Our father’s untimely death was seared into her brain and I could still smell the burning flesh whenever I was in her presence.
There were conflicting reports of what had happened that night, but one thing that wasn’t ever in question was who pulled the trigger. I glanced over at the striking man I had taken as my husband and my heart screamed out to know why.
Why did he do it?
He didn’t seem like a wholly unreasonable man. But then the mottled bruises circling my throat offered a difference of opinion.
Our father’s death was a cloud that followed us everywhere we went. I could see it. That day, at the church, how many of his men looked at me like I was scum. As if I were lower than dirt. Their eyes blazed with the question. How could I do it? How could I marry the man who killed my father?
As if I’d had the choice.
Lost in thought, I hadn’t noticed the car slow. Wherever it was he had taken me, we were there. Ettore parked in the drive of the stunning waterfront property, turned off the car, and let himself out. I looked up at the enormous colonial. It had to be at least 1700 square feet and the property itself was, at first glance, a couple of acres. I had never seen that many gables on a roof before. The exterior was a subtle in its beauty. Intricate stonework was laid over the walls, the plethora of mixed sized windows were all painted a uniform white, and the yard was immaculately kept. It looked pristine in a way that made me feel bad that it would soon be marred with my blood.
I was so enamored by the house that I got a little spooked when the door beside me suddenly opened. Ettore stood there, patient and waiting, and when he did what I knew he would, I sighed under my breathe and took his outstretched hand.
My heart skipped a beat when his warm fingers circled mine. That meant something, right? It had to. I had never been so affected by a man before. So moved in his presence, floating at a single touch. I wish I had more time to explore these uncomfortable but tangible feelings because they were worthy of discovery.
Really, heart? Of all men, it had to be this one?
My brain let out a bitter laugh and whispered, “Karma’s a bitch.”
I was aware of just how fucked up it was that I would go to my grave quietly and obediently simply because he desired it and I wished to please him.
So, as we began the dreaded descent to what I was certain would be my final resting place, you can understand my confusion when Ettore unlocked the front door, let us in, released my hand with a jerk of his chin and rumbled, “Come on. You get a quick tour.” He paused to look me up and down, desire burning in his eyes, “Ending on the master bedroom.”
Um. What did he just say?
I didn’t dare reach for the ember of hope that ignited then.
What did he mean by that?
He walked on and I followed. Of course, I followed. I was his pet. Docile. Compliant. And – God help me – I wanted to be good for him. Right then, as that pesky cinder of hope lit into something bigger, I silently chastised myself. Vincenza warned me about my naivete. As it so happened, it was a warning I should have heeded.
What is with you, following this guy around like a little lost puppy?
I didn’t know. I didn’tknow.
What was happening to me?
I reminded myself that I didn’t love Ettore. I told myself that I didn’t even know the man. He and I were not soulmates. We were simply a consequence of poor fortune.
Don’t forget well suited.
Ettore pointed out the rooms around us, but I didn’t hear a word of it. I was too engrossed with his mouth. So sullen. So petulant. I wanted to kiss his pout away. My lips would touch his and he would lose sight of everything else. Like magic, his woes would fade away and he would fall in love with me. Given half the chance, I knew I would be a good wife.
I only had to prove myself.
Up the stairs we walked. My ears stopped buzzing when he pointed out certain rooms. “This one is where the boys stay. And Ella is down the end of the hall.” My breathing turned choppy when he stilled in front the room at the end of the hall, slowly turned around to face me and said gruffly, “You know which room this is, don’t you?”
I did. The last on his list. It was the master bedroom.
The apples of my cheeks turned pink and I averted my eyes as I nodded lightly.
“Good,” he responded, stepping into me. Crowding me. “Earlier, I asked you if you were sore. This was mere curiosity. You know that nothing would stop me from having you again, don’t you?” My stomach turned wildly. It went out of control when he gripped my chin between his thumb and forefinger and lifted until his mouth was a whisper away from my own and said, “You are never too sore for me, are you?” My nerves were out of control. When I didn’t respond, he moved my chin from left to right, and then I was shaking my head. “When I want you, I will have you. Isn’t that right, wife?” He then moved my chin up and down, slowly. He played with me a moment. I wanted the kiss so badly. I stretched for it, but he hovered just out of reach. A slow smirk lifted in the corners of his mouth, pleased by my unconcealed desire. “Perfect.”
Still facing me, he reached behind and opened the door, stepping back through it, revealing the flawless bedroom. At my uncle’s house, I slept in a modest and lonely queen bed. In front of me now was a Californian king with an aged black wooden sleigh frame that held a comforter without a single crease and plush pillows that begged to be slept on. The open door of the walk-in closet showed it was bigger than the bathroom I used at home. Decorated charismatically. It was everything I wished for, and – God willing – I got to share it with Ettore Scala.
I was so lost in its charm that I didn’t hear Ettore approach from behind until the fronts of his legs were flush against the backs of my own, my ass nestled in against his strong thighs. I struggled to breathe knowing what was coming. I could hear his satisfied smile when he lowered his lips to the shell of my ear and taunted on a whisper, “I can hear your heart beat.”