Chapter 18

EIGHTEEN

Angelo

The man I put in charge of watching my cousins enters my study and stands at attention in front of my desk. "You summoned me, sir?"

I close my laptop and give him my full attention. "Your report says nothing transpired at the new house today."

He watches straight ahead, not looking into my eyes. "Nothing worth mentioning, sir."

"They never left the house?"

"No, sir. Both your wife and niece stayed inside."

I'm not reassured. Why, I don't know. It's not like Sabella to be so docile. However, she seems sincere about Sophie's welfare. What she said about sending Sophie to a hostel does bother me. It's not as if I haven't had those thoughts myself. I eye the application for the prestigious girls' school lying on my desk. This is the best way. I'm not going to submit my niece to the treatment my mother suffered her whole life.

"That will be all," I say, waving him away. "Keep watching the property. Night and day. Set up a rotation schedule with a couple of our best men, but keep the circle small. I don't want word of this to leak out."

"Yes, sir."

Heidi puts her head around the door when he's gone, looking a little too excited for my liking. "Ready?"

"Yes," I grunt, taking my jacket from the back of the chair as I stand. The sun is already sinking below the horizon, leaving a red glow in the window.

"I loaded the bags in the car. I'll meet you outside."

Heidi peppers me with questions about Sophie all the way to the new house. I only answer her because it's vital that she understands what to expect and how to handle the girl.

Sabella opens the door when we arrive. She gives Heidi a warm greeting and a hug while ignoring me.

"Angelo!" Sophie exclaims, rushing into the lounge but stopping short when her gaze falls on Heidi.

"Hey," I say, doing a double take.

She's dressed in clothes very similar to Sabella's—a sweatshirt, a pair of skinny jeans, and sneakers—but they're in her size. If anything, she looks frailer. The properly fitting clothes emphasizes how small she is for her age. Her short hair is neatly trimmed into a modern style, all the uneven bits gone, drawing attention to her pixie-like face.

Not wanting to make too big a deal of the change, I say, "You look nice."

She hides Beatrice behind her back as she stares at Heidi.

"You remember the lady I told you about?" I say. "This is Heidi."

"Hello, Sophie," Heidi says with a big smile. "I'm glad to finally meet you. Mr. Russo told me a lot about you."

Sophie looks at me. "He did?"

"He sure did," Heidi replies. "He said you'd help me with some baking this weekend."

"What kind of baking?" Sophie asks, narrowing her eyes.

"Gingerbread men." Heidi takes a gingerbread man with a face and buttons drawn in glazed sugar from the bag and shows it to Sophie. "Like this one. What do you think?"

Sophie brings the doll from behind her back and holds it in front of the cookie. Whispering, she asks, "What do you think, Beatrice?"

Heidi, having been briefed on Beatrice, waits patiently. Sabella looks on with a soft smile.

Sophie lifts the doll to her ear. After a few beats, she says, "Beatrice says there needs to be gingerbread women too."

Heidi's smile stretches. "You're right. There will absolutely be gingerbread women." She hands Sophie the cookie. "Would you like to try it after dinner?"

Sophie studies the cookie. "If I take a bite, he'll miss an arm or a leg."

Bending down, Heidi tells her conspiratorially, "That's why you have to eat the whole cookie. So that there are no armless or legless bits left."

Sophie doesn't look convinced.

"Why don't you keep him for now, and you can decide later?" Heidi suggests.

"Okay," Sophie says. "Must we put him on a plate, Sabella?"

"Yes, sweetheart." Sabella holds out her hand. "Why don't I put him on a plate and leave him in the kitchen while you show Mr. Russo your new room?"

Sophie puts the cookie on Sabella's palm and pirouettes in front of me. "Look, Angelo. Fabien brought us new clothes and lots of things for my room. Beatrice likes him now. He's funny." She wraps her small fingers around my hand and pulls me toward the stairs. "Come look."

Chuckling, I follow her upstairs to the room at the end of the hallway. Fabien did a great job. A sky-blue comforter and scatter cushions in all the colors of the rainbow cover the bed. Stuffed toys sit on the surfaces of the white-washed furniture. A darker blue rug with a couple of poufs forms an area for playing. The room is colorful without being overly bright. It's a happy room fit for a young child. A temporary room, I remind myself.

