Oath of Obedience (Deviant Doms 2)

Maybe she’ll like it at The Castle. Women dig that shit. Hell, so do I.

“Yeah, I did hear about that. I just forgot,” she says, then quickly looks away. Embarrassed? “So will we stay here?” As she looks around, I wonder if she’ll like it here.

“No. We come here on occasion. Sometimes we will stay in The Castle, sometimes in Tuscany. But you’ll stay wherever I am.” She won’t be allowed a night away from me.

She looks away and worries her lip.

“I don’t want to make small talk, Elise. We both know why we’re here. We both know what we have to do.” Any Regazza woman would know her duty, as well as I know mine. If she’s at all curious, she doesn’t show it but only looks away with a sigh.

We reach the landing. The house has been cleaned to within an inch of its life while I’ve been away. The hardwood floors gleam and shine like they’ve been newly polished. Flowers are on every little tabletop in the hallway, and from here we can see the living room, the entryway, and a small area where I keep the piano below. I don’t play, but Marialena does. I like it here for her.

“I suppose we’ll share a bedroom, too?”

“Of course.”

We don’t speak as we make our way to the bedroom. And for the first time since I saw her, a little part of me looks forward to what happens next. The blessed relief of letting myself go, and a good night’s sleep after a good hard fuck. It’s been way too damn long.

“You say that you’re tired,” she says, almost as if she’s looking for an excuse not to do this. “Are you?”

“Why would I lie? I don’t lie about anything.”

My brothers and I have many faults, but dishonesty is not one of them.

We reach the landing, and she keeps up the small talk. “Why are you so tired? What happened?”

Doesn’t she know anything about me? Does she have no clue where I came from?

“What did your father tell you about me?”

I open the door. I don’t keep any of my bedrooms locked, even though we do at The Castle.

It looks as if the bedding is fresh and clean, the bed perfectly made. Again, flowers adorn the nightstands, and the blinds have been drawn. Velvet robes hang from hooks on the open bathroom door, and from here I can see the gleaming porcelain and white and silver accents. It feels like a fucking mansion after what I’ve been through, after what I’ve done and where I’ve been.

“My father told me nothing. I didn’t even know your name.” I can tell she’s telling the truth this time. “He sent my bodyguard to get me. I was in Italy. He put me on a plane and sent me here. He said he’d send my belongings after me.” She looks away. “You could say I was not prepared for this.”

A normal person might feel sympathy.

Not me.

Her voice is higher, tighter, and I don’t miss the tightening of her jaw or the way that her fingers clench into fists. “And I don’t care if you say that I should have been prepared for this, because I knew that I would be put into an arranged marriage. No one is prepared for something like this.”

Is she picking a fucking fight? She’d better not be, because that ain’t something she’s gonna win.

“I just spent six months in prison.” I don’t know why I say this with no prelude, or what I’m trying to prove to her. I guess a part of me wants to tell her a little bit about me, because it’s not fair that she knows nothing. But I also want her to know that her life of luxury hasn’t ended, and she may be pissed off that she’s been married to a guy she’s never met. Given what I know about mob life and the men she could’ve married, she’s fucking lucky. Of all the assholes she could’ve been married to…

But I’m shit out of patience.

She freezes outside the door and braces herself against the doorframe. I don’t know why I notice for the first time her short, rounded fingernails, or how her fingers are as tiny as a small child’s. I could engulf both of her hands in one of mine.

“What for?” Her voice is a little breathy, shaky. Her knuckles whiten on the doorframe.

“I don’t lie, Elise. So I’ll tell you the truth. I served six months for involuntary manslaughter. I don’t wanna talk about it, but that’s the truth and you might as well know it.”

I have no shame in who I am, what I do. I don’t know why I have the feeling that some of this is new to her. It shouldn’t be. Maybe she’s lived a more sheltered life than I thought.