Page 7 of Marrying the Mobster
I’m so tired that even the thought of getting my dick wet does nothing for me.
Running a hand over the stubble on my jaw, I push open my bedroom door and start undressing. All the things weighing on my mind can wait until morning. I’m down to my briefs by the time I reach the bed, my eyes already growing unfocused. Mariana has left my customary sleeping pill on the nightstand, so I chase the tablet with half the glass of water sitting beside it. In recent years, sleepless nights became too frequent for me to keep my edge, so I had my personal doctor prescribe something to put me down for the night and keep me down until morning. The downside is that once the dreams start, I can’t pull myself away from them. It’s a double-edge sword, the ability to sleep through the night without waking. It means my demons follow me into the darkness of my mind, holding me captive until the sun rises.
4
Elena
It takes a minute for me to realize where I am when I come back to consciousness. Blinking my blurry eyes, I stare at an intricately carved white ceiling, framed by massive bedposts reaching several feet above me. Sheer white fabric cascades down each post and bright, stinging sunlight filters through them, giving the room a hazy glow. Or maybe the glow is a side-effect of whatever I was drugged with. I’m still incredibly drowsy and my mouth is as dry as stale bread. My limbs feel heavy and disconnected from my body, and every time I try to close my eyes the room starts to spin.
I raise a hand to my face, finding my skin clammy and cool. I groan at the pounding between my eyes.
The sound of scuffling startles me, and I sit upright so fast that I grow dizzy and fall back onto the pillows. Swallowing past a wave of nausea, I search my peripheral vision for the source of the sound. A man stands at the side of the bed, looking down at me. He’s short, but with a jacked figure. His shoulders and chest are broad and his arms bulge at the sleeves of a white t-shirt. He’s wearing a pistol on his hip.
There’s an empty chair against the wall behind him, so I assume he’s been here watching me sleep.
Anxiety makes my hands shake as I cover myself with the comforter. For some reason, being alone with this stranger scares me far more than being in the presence of Diego Pérez. The cartel boss promised not to hurt me. This man—whoever he is—has made me no such promises.
“Where … where am I?” I slur, my dry tongue making it difficult to form words.
“Now that you’re awake, Mr. Pérez will want to see you.”
I try again to sit up, taking it slow this time. “Wh-what … who …”
“Mr. Pérez will answer all your questions,” he says, an impatient edge in his voice.
Frowning, I watch the man go. The click of a lock rings through the room and I roll my eyes. “Just where do you think I’m going to go?”
I fight the panic welling up from the pit of my stomach. Mixing with fear is anger and betrayal at my father’s actions last night. There I stood bargaining for his life, and he was all too happy to trade me to save his own ass. I let the anger swell until it smothers the worry over what will happen to me in the clutches of a notorious mafia boss. If I know my dad, he’s currently planning to leave the country without making Pérez and his outfit aware of his movements. He’ll never come up with half the money in time. Like the coward he is, he’ll leave me to my fate while he finds his own escape route.
I’m on my own. I realized that last night—just before a needle was jabbed into my neck—but it’s become real now, on the first day of my captivity. Sitting around and waiting for Diego to execute me isn’t an option, but neither is going off half-cocked and doing something stupid.
Running my fingers through my hair, I cringe at the smell of chlorine coming off me. I find an open door leading into a bathroom on my left. Relief propels me from the bed, and I stumble on unsteady legs onto white stone floors. The bathroom is small but luxurious, with a massive shower that has nozzles pointing from every direction. A claw-foot tub sits in one corner, with a thick, white rug laid in front of it. I go to the double vanity and stare at myself in the mirror. The harsh lighting of the bathroom shows that I feel as shitty as I look. My hair is a tangled, frizzy mess and my skin is pale with a grayish tint. There are dark circles under my bloodshot eyes.
With slow, careful movements, I turn on the tap and splash cold water on my face. The cold jolt makes me more alert. I then drink the water by the handful, slurping greedily from my palm and groaning at how good it feels going down my throat.
Diego’s voice comes at me from the doorway and I snap to attention, swiping at my damp chin with the back of my hand. “I take it you slept well.”
Narrowing my eyes at him, I yank my cover-up closed over my body. “I didn’t really have a choice, did I?”
Diego leans against the doorframe, staring at me with those piercing, dark eyes of his. He’s immaculately dressed and groomed just as he was last night. Black slacks hug his hips and show off the power of muscled thighs. A white dress shirt is stretched tight across his shoulders, the top two buttons undone. Through the opening, I can see a light smattering of dark chest hair, and the sparkle of a gold necklace. My eyes fixate on the things I missed last night—the chiseled hardness of his face, the way his five o’clock shadow frames a pair of shapely lips. I can make out black ink on his knuckles—letters spelling out different words on both hands, PRIDE on one and FAITH on the other.
Damn it. Either I’m still high from being drugged, or this man is pushing every one of my buttons right now. If he hadn’t kidnapped me less than twelve hours ago, I would give in to the sudden and unwanted attraction that sparks at the sight of him. The man certainly has presence; I’ll give him that.
“I’m sorry about the injection,” he says, actually sounding sincere. “But Jovan and I had to assure your compliance as well as your safety.”
I scoff at that last bit. “How is sticking a needle in my neck keeping me safe?”
He shrugs. “You seemed determined to fight, and might have hurt yourself in the process.”
I grind my teeth at his gall. If given half the chance, I would have hurthim, not myself. I might not have won the battle, but I would have made him regret ever laying a hand on me.
“So, what now?” I snap, leaning my hip against the vanity.
“Now you’ll stay here, as agreed between me and your father.”
“No one bothered to ask for my input.”
Diego’s lips twitch as if he’s about to laugh, but the sound never comes. He doesn’t even crack a smile. “I’m sorry,gatita, but in my world this is how things work. It’s unfortunate that your father wasn’t up to the task of keeping you out of my grasp.”
