In love with Salvatore

rack of my signature left a groove on the sheet of paper. I

ci

e as she raised big, innoce

at would make her mine. I wasn't sure if she was reading or simply staring, trying t

r. I didn't miss the questions I saw

bent in defeat. He couldn't look at his daug

I hated my own father m

in her neck. Her hand trembled when she picked up the pen. She met my gaze once more. One final pl

ng them. Hell, I didn't know what I

ig

ade her turn. I watch

t have a

n understatement. He was some

didn't s

" her father

Lucia Annalisa DeMarco-on the dotted line adjacent to mine. My family's attorney applied

ll official, the

e look of displeasure, and walked out

asked her. Did she want to

N

her chair back and stood, the now-wrinkled white skirt fa

rea

ion. I glanced at her father, then at the cold examining table with the leather restraints now hanging o

ve been so much

ay my father wanted. His

hank for saving

ke a monster? A beast? A p

de me sick. She was the token, the living, bre

vator down to the lobby, emptying my eyes

take me, and twenty minutes later, I walked into the whorehouse, to a room in the back, the image of Lucia lying on that examining

t looked. Did that absolve me

s my cock

and willed myself to be anywhere but there. Willed myself not to hear the sounds,

le I'd

rning amber eyes, when I dared shift my gaze to hers, our eyes had

on, she'd so

d look

ealized the full cost he'd agreed to; the pa

his. For al

ve. He should have died to protect her. He s

eath, heavy and

d. Whiskey dulled the scene replaying in my head. But it did nothing to

egs, and took my cock out of my pants. Her lips moved, saying something I didn't hear over the war ra

ia on that table, and fucked the whore's face until she choked and tears streamed down her cheeks. Until I finally came, emptying down her throat, the sexual release, like the whiskey, gave me nothing. There wasn't enough

was mine, a

y own m

u

Years

ria,

irmation day. I'd been a child. I'd worn a beautiful white dress, and my

f how I looked in my dress. How it was the pret

who was the prettiest. Today, I followed my

we reached the front rows, where ten were occupied. Fifteen mourners on the right-my family's side. Doubl

e many friends. In fact, of the fifteen, two were his brothers, my uncles, and one, his sister. The other twel

ive years ago, sat across from me in a cold, sterile room and signed a contract, declaring his ownership of me. A vow, like a

e, the payer of the debt. Me to show anyone in the DeMarco family who had any fight lef

family. I hate ever

nd me that I felt her there. At least she wasn't crying. At least s

oday, it had

, it twisted my heart, reminding me of yet

d to receive it. It would be a closed-casket funeral. No viewing.

k at my sister, see what her eyes said. But then his gaze shifted to me. He looked very different from the boy I'd grown up with. But he was very different or had become so over the last five years. We all had. Through the lace shielding my face, I me

would

who it was. Standing up straighter, steeling myself, I forced

ore Be

y met once before, I remembered him clearly. But the suit seemed to stretch tighter over muscle now, his chest

able-I still shuddered at how cold it had felt against my naked thighs-he hadn't spoken. Not a si

o his. He'd turned away first. Was it that he hadn't been able to look at me? To witn

d, but I wouldn't consider that. It didn't matter. Salvatore Benedetti would one day rule th

aze up to his. I'd learned to hide my

seemed to still, as if waiting. Something flutt

eely b

terrible day, I'd thought there was hope. That he'd stop what was happening. But I'd been wrong.

at. To not to allow myself

ood watching me, his father's expression screaming victory. He gave me a cruel grin and held out

ar to hate. I woul

d been sixteen when I'd been made to sign that contract. I knew

ther. I didn't turn to look at my sister when she was ushered into a pew across the aisle. I paid no attention to the Benedetti soldiers lining the perimeter of the church

e prayed for his soul. After all this time, I didn't think I c

would cry at a funeral. That fact impr

r back. He must have felt me stiffen because he removed his hand. We emerged from the darkness inside the church out onto the square, the bright Italian sun momentarily blinding. My father would be buried in Calabria. It was his wish, to be retur

t. Some commotion caught my attention, and I watched as four-year-old Effie escaped from her nanny's grip and ran toward her mother, my sister, and wrapped he

uc

y. She looked different than the last time I'd seen h

ference between the sixteen-year-old girl she had known and the woman who s

ed you

but then she'd left. She'd turned her back on me and walked away. I knew why. I even understood. But it hurt all th

lared inside me, even though I wanted it to go away. It wasn't her fault

ame Effie

y arms as if willing upon me strength. Did she see m

atience of a child, tugging at Isab

ding foreign. Cold. "Why now?" It was that or f

possible, though. Pretty, blue-gray eyes watched me, seeming to bore right through me. I wonde

choosing to ignore my question.

n gave me a quick smile, a small dimple

touching her carame

H

er, and I wanted to burn everyone up with it. Everyon

ft. Forgive me." She glanced at

er to the boss of the DeMarco family pregnant out of wedlock. As modern as my family was, there were some th

to give away. If he'd had a son, perh

see you n

hy both

bborn gesture I remembered

until we all realized there was no threat. Before I turned back to her, though, I noticed Salvator

part of life. Part of business. Even having gr

ldn't see his eyes, but he watched me while standing beside

aking my hand. Hers felt warm, soft. It

I could not cry. I

. You're n

my hand free. "That

tore allow it? For a moment, I thought of him coming to my rescue, of him punishing my sist

go." I took

ars, sadness replacing the mom

ness. Not an

't hold up in any court of law. But it wasn't the contract that dictated my lif

er daughter again. At my un

I cooperated. The contract was simply another me

memory. I wou

across the square, I could see he waited patiently, and I thought he might be trying to be civilized, polite. For the sake of the gather

nother person? That had

, it was time to enter the den of the wolf. My schooling was complete, and it was time for me to assume my place as Salvatore Benedetti's possession. For one moment, I tried to imagine that it wasn't true. That it was all a dream, a nightmare. That I could look at my big s

Salvatore e

back, and the crowd hushed, watching me go to him. He didn't smile as I neared. Nothing changed. His face

uc

, his voice low and da

racticed this moment in my mind for months.

mily and a man I thoroughly despised, approached. He

y are you here? You have no right." I heard my que

ive you my c

ng around as if we were

is tone lower, "I wouldn'

moved at the last moment, and I missed. When I looked up, Salvatore's face showed his shock, and Franco's was quickly reddening, showing his fury. Although I stood

ipped my arm

eyes locked on his

feet away, approached. He had a smile on his face as he put hi

e attention. Come

I would have sworn he wa

tore's grip tighte

"I'm sorry I missed," I said,

p, and Salvatore muttered

d just when I thought h

and gripped my waist as h

me," I said, tryin

engine. Salvatore transferred his grip to my knee, his eyes burning a hole th

l I could do was shake violently.

ing," he told the driver, hi

the cold that h

," the dr

much, too intense. It brought too many memori

e hurt

me. He shifted his gaze to where his hand gripped my knee. I held

s only the begi