Chapter 88: Chapter: 88

ANDREA

The instant we walked out of the cigar lounge, I put distance between myself and Alessandro, running up the stairs to the third floor where my prison was. My stomach was churning, as bile rose in my throat, it's clear this time it's not going to be forced down.

I was barely over the toilet seat when I began to retch, expelling food I'd eaten, violently, both breakfast and lunch. Nicklaus/Alessandro held my hair away from my face while I emptied it all. I was too weak and sick, but even so, I slapped his hands away, not wanting or needing his help.

But like the stubborn man he is, he refused to go away or leave me to deal with my pain alone. When my stomach finally calmed, I didn't feel like vomiting anymore. I flushed the toilet, rinsed my mouth, and washed my face, then walked back into the room.

I lay down on the bed and curled into myself. I could feel my hands and body still trembling. When Alessandro strode in and sat beside me on the bed, stroking my hair, I was too shocked and exhausted to even look at him. I roll away from him, not wanting or needing his sympathy.

“I will call Logan, see if he can find out how Alice is doing,  and try to sleep. We'll talk later, yes?” he said. Still running his hands through my hair. I didn't turn to look at him or answer him. And he didn't seem to care. He stayed by my side until the exhaustion in my body and mind finally dragged me into a deep sleep.

As usual, the room was dark, though the air conditioner was on, it still felt stuffy and cold at the same time. Curled on the bed, tears leaked from my eyes, like it's been doing for three days now. Whenever I thought my tears had dried up and there were no tears left in me, they came unannounced, trailing down my cheeks.

I couldn't eat without crying, bathe without crying, and look at Alessandro Marchetti without anger and hate coursing through me. I blamed him for everything, feeling overwhelmed by my own helplessness and rage.

Even as he spoons me every night for the last three days. Though he knew how much I didn't want him to touch me. And I fought his touch every time.

I blamed him for forcing me into signing that contract. I blamed him even after knowing the person I was really angry at was myself. I was just looking to place the blame for my actions on someone. Because I know the instant I accept the full culpability of my actions, I might never get over it.

So I cried, and I ignored him, even though I needed to talk to him and ask all the questions in my head. That has to wait. I needed more than anything to know how Alice is, if she's alive or dead. But I couldn't ask Alessandro. He'd said he would talk to Logan to find out about her, and he still hasn't said anything, which to me means she's dead. I didn't have it in me to ask.

Every morning, he wakes me and forces me out of bed, bringing me food and going as far as to force me to eat, with threats of force-feeding me whenever I refuse to eat, even though I have no appetite. I know he's fully capable of doing that.

He waited until after I had taken a bath, kissed me on the forehead, and left. Every morning, he goes out to God's know-where and comes back late at night, covered in blood, every single time. I could only imagine what that monster is asking him to do.

He'd probably gone out to conduct his mobsters' business, maiming and killing their enemies just like his monster grandfather wanted. To think I thought that old monster was kind and had even considered him my friend when all along he was the devil incarnate.

Giulia has been coming to see me each time, staying for a while to try to cheer me up, and bringing delicious food courtesy of Zetta. But I didn't have it in me to talk to anyone or eat anything; we sat silently until it was time for her to leave.

Lorenzo had also come to see me twice. I couldn't talk to him; I was too grief-stricken and angry at him for lying about his relationship with Alessandro, feeding me some bullshit that Ombra doesn't have a family, and that's why I was kidnapped, when they were, in fact, cousins.

The door has been left open since that wretched day. There's no guard outside stopping me from going out. But I don't feel like going out or seeing anyone, I mean, what's the point? Leaving this room won't change the fact that I'm a prisoner here. I only want to see Alice. I couldn't forget the image of her unconscious and bloody from my mind's eye. Lying there bleeding, because of me.

Worry and guilt that I was the reason she's dead were the sole purpose of my tears and despair. At this point, I wasn't even worried about my situation or that a monster expected me to deliver my baby and give it to him.

I was more worried about Alice, how she is, if she was alive or not, and if she was alive, just how badly she was hurt. I really didn't know how much they meant to me or how much I was clinging to my parents' memories through Alice's family until now.

