Chapter 30 Guardian of the Beast

Chapter 30 Guardian of the Beast
Nadja Ironside

While they organize the details, I am led to the hairdresser’s chair. I smile when I feel the soft armchair I sit in, facing a mirror lit by gentle lights. For the first time since I arrived in Montana, I see my reflection clearly. The traces of tension at the corners of my eyes, the paleness, but also a different light, a spark that was not there before.

The moment I sit down, the phone Dragon left for me starts vibrating in my pocket. The sound seems like thunder in the padded silence of the spa. I take it out and see the name on the screen. Dragon. My blood seems to stop running, worried about what I should say to him.

Joana sees my expression and understands what is happening. Her eyes harden a little.

"Answer it. Just like that." Joana says, and I look at Ella.

My hands are trembling. I slide my finger across the screen and bring the phone to my ear.

"Hello?" my voice comes out like a creak.

On the other end, there is a heavy silence for two seconds. And then his voice is low and hoarse, without any preliminary greeting. It cuts through the air like a blade.

"First, do not dare cut your hair or shave like a child. I like to play with my woman while I savor her."

"I… I…" I cannot believe what I just heard.

"Do not stutter, that is something we will do soon."

Heat explodes in my face, an instant combustion of shame, indignation and… something deeper, a hot response to the possessive and lascivious tone of his words. How dare he? How does he know? My free hand grips the arm of the chair, my knuckles turning white.

"How… do you know?" I stammer, my voice weak.

He laughs, a low sound that seems to brush the skin of my neck through the line.

"Did you really think I would leave my woman unwatched, little one? You are mine. I would take a bullet in the chest for you. Men like me take care of what is theirs. Mrs. Reed usually thinks she slips past the guards and the boss pretends to accept it, but there is always someone watching. I am not like him, I like things that are clear and said loud and clear." His voice loses a bit of its sensual tone, gains an icy harshness. "They only did not stop you from leaving because I made it very clear that if anyone touched you to drag you back by force, I would cut him into pieces and make him eat his own balls."

A shiver runs down my spine and something inside me says this is not a metaphor. It is a statement of fact, said with the coldness of someone commenting on the weather. His protection is a steel cage, and something different is born inside me.

Maybe it is dangerous for anyone who tries to touch her. Just as it can also be dangerous for the one who is inside it. What surprises me is that he is not angry. At least, not in the way I know anger.

I remain silent, limiting myself to listening to his breathing on the other end of the line, imagining his face, his storm eyes probably fixed on some distant point while he speaks to me with an intimacy that is both a violation and a crushing possession.

"Other than that, little one, enjoy yourself with Mrs. Reed. And pretend I have no idea where you are." There is a pause. "Ah, and what I told you about your hair… stays between us… But about not cutting your hair, you can pass the message to Joana. Marcus specifically asked that of his wife. And I truly wish him good luck with that."

"Alri…"

And the call drops. Just like that. I remain seated, with the silent phone still pressed to my ear, my face on fire and in my body, a mix of trembling and unbearable heat.

"Shave like a child." The image his words paint in my head is forbidden, but very vivid, which makes a different tremor run through my belly.

"Are you okay, Nadja?" Ella asks, her hand resting on my arm.

I lower the phone, swallowing hard. Everyone is looking at me: Ella, Joana, Nerfertári.

"Yes… but… he said… and your husband too… that we cannot cut our hair."

Joana bursts into laughter, a free and carefree sound that seems to dissolve a little of the tension in the room.

"I know! He repeats that all the time, like a mantra. 'Do not touch my wife’s hair, Nerfertári.' That is ridiculous…" Joana takes a strand of her long brown hair. "But I am going to cut mine. It is past my waist and I am sure he will not even notice. And you can too, Nadja. Just a little is always a renewal."

It is at that moment that Nerfertári, who had remained silent observing the scene, intervenes. Her voice is gentle, but there is an authority of steel beneath it.

"With all due respect, Mrs. Reed, and with your permission, Mrs. Ironside… I will not cut a single centimeter of your hair."

