not going to be doing it. You're the wife. You cook.”

My mouth falls open. I stare at him for a long time but pretty soon I notice he seems to be enjoying it. The more pissed off I get, the more happy Alek is.

Oh my God. My life. What a joke.

I take a deep breath and hold it for a few seconds, trying to find the courage to do something,
anything
with a little dignity. Do I have any of that left? At this point, I am not so sure.

Pushing myself back from the counter, I point out the door. Alek glances over his shoulder like he expects to see somebody behind him.

“What?"

“Out.”

“So you’re gonna do it then?” he says with raised eyebrows.

“Just get out. Find somewhere else to be. I'm… ugh. I’m bringing your dinner.”

He does a little fist pump over his head and swings out the doorway.

Seriously, a fist pump. Note to self, buy a softball bat next time I'm out.

Heart thumping like I'm being chased, I just gather a few things together. Every pot that I bang on the stove crashes with a satisfying noise. I fill up a giant pot with water and dump way too much salt in there, then hold the skillet with both hands and slam it on the cooktop three or four times,
bang bang bang!
 There, I feel little better.

After a while, the water is boiling and I have a bubbling sauce of olives and tomatoes and garlic. I let the oven go too high so the bread will be burnt on the edges.

When the spaghetti is done, I dump it over the colander in the sink, letting a few fat noodles spill over the side that I just tuck back into the bulk. There. Somebody's noodles just touched the bottom of the sink. That'll teach him to invade a girl's house without any warning and then demand that she cook them dinner. Who does that?

I pull the bread out of the oven and it’s really further past the dark brown that I wanted. I mean I can't just serve them charcoal. So I take a steak knife and scrape vigorously at the edges, knocking off the worst black bits.

Tucking a bottle of olive oil under my arm I drop hunks of bread on each of the three plates and carry them all into the dining room. Alek and Roman both look up at me with raised eyebrows and expressions of actual shock on their faces as I lay the plates in front of them, steaming and fragrant.

“Wow, Marie. This is way better than I was expecting.”

“Just eat it,” I growl as I drop into a chair.

Pausing for just a second, I watch them tentatively pick up their forks and then dig in. They eat with gusto, rolling fat strands of pasta under their forks and tucking them neatly into their mouths. I can hear the sounds of appreciation and I have to admit, it feels good. I guess there is a little Italian grandma living deep inside me who's just happy to see her men eating well.

Oh no. I have got to stop that right now. No little Italian grandma. No way.

“This is good. Isn't this good, Roman?” Alek says, pointing at Roman with his fork.

Roman grunts, his cheeks bulging.

“Come on, show the Princess some good manners. Say thank you.”

Roman scowls at his brother, but slowly turns his head toward me. With his mouth still full, he says, “What is this?”

I spear an olive over some pasta and roll it delicately onto the fork. “Pasta puttanesca,” I explain without irony.
Puttanesca
. The recipe that ladies of the night supposedly threw together between customers. Little bit of bitter humor there.

“Man, I could eat this every day,” Alek says enthusiastically. Then his eyes slide over my shoulders, dipping between my breasts and the V-neck that seems to have fallen suspiciously open while I was cooking. “I mean, among other things,” he says suggestively.

“Oh no,
no no no
,” I say, suddenly shaking. “You don't just come in here, take over, make me cook for you and then think I'm gonna… No way. Absolutely not.”

Roman shrugs. He never raises his eyes from his plate. “Oh yes, you are,” he says in a low, confident voice.

My head shakes back and forth urgently like it's got a mind of its own. “Nope. You can't make me… No!”

Alek pushes himself back from this plate and leans back in his chair. He rolls his tongue across his upper teeth and gives me a wink. “Oh, you don't get to play the virginal maiden with us, remember? We were there. Both of us.”

My hands tremble on the tabletop and I stuff them into my lap, twisting my fingers together to try to get them to stop shaking. I guess they didn’t know it was my first time. I thought they could tell but I guess not. Well I’m certainly never going to admit that now.