In my heart, they were always more like extended family members than family friends. I've known them all my life, and when I came to New York, Alice and Tom had given me a free place to live, they'd treated me kindly, and had even given me a job in their restaurant.

And Katie, she was like a sister I never had. Their family has always been good to me, even more so after my parents' death. They were always calling to ask if I needed anything and were always worried about me. And today, because of me. Alice has been shot, not to mention poor Saul, who was also beaten within an inch of his life.

Alessandro's silence only convinces me that Alice is either dead or in critical condition. As if the mere thought of him had conjured him up, speak of the devil, and he appears. I knew the instant he came inside the room. There really weren't any sounds to his movement when he walked in; the man really is a shadow.

But somehow I always know when it's him. There's an underlying current that raises the room temperature. Maybe it's his undeniable intensity, or that a part of me is so attuned to him that I could recognize his presence anywhere, I really don't know.

Still in my fetal position, covered from toe to shoulder in a blanket, I didn't move, didn't raise my head to look at him or even acknowledge him in any way. Nor did I give any indication that I was awake, but he knows. He knew I wasn't asleep and that I was ignoring him as always.

The slight clattering sounds I heard alerted me that it was either breakfast or lunch time; I really don't know. I clutch the duvet tight in my hands, knowing and anticipating what I already know is coming.

Though I am hungry, I don't want to eat. I don't think I could keep it inside anyway, not when the guilt that an innocent woman has lost her life because of me is gnawing inside me. For a while, he didn't say anything, but when I thought he'd left again, I felt him so close.

“Come on, get up. Andrea, get your ass out of that bed,” Alessandro ordered. His name might have changed twice, but his high-handedness hasn't gotten the memo yet. He still likes giving out orders.

My eyes fluttered closed as I pretended I didn't even hear him. But before I knew what was up. The bastard yanked the blanket and was carrying me out of the room like a weight, nothing, and into the bathroom where he dumped me into hot, soapy water—ignoring my screams and obscenities.

“What the hell is your problem?! Why won't you leave me the fuck alone?! Haven't you done enough! Why are you ruining my life, Alessandro or whoever the fuck you are?! Because of you, a woman is dead! Your monster of a grandfather had her shot like an animal, but what do you care? After all, she's a stranger. She's no one to you; it doesn't matter that she was an innocent woman who hasn't done a thing to either of you! I hate you! Why can't you fucking understand I just want to be left alone!”

I was yelling at him, screaming at the top of my voice as tears streaked down my face, then I finally broke down and started sobbing my heart out. When he went to touch me, I slapped his hands away, screaming.

He stood back and just stared at me without saying a word, dressed in black pants, black dress shoes, a navy blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his hair tousled, falling into his left eye. He didn't try to stop me. He just let me cry and cursed him, venting all my fear, pain, and anger on him.

After what felt like hours of crying, uninterrupted, he knelt behind me with bottles of hair products. A moment later, I felt his hands in my hair. I pull my head away and turn towards him, making the water swish and twirl.

“Just answer me this, were you responsible for the real Nicklaus Montgomery situation? Did you put him in a coma? And be honest, I can't take any more lies. I already know you're dangerous, Alessandro.” It was my first time calling his name without any weirdness getting in the way. My voice was pleading. I needed to know that I didn't let a monster knock me up.

“Just tell me the damn truth. I need to know, I need to understand at least that much. Nothing makes sense, so answer me. Are you responsible for Nicklaus Montgomery's condition? Did that monster make you…?” I choked out in a watering voice, tears running down, I was unraveling.

I needed so many answers. I'm pregnant, kidnapped, and grieving. My life is out of my own control, and I don't know what to do. I needed some assurance that it wasn't as bad as I thought and that Alessandro wasn't like his grandfather.

But I was also afraid of the truth, of what he might say and how it would make me feel. Suddenly, he was there, kneeling on his heels, his hands in my tangled hair. His dark eyes held mine captive.

“This is not the place for this kind of conversation, Andrea, but know this. I have never touched a hair on Nicklaus Montgomery's head with the intention to hurt. I know you are afraid and confused. I promise I will answer all your questions, but not here; the walls here aren't as thick as you might think. Do you understand?”