Joana arches an eyebrow, defiant.

"And why not? Marcus is not that scary."

"Marcus is not, I agree," Nerfertári concedes, her dark eyes fixing on me, and there is genuine fear in them now. "Rumor has it that the beast of your husband turns into a little puppy with you. Dragon, however…" she pauses, as if choosing her words with tweezers. "Dragon is made of pure rock. I think nothing is capable of softening him or truly changing him."

The statement hangs in the air, heavy. Joana seems about to protest, but falls silent. A morbid and terrifying curiosity is born in me.

"Why do you say that, Nerfertári?" I ask, my voice almost a whisper.

The beautician looks at me and I see a war in her eyes. Fear against her professionalism. Fear against a trace of compassion for me.

"Mrs. Nadja… perhaps it is better not to…"

"You can say it," I insist, feeling that I need to hear it, even if it hurts. "Nothing you tell me will be told to him. You have my word."

Ella and Joana remain silent as spectators. Nerfertári takes a deep breath, her chest rising beneath the silk kimono.

"Well…" she begins, lowering her voice. "This is a discreet house and we attend… men of a certain position. And their… companions. Some girls I know, high-class professionals, have already…" she stops speaking and begins to look from me to my companions, who also seem interested in what Nerfertári has to say. "Well, they slept with him. Some years ago, when he was more… socially active."

Each word she says is a block of ice falling into my stomach.

"They said he is… intense. That he has many scars all over his body. But the worst, they said, were not even his scars…" she pauses, her eyes scanning my face, evaluating whether to continue. "I saw, once, the marks he left on one of them. Purple, deep marks, on her wrists and hips. I thought, horrified, that he had hit her. But she told me no. She said that, during the act, he… lost control. It was as if an ancient fury, something wild and locked away with seven keys, was released. That he immobilized them with inhuman strength, that he did not listen to a 'no' or a 'stop'…" she turns her face away, a little embarrassed. "She said he was… violent. That once he started, nothing stopped him. It was as if he entered a parallel universe, dominated by a beast." Nerfertári looks directly at me again. "But… and this is the most contradictory part… they also said that the pleasure, when he allowed them to feel it, was devastating. Almost painful. That it was an experience that left them destroyed and… addicted, at the same time. Some never wanted to repeat it. Others came back, knowing the risks."

The silence that follows is absolute. The aroma of jasmine now seems nauseating. The soft lights of the spa seem to expose every piece of me. I see Joana’s face, pale. Ella closes her eyes, absorbing what we have just heard.

And inside me, a collapse. Nerfertári’s words are not a complete surprise. They give shape and name to the fear I have always had, to the dangerous animal I felt beneath the polished skin. They explain the iron control he exerts over himself, the sensation that there is a sleeping volcano beneath the icy surface.

And also, why he never forced anything on me. He knows the beast exists. And he is keeping it chained.

But why? Out of respect? Or because an animal like that can only be released with certain… permissions?

A shiver runs through my body, but it is not only fear. It is a terrible and intimate understanding. The memory of our morning days ago with his hand guiding mine… there had been a tremor in it. A tension about to break, I know he was controlling himself. Because of me.

I need to forget what she just told me. I force myself to relax in the chair when a silent manicurist approaches and begins to take care of my hands. I look at Ella, who is receiving a shoulder massage, her body slowly giving in to fatigue and relative safety.

I look at Joana, who is now discussing haircuts with Nerfertári in a low voice, but her gaze returns to rest on me, full of a new concern.

I came here for Ella. To give her refuge. But I ended up entering a refuge of my own, a space where the darkest truths about the man I am married to are spoken out loud.

Dragon is not just a dangerous mafioso. He is a broken man, inhabited by a beast of pain and fury that he keeps imprisoned at an immense cost. And I, now, am the involuntary guardian of that beast. I am the woman who sleeps with the chain of that beast in my hands.

Fear remains with a bitter taste in my mouth. But, strangely, along with it, a thread of determination arises. And a question that will not leave me anytime soon.

If this beast is chained because of me… what would happen if I, one day, decided to set it free?