Chapter 58: Persephone

New York.

The truth is what you make of it.

So is reality.

In my reality, I’m little more than the nightingale trapped in a cage.

Behind my bars, I try to survive by thinking of the only thing I can that will keep me alive—freedom.

Sitting in this living room for the last half an hour, where the ghosts of my mother and sister still haunt, has felt like being trapped in the lion’s den. I have my bastard husband-to-be sitting beside me, and my cousin in the armchair opposite us holding our wedding registration documents.

That glimmer of freedom keeps my heart beating and strengthens the threads I’m barely hanging on to.

The focus is just strong enough to keep me going until I escape—if I can pull it off. I always have to bear that part in mind because my plans could go to hell and get people I love killed.

It’s bad enough I’m still stuck in this game of pretense where I look like I’m going through with the marriage, but I would die if I lost another loved one.

The wedding is in three weeks, but I’ll be long gone before that time if all goes to plan.

I always knew I’d have an arranged marriage. I just didn’t know when it would happen or to whom it was going to be.

What a fool I was to believe that trip to Brazil could have been anything other than what it turned out to be when my life has never been mine.

The trip was just another façade of shit concocted by my father to control me.

Going there was a matter of convenience because Antonio and his family were going to be there too.

Father knows how much I hate Antonio, so I can’t help but feel he did this to punish me—punish me for living.

That’s what pushed me into the arms of a stranger. I never wanted my first time to be with the devil beside me.

Thank God for Uncle Frankie. He’s like my mediator. That night, he understood my need to bolt and covered for me.

He’s the only reason I was able to enjoy my escape with my handsome stranger.

Releasing a slow, silent sigh, I mentally count backwards from thirty the way my therapist taught me and try to keep my focus on the end goal.

Raven places the documents with the images of the wedding venue designs on the coffee table.

As she spreads out each one so we can see the beautiful gold and burgundy designs, I try not to grab them and throw them through the long French windows across from us.

She’s fully aware of my hatred for the man next to me, so she probably expects me to snap.

I’m amazed at her calm, professional manner. She’s even dressed in a business suit today. Raven is two years older than me and more flamboyant.

She tones it down though, whenever she’s around my father or any of the men in the alliance.

Setting her shoulders back, she plasters a smile on her face as she returns her focus to Antonio and me. “This is what the hall will look like. I went with what you requested.” She speaks directly to Antonio since I didn’t make any requests.

He nods, giving her that smug expression I loathe when he catches the slight tremor in her hands.

She’s as afraid of him as I am.

I fucking hate admitting fear, but it’s true.

Strength sometimes means accepting weaknesses. I know how to choose my battles and when to retreat until I can do better—which is what I’m doing now as I’m forced to sit through this meeting.

We’re supposed to meet the new bodyguard in a little while, but Antonio insisted on a quick catch-up.

“This is all fine,” Antonio replies, sleeping his fingers. “What about the catering?”

As Raven starts giving him the rundown of what she’s arranged with the caterers, I allow my mind to drift to the only good thing that happened in Brazil—the night I lost myself in Mr. Gorgeous.

His handsome face still lingers in my mind, and his touch still ravages my body.

I’m sure he’s long forgotten me, but I’ll never forget him, nor all the ways he claimed me.

I’m not sure who would be able to forget a man like him. Just thinking of him stirs the desperate need which ravaged my body that night.

Sometimes, during the moments I allow Mr. Gorgeous to invade my mind, I fear people will know what I’m thinking. Sure, I know it’s ridiculous to worry over such a thing. But I do.

As much as I trust Raven, I never told her about him. She also doesn’t know of my plans to escape.

Although I know she’d support me, keeping both secrets from her is safer.

Any other woman my age in the clan alliance wouldn’t have been able to do what I did and get away with it. Under contract from birth, we’re supposed to remain virgins until the day we get married, or at the very least until The Exchange.

Like everything else to do with our clan in the Camorra, The Exchange is another archaic Machiavellian activity of control where fathers sign over their daughters to their future husbands.

My Exchange, when I was handed over to Antonio, was what happened to me in Brazil. I unknowingly walked into a trap.

Once contracts were signed, everything that belonged to me, from my body to my staff, became Antonio’s.

Obviously, there’ll be hell to pay when Antonio finds out I’m not a virgin, but the risk I took that night was worth it.

The loss of my virginity is nothing compared to what he’ll gain from marrying me and being next in line to take over my father’s empire. He’ll also gain his seat on the Camorra Syndicate when my father retires.

“Everything else is taken care of,” Raven says with a firm nod. “And all the guests have RSVPd.”

“Great.” Antonio gives me a hard stare, probably because I haven’t said shit since we walked in here.

Why should I talk when I don’t care for any of this?

“Anything you want to add, Persephone?” His voice has an arctic edge that chills me from the inside out.