Worry gnaws at me again when I think about moving Sophie to the school in Marseille. From the photos I've seen, the dormitory room is spacious and clean with lots of light. It's an adequate room. The principal assured me it's comfortable with an AC for the hot summers and central heating for the wet winters. It's not a rainbow room full of fantasy animals, but she'll get used to it. Children adapt fast. Fabien can create an even prettier room for her in my house, a room with frills and lace and a kitchenette with a tea set and all the things little girls like.

"What do you think?" she asks, tugging on my hand.

I try to remember what the room looked like before they moved in here and destroyed everything. I think it was white with lilac touches. It's surprising how little of it I recall. Maybe it's because back then, the children were a concept instead of little humans in my mind. The house was a gift for my mother, not for them. Perhaps that's where I went wrong. I only wanted to please my mother without thinking it through. I never considered how a move would affect the children.

Smiling down at her, I say, "It's a beautiful room."

"I like it too." She pulls me to a doll's bed in the corner. "This is where Beatrice will sleep, but she's still sleeping with me until she's no longer scared."

"Is she still scared a lot?"

"Not as much now as before," she says, rocking the doll in one arm. "I think she likes it here."

I squeeze her hand. "That's good. As long as she remembers that her real room will be at my house."

She frowns. "Will Sabella come too?"

"Sabella's place is here."

"Why?"

"I already explained."

"Then Beatrice and I will stay here with her."

"We'll talk about it later. Come." I walk to the door. "It's time for dinner. Sabella and I are leaving early in the morning, so she can't go to bed late."

She pauses in mid-step. "I don't want her to go."

"We've already discussed this. She has to go." When her bottom lip starts to quiver, I say, "Why don't you bake Sabella a special gingerbread cookie? Think how happy that will make her when she gets back."

She tilts her face to the ceiling, seemingly considering the idea. After a moment, she says, "Like a heart?"

"Yes, a heart-shaped cookie."

"Or a flower."

"Why not both?"

"All right," she says slowly. "But don't tell her. It will spoil the surprise."

"It'll be our secret," I say solemnly.

Pacified, she takes my hand again and lets me lead her to the kitchen where a dinner of beef roast, mashed potatoes, and beans are set out. Heidi joins us. We agreed that it'll help if Sophie gets to know her better before we leave.

Heidi engages her in a conversation about the movies she's seen here. Except for the fact that Sabella and I don't exchange a word, the dinner passes amiably. Heidi is telling Sophie about One Hundred and One Dalmatians, promising that they can watch it together, when Sophie says out of the blue, "Can I have a dog, Angelo? I want to walk my own dog."

Sabella chokes on her wine.

"A dog?" I say.

"A small one." Sophie looks at Sabella with pleading eyes. "He won't take up much space. He can sleep in Beatrice's bed. Please, Sabella."

"We can discuss a dog when things are more stable," I say carefully.

"Sabella doesn't mind. She likes dogs. Don't you Sabella?"

"Of course I won't mind," Sabella says. "But it's for Mr. Russo to decide. This is his house, remember?"

I don't know why the way my wife phrases that irks me so much. Heidi shoots me an accusing look, making her opinion on the matter known as if she hasn't already told me multiple times.

"Can I have one for Christmas?" Sophie asks.

"That's a discussion for later," I say in a sterner tone. "Finish your food."

Sophie heaves a sigh. "All right." Swinging her legs, she says, "You won't forget, Angelo?"

"No. I promise."

Shoving a fork-full of potatoes in her mouth, she says, "Okay."

Heidi brought chocolate mousse for dessert, which wins her more points with Sophie. When we've finished dinner, Heidi offers to tidy the kitchen while Sabella and I tuck Sophie in.

"Are you sleeping in your own house again?" Sophie asks when I kiss her forehead.

"Yes. I still have work to do." I look at Sabella as I say, "I'll be here at sunrise tomorrow. We have an early flight to catch."

After saying goodnight, I close the door and follow my wife down the hallway. She enters her bedroom without looking at me. It wasn't my plan to go inside, but her defiance sets my teeth on edge. She's ignored me for long enough. Sadly for her, pretending I don't exist isn't going to make me disappear.

She gives a start at the click of the door when I close it behind me. She spins around, facing me quietly. When I turn the key in the lock, her gaze homes in on the action.