His deep voice was low, the words meant only for me. I stared into his eyes, trying to read him but failing. Alessandro Marchetti has impenetrable eyes as strong as the man himself; I couldn't read anything in them. I decided, for now, I had no other choice but to believe him, so I nodded.

He kissed my head and moved behind me, where he continued his earlier work, massaging shampoo in my hair and washing.

I sniffed, not knowing how to handle this man, and I didn't try to stop him again. I already knew I couldn't stop him; he would do whatever he wanted. I was just so exhausted.

I don't know whether to believe him about not being responsible for the real Nicklaus state, but I'm going to play everything by ear. Since I knew him, he'd been upfront with me except for his two huge deceptions, but then I've always known he was secretive and dangerous. The man never hid what he was.

Also, it's not like saying “hey, Andrea, I'm an underboss of the Italian mafia,” something someone can share openly. It wasn’t a normal thing to just blurt out.

Alessandro washed my hair and body in silence, his rough hands sliding over my skin; his touch shouldn't have affected me in the state I'm in, but it did. It soothed and aroused me, making me ache deep below, but I didn't pay it any mind.

On his part, he tries to make the bath as quick and thorough as possible; nothing sexual about it, though I glimpse a hard bulge in his pants, he didn't try to do anything about it. Afterward, he let me out of the bathtub.

Drying me up with a towel when he ran the towel between my thighs twice, I couldn't help the jolt of lust that shot through me. I whimpered. His dark eyes glanced up at me, glinting with something wicked. He did it again, eating up the aroused look on my face. I bit my lips not to moan and give him the reaction he was looking for.

His lips quirked, he didn't do anything more, just threw away the towel inside the hamper, then he drained the tub. I walked back into the room, with him behind me.

“Come sit here. You need to eat, your breakfast had to be taken away since you didn't even touch it, and it's gotten cold.”

“I'm not hungry!”

“You will eat! Zetta has sent you lunch, now eat!” he ignored me and ordered. There was a threatening note to his voice. Eat, or I'll force-feed you, that's what he wasn't saying. He sat me down on the bed and dragged a stool in front of me before placing the tray with the food on top.

Mouth-watering smells assaulted my nose, making my stomach growl; it was evident I was starving. When he handed me the spoon, I took it, then dipped it into the thick creamy broth before slowly taking a bite. Alessandro sat down on the chair in front of the mirror, fiddling with his phone.

Everything was hot, tasty, and delicious, and I was so damn hungry. Before I knew it, I was scraping the plate for more soup, chunky bread, and meat. When I remembered Alessandro was in the room. For the first time in days, I glance up and look into his eyes.

Alessandro Marchetti is larger than life, more muscular than I remember; the name, though unexpected, suits him even better than Nicklaus ever did. It sounded strong, powerful, and so sexy. Now that he's here, sometimes I can detect a slight accent when he speaks. It probably has something to do with his return to his native country. I also know he could hide it if he so wishes.

His gorgeous face was blank except for the arch of his brows, his facial hair dark and soft. He looked the same yet different somehow. In this new place, in our situation, it feels like he's someone new, like he wasn't the same man who had claimed every part of me. I'm not sure how to explain it.

My face flushed with embarrassment, both because I had just spent minutes ogling him and for the fact that he'd seen me devour every morsel hungrily, though I had insisted I wasn't hungry.

I watched him walk across the room in that smooth, powerful, but also lithe way, my eyes fixed on his phenomenal ass. I blink guiltily when he returns. What is wrong with me today? He'd bring out a pair of jeans and one of his shirts from the closet. Both of which he handed to me. I was buttoning up the shirt when he whirled me around and continued doing the buttons himself.

Like this, I could smell that his addictive natural scents, mixed with liquor, must be wine. Strange as it sounds, I mix the smell of scotch on his breath. My hands itch with the urge to touch his face, to feel his soft beard.

I've already felt them against my breasts and nipples that first day he came here, when he'd suck and bite me. An image of his head between my thighs, licking and nuzzling me, his beard abrading my skin, flashed in my head like a revelation. My breathing turns heaving.