I sit there silently, knowing that I’m not meant to contribute to this conversation. Men like him want an audience, not a sparring partner.
I glance around the room, counting the number of men in here with us. Apart from Lionel, there are six suits. All of them wearing sunglasses, which is hard not to find ridiculous, considering we’re indoors and it’s not even remotely bright. I’m sure it’s meant to be intimidating.
“Her name was Elena,” he continues. “A rare beauty, not unlike you. She was dark-haired as well. We were married for ten years.”
I don’t ask what happened to her. I don’t want to know.
“I divorced her after our third daughter was born,” he tells me. “Three girls? Bah! She was clearly incompetent. A waste of my fucking time.”
I stare at him in disbelief.
“I remarried again a few years later. Vivica was just as beautiful, but she was fair-haired and fair-skinned. I had high hopes for the heirs we would have together. But she gave me no children. Not even girls.”
Not even girls. Like that was the least she could do.
I angle my chair as far from him as I can manage out of pure nausea. I’m still trying desperately to figure out what he wants from me. My instincts are sending off warning signs left, right, and center, but a part of my brain is still in denial.
“I got her expensive treatments, IVF, everything I could think of. When she finally did get pregnant, she lost the baby in the first trimester.”
I cringe at the cavalier way he shares the information. Completely devoid of emotion. Just reciting facts like he’s reading from a history book.
“The second time, she made it farther. Same result. And the third time, the baby was stillborn.” He pauses for a long moment before continuing. “It was a boy. A dusky-skinned boy whose name I had saved for so many decades. After I buried my boy, I buried Vivica alongside him. She had not done the one thing I asked of her. Give me a son, I told her when we married. So very simple.”
“You… you killed her?” I gasp.
“I cut her womb out first,” he says with the detached tone of a psychopath. “Her nasty, rotten womb. Then I killed her. She promised she would give me a son. She broke that promise.”
“What century do you live in?” I hiss, unable to stop myself.
He slams his fist down on the table so hard that the I jump in my seat. “You will not talk back to me!” he bellows. “I will not tolerate disobedience or disrespect. Is that understood?”
I don’t move. I just sit there, debating what’s better under the circumstances: to be brave or to be smart?
He stares at me pointedly for a moment. Then, satisfied that I’ve got the message, he keeps talking. “I took a break from wives after that. But now, I’m ready to try again. What is it that they say? Third time lucky? I feel this will be good.”
I continue to stare at him, feeling my breath coming in harder, faster. “Why are you telling me all this?”
“You know why,” he croons. “You’re to be the wife that delivers me my first son.”
I shake my head, but I don’t speak. I can’t. What is there to say? Fuck you, you monster doesn’t seem to do the man justice.
He seems unconcerned as he takes in the horrified look on my face. “Yes, you’ll do just fine. It’ll be the alliance that will bring us together. The Lombardis and the Rokiades of New York.”
“You can’t force me to marry you,” I say, finding my voice.
“You’ll find that I can.”
“My brother will never allow it.”
He laughs, loud and carefree. “Who do you think proposed the marriage in the first place?” he asks me tauntingly.
My heartbeat ticks over from frantic to full-blown panic. The sweat on my forehead trickles down, stinging my eyes, and I taste the copper tang of blood in my mouth. “Drago is the one that suggested this?” I rasp.
“We’ve been meeting over the course of the last few months,” Rokiades explains. “He was thrilled with his clever little idea. He was adamant that the marriage occur as soon as possible. I’m the one who suggested we wait.”
My brother had sold me to a monster. And for what? Power. Status. Money.
My insides are curling up, desperate to disappear. “Where is he now?” I ask.