“No.” I’ll say no more than that. Anything else will get me in trouble.

This is the second time I’ve seen him since Brazil, and I haven’t forgotten his threats to make good on his word to fuck me.

I’ve experienced his brutality enough to know he was serious and would force himself on me.

Both times he’s been alone with me saw him shoving his cock down my throat to teach me a lesson.

The first time happened in Brazil. The next was here in this very room.

He stares me down as if he can read my mind and see my trepidation.

I know I’m a joke to him.

What else can I be?

Right now, I’m helpless. I’m supposed to be Persephone Vittorio, the daughter of one of the most powerful men on earth, but I can’t do anything more than what I’m doing to save myself.

Antonio knows this is driving me crazy and is delighting in it because he hates that I don’t worship him the way other women do for his money and his looks.

“I just need the two of you to sign off on these documents and the registration details for the church,” Raven says. “Once you do that, I’ll fax them back to the planning team.”

“Perfect.” Antonio takes the pen from Raven.

She cuts me a glance when he leans forward to sign the documents, and I give her a weary smile of appreciation.

She’s going to be my maid of honor. Right now, she’s my pillar of strength.

When we returned to New York, she offered to organize the wedding.

Not because she was happy about my upcoming nuptials, but because she knew how much this whole ordeal sucked the life out of me.

I had what I thought was going to be a promising career dancing with the New York City Ballet, but that’s now a dream I have to forget.

I’ve been dancing from the time I learned to walk, so Raven knows how much my soul shattered when I was told I wouldn’t be able to finish my studies and training at Juilliard. That also wiped out all my hopes to dance with the New York City Ballet.

Antonio finishes signing the documents and hands the pen to me.

I sign and pray none of this comes to be.

“Raven, please excuse us. I need to speak to Persephone alone.” Although he’s talking to her, he keeps his eyes nailed to me.

“Sure.” Raven gazes at me with sorrowful eyes.

I know she’s sorry. I’m sorry, too.

As soon as she walks through the door, he stands, and suddenly, the walls around me feel like they’re shrinking away.

I glare up at him, and when he steps forward, I get up, not wanting to give him the chance to hit me like last time.

He laughs at my obvious fear and tilts his head to the side, allowing his dark locks to fall over his face.

“What do you want?” I steel my spine, trying to summon courage. The worst thing I could do is show him just how much he gets under my skin.

“You.”

“I thought you already had me.”

He inches closer. “You know what I mean. Once I have that cherry between your legs, I’ll have all of you.”

Bastard.

I’d love to tell him the cherry between my legs no longer exists, and I gave it away, just so he couldn’t have it.

Antonio thinks I’m the good little girl waiting to do as she’s told. Good girls like me are raised from birth to do just that. We’re taught to respect and obey. Always.

So he’d never guess that I broke the rules, and I plan to do so much worse.

He touches my cheek and runs a finger down to the hollow of my neck. “I’ve discussed the idea of you moving in with me sooner with your father.” His smile becomes menacing. “Things will be easier if you’re with me.”

Easier to get me in his bed, he means. He’s such an asshole. I’m just lucky he hasn’t raped me yet.

Things have been set up so we’ll be living in his home in New York for three weeks after the wedding before flying out to Italy. I’m supposed to move in the week before. But I won’t be doing any of it.

Not the wedding, the fucking moving in, nor the sham marriage.

The fundraiser in five days’ time will be my ticket out.

I want to tell him to go fuck himself and yank his stupid engagement ring off my finger and throw it in his face. But I hold back.

I just need to be patient and keep my head above water for the next few days.

Five days. That’s all it is now.

I can do that.

I’ve managed the last three months. This is just the final hurdle to jump over.

When he steps closer, I move back. Another step, and I repeat.

We do this uncoordinated tango until back hits the wall, and he’s giving me a shit-eating grin. Dark eyes roam over my body, and my stomach tightens into hard knots.

I can have a strong mind that will allow me to escape reality, but I’m no match for him in physical strength.

So when he cups my breast and squeezes, I know if I fight him off, things will be worse for me.

“I simply can’t wait to fuck you.” He brushes his nose over mine and tries to kiss me, but I turn my face away, barely managing to avoid his lips.

We’ve never kissed, and I want to keep it that way. I don’t want him to touch any part of me, but a kiss feels far too intimate—almost more than sex.

That’s why I don’t ever want to remember his lips on mine.

“Still fighting me?”

“You know I don’t want you.” I’m always upfront, so there’s no room for confusion. I want him to always know that I will never give in.

“Yet, I want you so badly.” He chuckles deep and low, lifting the hem of my skirt so he can cup my sex.

“My father will be here soon.”

He answers by squeezing my breasts harder. “Your body belongs to me now. I’m sure he’ll understand if I want to feel you up.”

How gross.

“You think it’s appropriate for my father to see you feeling me up?”

