He smirked. “Do you think I care about that? This isn’t a marriage of love. And you do already hate me. I can see it in your eyes.”
He was right on both accounts. This wasn’t about love and I hated him already, but hearing him say it crushed the last bit of foolish hope I had. I didn’t say anything.
He gestured at the squeaky clean sheets of the bed. “You heard what my father said about our tradition?”
My blood turned ice cold. I had, but until now I’d put it out off my mind. My courage had been for nothing. I stepped up to the bed and stared down at the sheets, my eyes boring into the spot where the proof of my lost virginity would have to be. Tomorrow morning the women of Luca’s family would knock at our door and take with them the sheets to present them to Luca’s and my father, so they could inspect the proof of our consummated marriage. It was a sick tradition, but not one I could evade. The fight drained out off me.
I could hear Luca coming up behind me. He grasped my shoulders and I closed my eyes. I wouldn’t make a sound. But not crying was a losing battle. The first tears already clung to my lashes, then dripped onto my skin and burned a trail down my cheeks and chin. Luca slid his hands over my collarbones, then down to the edge of my dress. My lips quivered and I could feel a tear dropping from my chin. Luca’s hands tensed against my body.
For a moment, neither of us moved. He turned me to face him and pushed my chin up. His cold gray eyes scanned my face. My cheeks were wet with silent tears but I made no sound, only returned his gaze. He dropped his hands, jerked back with a string of Italian curses, and then he drove his fist into the wall. I gasped and jumped back. I pressed my lips together as I watched Luca’s back. He was facing the wall, shoulders heaving. I quickly wiped the tears off my face.
You’ve done it. You’ve made him really angry.
My eyes darted toward the door. Maybe I could reach it before Luca. Maybe I could even get outside before he caught up with me, but I’d never make it off the premises. He turned around and removed his vest, revealing a black knife and gun holster. His fingers closed around the handle of the knife, his knuckles already turning red from the impact with the wall, and he pulled it out. The blade was curved like a claw: short, sharp and deadly. It was black like the handle, so it couldn’t easily be seen in the dark. A Karambit knife for close combat. Who knew Fabiano’s obsession with knives would ever be of use for me? Now I could at least identify the knife that would cut me open. Hysteric laughter wanted to fight its way out of my throat but I swallowed it.
Luca stared intently at the blade. Was he trying to decide which part of me to slice open first?
Beg him. But I knew it wouldn’t save me. People probably begged him all the time and from what I heard it never saved them. Luca didn’t show mercy. He would become the next Capo dei Capi in New York and he would rule with cold brutality.
Luca came toward me and I flinched. A dark smile curled his lips. He pressed the sharp tip of the knife into the soft skin below the crook of his arm, drawing blood. My lips parted in surprise. He put the knife down on the small table between the two armchairs, grabbed a glass and held his wound over it, then watched his blood drip down without a flicker of emotion before finally disappearing in the adjoining bathroom.
I heard water running and then he returned into the bedroom. The mix of water and blood in the glass had a light red color. He approached the bed, dipped his fingers into the liquid and then smeared it onto the center of the sheet. My cheeks flushed with realization. I approached him slowly and stopped when I was still out of arm-reach, not that it would do me much good. I stared down at the stained sheets. “What are you doing?” I whispered.
“They want blood. They get blood.”
“Why the water?”
“Blood doesn’t always look the same.” He would know.
“Is it enough blood?”
“Did you expect a blood bath?” He gave me a sardonic smile. “It’s sex, not a knife fight.”
‘He will fuck you bloody’. The words were burnt into my brain but I didn’t repeat them.
Just how many virgins have you taken to know about this? And how many of them came willingly into your bed? The words lay on the tip of my tongue, but I wasn’t suicidal.
“Won’t they know that it’s your blood?”
“No.” He walked back over to the table and poured Scotch into the glass with water and blood. His eyes held mine as he downed it in one gulp. I couldn’t help but wrinkle my nose in disgust. Was he trying to intimidate me? Drinking blood really wasn’t necessary for that. I’d been terrified of him before I’d ever met him. I’d probably still be terrified of him when I bowed my head over his open casket.
“What about a DNA test?”
He laughed. It wasn’t exactly a joyful sound. “They will take me by my word. Nobody will doubt that I’ve taken your virginity the moment we were alone. They won’t because I am who I am.”
Yes, you are. Then why did you spare me? Another thought to never leave my lips. But Luca must have been thinking the same because his dark brows drew together as his eyes roamed the length of my body.
I stiffened and took a step back.
“No,” he said in a low voice. I froze. “That is the fifth time you shied back from me tonight.” He set down the glass and took the knife in his hand. Then he advanced on me. “Did your father never teach you to hide your fear from monsters? They give chase if you run.”
Maybe he expected me to contradict his claim to be a monster, but I wasn’t that good a liar. If there were monsters, the men in my world belonged to them. When he arrived in front of me, I had to tilt my head back to look him in the face.
“That blood on the sheets needs a story,” he said simply as he brought the knife up. I flinched and he murmured. “That’s six times.”
He hooked the blade under the edge of the bodice of my wedding dress and slowly moved the knife down. The fabric gave way until it finally pooled at my feet. The blade never once touched my skin. “It’s tradition in our family to undress the bride like this.”
His family had many disgusting traditions.
Finally I stood before him in my tight white corset with its laces in the back and my panties with the bow over my butt. Goosebumps covered every inch of my body. Luca’s gaze was like fire on my skin. I drew back.
“Seven,” he said quietly.
Anger surged through me. If he was tired of me flinching away from him, then maybe he should stop being so intimidating.
“Turn around.”
I did as he ordered, and the sharp intake of his breath made me regret it instantly. He moved closer and I felt a gentle tug on the bow that was holding my panties up. ‘A present to unwrap. How could any man possibly resist?’ The words of Luca’s stepmother popped unwantedly into my head. I knew that below the bow the top of my butt would be in the open. Say something to distract him from that stupid bow over your butt.
“You already bled for me,” I said in a shaky voice, and then almost inaudible. “Please don’t.” My father would be ashamed of my open display of weakness. But he was a man. The world was his for the taking. Women were his for the taking. And we women were always supposed to give without protest.
Luca didn’t say anything but his knuckles brushed the skin between my shoulder blades as he raised the knife to my corset. With a hiss the fabric came apart under the blade. I brought my hands up before that barrier of protection could fall as well and pressed the corset against my chest.