She doesn't run or cower when I cross the floor. She pulls her sweater over her head and reaches behind her to unclip her bra. Then she kicks off her sneakers and shimmies out of her jeans, socks, and panties.

I'm riveted to the spot, watching her naked body as she goes down on her knees and spreads her legs. Lifting her chin, she meets my gaze head-on, not cowering under the heat that must burn in my eyes as a dead giveaway of the lust firing through my veins.

I'm hard in a second flat. In the back of my mind, I'm aware of the fact that my niece is sleeping at the end of the hallway. But Heidi is here to take care of her if she wakes up or asks for a glass of water. I haven't had Sabella in too long. It's only been what? A day? Two? It feels like a fucking month.

I strip off my clothes. I'm naked before I stop in front of her. My hand is in her hair and my cock in her mouth before she has time to gasp. I'm using her, muffling her sounds with my dick shoved down her throat, but that's not how I want her.

I rip my cock from her lips and slam a hand over her mouth as I yank her up by her arm. She doesn't protest as I march her to the bathroom. I close the door and turn the water on in the shower to drown out any noise we may make, but I don't even make it to the point where the water runs strongly. I lock my hands around her waist and lift her onto the vanity. Bottles fall over and tubes roll off the edge.

Stepping between her legs, I grab the base of my cock and position the head at her slit. I watch as I slowly part and finally stretch her until her pussy has swallowed my length. When I thrust, I study her face. She's so fucking beautiful, so perfect when she closes her eyes and bites her lip. She's preventing me from seeing her pleasure and hearing her sounds, withholding those expressions like she's refusing to say my name. So, I fuck her harder. I yank her ass to the edge of the counter and slam into her with enough force for her eyes to fly open and her breath to catch on a hitch.

"Say it," I demand, sliding my cock over and over into her slick pussy.

She moans, but she doesn't give me words.

Locking one hand on her hip, I wrap the other around her neck. "Say it."

She refuses, even when I squeeze. Even when I pivot my hips faster.

A trickle of sweat rolls over my temple. "Say it, damn you."

Her eyes go out of focus either from the lack of oxygen or from my rough fucking—maybe from both—and still, she refuses me. Her denial twists me up inside. Because I recall a time when she laid her hand on my cheek and whispered my name in her moment of pleasure. Because I lied when I said I didn't care. Because I want that again so badly it aches with a physical pain in my chest. But just like she'd rather suffocate than say it, I'd sooner die than admit it.

All I can do is steal her ability to speak by crashing our mouths together. By taking away her speech, I pretend that I'm in control. I pretend I'm the one not giving her a choice.

I let her breathe as I kiss her, but I don't take my hand off her throat. I keep her head pinned against the mirror and dip my free hand between our bodies. She's balancing her weight on her arms, her upper body slightly bent backwards with her breasts pressed out and her legs wide open when she comes. I pull back to admire the view. Her back arches like a bow, every toned muscle pulled tight in a beautiful display of ecstasy.

Having taken care of her pleasure, I chase mine too. I batter her body with harsh, bitter thrusts until release finally comes. The climax doesn't sate me. The need lingers. I can't put a name to it. I only know shooting my load was powerful on a physical level yet unsatisfying on a deeper one.

Resting my forehead against hers, I catch my breath. I slide my hand from her neck to cup her breast. I drag my palm over her stomach and lower, joining the other that's still caught between our bodies. I push her thighs apart before I pull out so that I can watch my cum leak from her pussy and run down her legs. She blushes, but she doesn't fight me. She sags against the mirror, looking defeated and ravished.

How did we get to this point? Have we always been so angry, so depraved? Or is it just me?

Closing her legs, I lift her off the counter and put her on her feet. She doesn't meet my gaze. She steps past me, opens the shower door, and gets into the cubicle. When she closes the glass door behind her, she vanishes in a thick billow of fog, the picture of her already fading. Always unobtainable. Always out of reach. Even with all the marks I've put on and inside her.

No matter.

She's mine.

She'll never escape that fate.

The thought does little to soothe me as I clean up at the basin, gather my clothes, and get dressed. When I say goodbye to Heidi in the kitchen, my features are schooled, my expression empty and my heart already cold.