“It doesn’t matter who sees me. I’ve always wanted you.”

“Is that what you tell your whores when you’re fucking them? That you’ve always wanted me?” I know he sleeps around, and that’s fine by me.

Better for him to get it somewhere else than from me.

“You know you’re the only whore I want.”

“I’m not a whore.”

“You suck dick like a whore.”

“Fuck you.” I try to pull away, but he shoves me into the wall so hard I knock the back of my head.

“You fucking bastard.” Fuck it. I’ve had enough. I hate it when he hurts me.

“You have a death wish, don’t you?” He steps forward.

“No, I don’t.”

“I think you do.” His lips quirk into a sadistic smile, and my skin crawls. “I don’t think you truly know who I am.”

“I know who you are, Antonio.”

“Then you don’t know what I am.”

Oh, I beg to differ. I’m fully aware of what kind of creature this motherfucker is.

At twenty-eight years old, he’s the eldest of Mario Marchesi’s two sons. Mario and my father have been friends since birth, which means I’ve always known his asshole sons. I never wanted to be at the mercy of either of them.

Now I’m owned by the worst one. Lawrence, Antonio’s older brother, is considered the less psychotic of the two.

Seeing the uncanny look enter Antonio’s eyes reminds me of the first time I saw him kill.

I was twelve years old. He killed one of his guards because the man was late for work. The guard apologized. He had to take his baby to the doctor because she was sick. Antonio made him believe it was okay—like he had hope. But as soon as the man turned his back, Antonio shot him in the head with a smile on his face.

Seven years on, and that smile is still there.

“I’m aware of what you are, Antonio. You’re the kind of man who takes pleasure in unhappiness. You’re happy when I’m sad. You love when I cry, and you love that I can’t do the one thing I love. Ballet was my life, and you made me give it up, just because you could.”

“I am your life, now.” He quickly shows me there’s nothing human in him when he grabs my throat and squeezes hard. “You are mine, and it’s time you started acting like it. Do you hear me?”

“Yes,” I choke out, trying to catch my breath.

“Push me again, and I’ll break your legs. Then you can truly kiss dancing goodbye.”

My God.

My heart is already weeping for the loss of my dream, but to break my legs?

What a bastard. I can’t imagine taking pleasure in another person’s pain the way he does. Yet he would break me beyond repair.

And my father would allow him to batter me because he doesn’t care.

There’s nothing anyone can do to help me or stop Antonio from hurting me because that’s the law of our alliance. I belong to him, and he can do whatever he wants to me.

“Do you understand me?” he prods.

“Yes.”

I understand perfectly, and no fucking way am I going to allow him to break my legs so I can’t run away.

When I came back to the world of the living, I promised myself I would achieve all my dreams, but more than anything, I promised myself I’d live. I’d live for those who sacrificed themselves for me to have a life, and I’d live for me.

So I’ll do what I must, even if that means playing devil’s advocate.

“Good girl. If we had time, I’d throw you down and fuck your brains out.” He squeezes my throat tighter, and I gasp for air. I try to pull out of his grasp, but he tightens his grip. “But soon, Persephone. Soon.”

A knock on the door saves me. That should be my father and the new bodyguard.

Antonio releases me, and I cough when the air rushes back into my lungs.

I try to gather myself as the door swings open and Father and Uncle Frankie walk in, but the man who comes in next has me wondering if my eyes are screwing with me.

My brain skitters to an abrupt stop, and every cell in my body freezes as Mr. Gorgeous from Brazil walks in as if he’s materializing from my thoughts. The only difference being, in my head, he was shirtless or completely naked. Now he’s wearing a suit without a tie, looking like he just stepped out of a photoshoot for some classy men’s fashion magazine.

My throat clogs from the scathing shock racing through my veins, and my heart stops beating as if someone just switched it off.

Is it really him?

Those eyes. Those blue, blue, blue eyes bore into me, and that sinful smile tips his full, sensual lips.

That neck tattoo and the other artful designs that line his ears and the sides of his head are unmistakable, along with the numbered tattoos on his fingers.

It’s him.

It’s really him.

Clearly the Universe has pulled some kind of joke on me.

He’s here in my world, in my life, in my nightmare.

And he’s as real as I am.

“This is Antonio Marchesi, my soon-to-be son-in-law, and Persephone, my daughter,” Father says, pulling me from my shock.

Mr. Gorgeous steps forward and holds out his hand to shake mine.

I lift one trembling hand and give it to him the same way I did in the club when he asked me to go home with him.

The moment my skin makes contact with his large hand, that familiar zap of electricity sparks in my soul just like it did that night when I wanted him, and nothing else mattered.

As if he can tell what I’m thinking, his gaze flicks down to my hand in his, but it’s only for a moment.

“Hello, Persephone. I’m Lukiyan Romanechka.”

Lukiyan Romanechka.

That’s his name.

Now I know it.