“You’ve come into my bedroom uninvited three times,” she says.
“And?”
“And I don’t want you to do it anymore. You’ll knock. It’s polite.”
“Who says I’m polite?”
“You’re right. You Sicilians are more like animals, aren’t you?”
She doesn’t blink, but I can see she’s testing. Unsure.
“Do you mean we dirty Sicilians?”
“If you say so.”
“You’re arrogant.”
“I am.”
“A princess?”
She grits her teeth.
“Daddy’s precious little princess? What will he do when I put my dirty Sicilian hands on you?”
Her smile vanishes and her face pales.
“You had a pistol in your bag, Gabriela.”
“You went through my things?”
“Nothing is yours anymore. Everything is mine. Including you.”
“I’ll never be yours.”
“What were you going to do with it? Shoot me?”
It takes her a moment to answer. “If you put your hands on me, then yes.”
“Well, then it’s a good thing I took it before you hurt yourself.” I finish my whiskey and lean toward her. “And just so you know, when I do deign to touch you, you’ll be begging for it.”
She snorts, matches my posture with elbows on the table and her chin resting on her hands. “Let’s get one thing clear, Stefan. I will never beg you for anything. I don’t want you. I don’t want this.” She takes a breath. “This isn’t my choice.”
“It’s not mine either so that makes two of us.”
At that she’s baffled.
I get up, walk toward her, reach into my pocket and toss the box at her.
She catches it and I walk away, taking a seat on one of the cushioned benches. I watch her turn in her seat to face me.
“What the hell is this?” she asks, turning the velvet box around in her hands.
“Did this morning not teach you about language?”
Her eyes are darker when she looks up at me and if looks could kill, I’d be dead.
She sets the box on the table. “Yeah, that’s another thing. If you’re expecting some perfect lady who wears high-heels to dinner and speaks properly, well, you’ve got another thing coming.”
“I don’t think so. I think you’ll do exactly as you’re told.”
“And what in hell gives you that impression?”
I lean back, stretching my arms out as the sun sets and darkness falls so the lights of the house and those of the pool come on to illuminate her.
“Take care, Princess. Next time I spank you, I’ll be sure to leave a more lasting impression.”
“If you ever try that again, I will kill you.”
I laugh outright at that. “How would you do that? I took your gun.”
She glares.
“Are you stronger than me? Will you somehow overpower me? I think not.”
Her jaw tightens as her hands fist.
“Open the box,” I tell her.
She stands. “I mean it, Stefan. You are never to touch me like that again! I won’t have it.”
I stand too, shove my hands into my pockets and study her, go to her. I have to give her credit for not shrinking away from me.
I reach out, touch her hair, it’s thick and soft and I remember how it lent itself to my grip. I brush her bangs behind her ear and search her face, then lower. I see how her nipples are pebbled against the fine material of the dress and it’s not cold enough for it to be the temperature.
When I lean toward her, I hear her breath catch. She puts her hands against my chest.
“You’re pretty when you’re angry, you know that?” I say in a quiet voice.
“You like playing with me, don’t you?”
I straighten and I’m so close that I can feel those hard, little points against my chest through my T-shirt.
“I do. Very much.”
I brush my jaw against her cheek, inhale her scent.
“And just to be clear, I’ll touch you any way I want. You’re mine. You belong to me,” I whisper against her ear, feeling her shudder before I draw back and open the box. “Now,” I say, turning it so she can see the ring. “Hold out your left hand so I can put this first mark of my ownership on you.”
It takes her a long minute before she drags her gaze up to mine and in that time, I can almost feel the rage bubbling inside her. This insult of ownership. Of being made to submit.
I watch her and wait. I’ve learned patience over the years.
Anger makes her eyes darker. I think this is how they’ll look when I lay my dirty hands on her. When I fuck her.
“You know what you can do with that ring, Stefan?” she asks, eyes blazing. “You can shove it up your ass.”
She tries to push past me, but I catch her wrist and make her turn to me. I squeeze and watch her face contort with the pain.
“You’re going to make this fun, aren’t you?” I ask through gritted teeth. I turn my attention to her hand and force the ring on her finger before twisting her arm behind her back, forcing her to turn so she’s facing away from me. I tug her backward and close my other hand over her throat.
“I don’t want it. Take it off,” she manages.
“I don’t give a damn what you want.” My voice is tight, years-old rage burns inside me. “You’ll wear my ring. You will never take it off, not at any time day or night because if you do then you and I have a problem. Am I making myself clear?”
“Let me go. You’re a thug. A bully.”
I tighten my grip on her throat. “Am I clear, Gabriela?” I ask, keeping her immobile.
“Crystal,” she spits.
Good.
I release her and step backward.
She stumbles, turns to face me, both hands protective over her throat.
We stay like this for a moment, facing off. I see the fear in her eyes, the uncertainty. I almost feel sorry for her. She is so far out of her league.
But then I remember my brother. I remember my dead brother mutilated and left in that stinking morgue and every muscle tightens.
“Now go to your room and stay there until I tell you you can come out,” I say through gritted teeth.
“With fucking pleasure!” she spits, before running past me and up the stairs, tripping once in her haste before she disappears into her borrowed room.
7
Gabriela
I slam the bedroom door and lean against it, not sure if he’s on his way up now to make good on his threats. To hurt me. To make me docile.
But I am not that. I will never be that.
I touch my throat and it’s like I can still feel his hand around it.
He could snap my neck in a second. He could strangle me on a whim. It would take little effort from him.
The cold of the diamond ring makes me draw my hand away. I look down at it, the too tight ring with its enormous diamond. I hate it. I fucking hate it because it’s exactly what he says. His mark of ownership.
Rebellion has me tugging at the thing, wanting it off. I’m not sure if I’m glad it fits too tightly to be pulled off so easily because I did hear his warning loud and clear. I’m not stupid enough not to heed it.