Ruthless Monarch
mahogany door.
The door swings open, and my father is standing at the threshold. He looks pleased with himself.
“That didn’t take long. I see he grew bored of you already.” I refuse to let him see me suffer, so I plaster on a fake smile.
“We had a fight, and since I gave up my apartment, I decided to come here instead. There’s nothing to gloat about. I’m sure everything will be back to normal by tomorrow,”
I lie. There is no way I’ll fall apart in front of him.
“I doubt that. But believe what you want. I would have preferred you keep him on the hook a little longer, but I’m sure we can find another, more useful, way to use you. Maybe Salvatore will take his cousin’s sloppy seconds.”
“Why do you hate me so?”
He looks me dead in the eyes. “I don’t hate you. You just hold no purpose, and without a purpose, you might as well be dead.”
“I’m your daughter.”
“Which is why I need you alive, but I’ll be dammed if your little rebellious act has me losing my chances of something bigger. You will be useful to me.” His words leave me feeling cold and empty. I walk past him into the foyer.
I’m not sure where my mother is, but I have to assume she’s somewhere with a martini glass in hand. I head up the stairs and into the old room where I used to live before moving to the city for college.
Once I’m in the safety of my room, I fall apart. My soul is bleeding out of my body in warm streams of tears. This is a pain I have never felt before. What I said to Matteo is true. I did fall in love with him.
Somewhere along the way, I fell in love with the villain. And like all evil things, he took me apart piece by piece and then crushed what was left.
He ruined me.
I will never be the same.
34
Matteo
* * *
“You let her live,” Lorenzo blurts, as shocked as I am, stepping into my office.
“I didn’t let her do anything. A game of Russian roulette allowed her to breathe air for another day.”
“And who really knows for how long? I’m sure her father is still furious with her for going against his original plan. I’m sure by the end of the week, she will be sold off to Salvatore. Maybe even put on his chopping block.”
Despite my anger at her betrayal, his words cause my fist to clench. I hadn’t thought of that. I might want to kill my wife, but that life, a life of slavery, is not what I want for her.
We are both quiet for a minute, and then Lorenzo takes a seat across from me.
“Why did you let her go?” His voice dips. He’s asking me a question I don’t want to answer.
He’s asking me if I fell for my wife.
Instead of answering, I reach my hand across my desk and grab the glass decanter sitting there. Beside it are empty tumblers.
“Care to drink with me?” When he nods his head, I pour us both a drink. I slide his to him, and I lift mine and take a swig.
“I am not in love with Viviana,” I answer, but I can’t deny there is a weird feeling inside me. It feels as though I am empty. It’s a feeling I’ve never felt before, not even when my parents died. But I don’t say that to him. Instead, I drink another sip. This time when I place it on the table, the liquid sloshes against the glass.
“Killing her would’ve been too easy, and it wouldn’t have helped our cause,” I finally say.
“So, then you do have a reason for keeping her alive?” he asks.
“Her phone is still tapped. Her purse still bugged.”
“You plan to use her.”
“It only seems fair.”
“And then if she’s not helpful. What if her father doesn’t fall into the trap?”
“Well then, maybe we get lucky, and she will end up in Salvatore’s hands after all.”
“And you will be okay knowing what he will most likely do to her?”
“Yes,” I say, but the word feels bitter on my tongue. Chalky. Like dust is settling on it, and I want to cough it up.
“Boss, you’ve never lied to me before. You don’t have to now.”
I’m at a loss of what to say. Is that what she did to me? Do I feel something for her? Did I care? Is that why my words are hollow? Is that why the idea of my cousin having her feels like I’m chewing shards of glass?
“I don’t love her,” I say again, but this time, it sounds like a lie even to me. He nods and lifts his own drink, sitting then in silence. When both our glasses are finished, I set mine on the table and push away to stand.