“That was just… That was a one time thing. That was a crazy day, a crazy night… You can't think I'm just gonna…”

“I own you,” Roman says slowly. His dark eyes rise slowly to meet mine, as inscrutable as a sphinx. As immovable, too. It makes me want to scream.

“You don't own a person,” I snarl. “No matter what Daddy said, no matter what you guys said… You don't just
own a person
.”

Alek looks at me like I've lost my mind. Like I'm speaking gibberish. “Marie, let's be reasonable.”

“Reasonable?” I say, hearing the pitch of my voice rising quickly. “Reasonable?! What's reasonable about this? Please, tell me one thing about the situation that is even remotely fucking reasonable!”

“It was reasonable to try to save your life,” Roman says softly. Something about his voice carries, though, as loud as if he had shouted it.

Something about his eyes, that cold stony glare reminds me of the way he looked at me in the airport garage. This is not someone who's accustomed to arguing. He doesn't seem to enjoy banter the way Alek does, who doesn't seem to be able to ever shut up. Roman expects to say a thing, and then just acts like I'm going to do it. Just like that.

Or else.

“You can't… No. Please no.”

“I
own
you,” Roman says again. I have a feeling this one of those rare times he's going to actually be willing to repeat himself.

But Alek is still grinning. He casts his eyes toward the ceiling and smiles as though there’s a camera still on him, even though supposedly he got rid of all of them.

“Well, now, Roman, we've got all the time in the world, right? All the time in the world,” he says slowly, clearly enjoying every moment of it.

Roman cocks his head toward Alek, his eyes a cold warning.

But Alek just continues as though he doesn't understand the threat. “We can be, you know… Patient. Let her get adjusted to the idea. I mean after all, she's not going to resist forever.”

“You don't know that,” I snarl.

He wrinkles his nose at me. “Oh, I know it, Princess. I know you. You pretend to be so innocent, so outraged and yet… Aren’t you the one that threw herself at both of us in an elevator? Two men you didn't even know? Monsters, as you say?”

Roman nods and stares at me, raising his eyebrows accusingly.

“No, it wasn't like that —”

“— It was exactly like that. I know what happened. You know what happened too, Roman, don't you? Wasn’t it exactly like that?”

“Exactly,” Roman agrees.

“Fuck you both.”

“Ha!” Alek barks. “See, it's that had a dirty mouth that's going to get you in trouble, Marie. You should watch what you say to me. Because
fuck you both
 is exactly where you'll end up. Didn’t you beg for it that last time? Didn't you?”

I want to say it again, but instead I just clamp my lips shut, biting them together to keep from speaking. My whole body is hot, sweaty, flushed.

Nodding, Alek closes his eyes like he is entering a dream state. “Yes, I remember it exactly. The way you arched your back against me, the way you ground your ass against my cock while Roman plowed you from the front… That doesn't seem like an innocent little princess, does it?”

“Stop it.”

“How you let me hold you... hold you open for my brother…”

“Stop it!”

I shake my head, trying to clear it. As he is saying it the images pop into my mind even though I don't them want to. I don't want to see. And yet I do remember it, vividly. I remember being crushed between them and those strong, swelling urges to feel everything,
everything
all at once…

“No,” I try to say, but it comes out more like a groan. Pressing my lips closed again, I resolve not to say anything else.

“Oh
yes
,” Alek says in a low voice. He pushes himself up from the table with his palms and begins slowly walking toward me. “Absolutely, yes. I know you remember it too, I can tell by the way your cheeks are flushed. Just the way your mouth is open, Princess.”

Pressing myself back against my chair, I try to stay as far away from him as possible as he comes closer, prowling like a predator. Slowly he walks around the edge of the table until he's hovering over me, one hand on the back of my chair, the other hand toying with the buttons of his shirt.

“You loved it, Princess,” he murmurs. My belly twangs as I see a sudden flash in my mind, the sensation so real and present it's almost like he's touching me now. But he's not; he is still just at the edge of my chair.