Page 47 of The Casella King

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“Sorry is not good enough.” His eyes darken as they land on mine.

“What will you have me do?” My mouth salivates watching the water run down his body. “I’ll do anything.” I sound desperate, but that’s because I am. I want him to touch me, to make me feel good. I want to come undone around him.

He turns and resumes standing under the showerhead, the water flowing down to his now fully erect cock, and I can’t tear my eyes away. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.” He smirks, winking.

“He’s what?!” Giselle’s eyes are almost popping out of her head after I explained everything to her from what Ezra does to who he has tied up in his basement. I can feel her judgement oozing from her pores as she stares at me in disbelief. “And you’re still with him?” She glances at the baby monitor, then back at me. “Jesus, Aries, what have you gotten yourself into?”

I sigh, not knowing how to respond because that’s exactly how I felt at the start, but now I desperately want to show him how much I meant my apology.

“I think I have feelings for him, G.” I bite the inside of my lip, knowing what her response will be.

“He’s a killer, part of the Mafia,” she whispers, looking around as if someone will hear, when that’s impossible because I came to visit her at her new place.

“I know!” My hands come up, and I run my fingers through my hair. “Sometimes we just can’t help the way we feel, G, and right now, the things I feel for this man scares me more than anything else in this world.”

She gives me a look of sympathy, no doubt thinking about Ray.

“I can’t pretend to approve, Aries. I know he helped with this house, and I knew there was something deeper going on, and now that I know what it is, I don’t think you have an escape.”

“I don’t want an escape.” I purse my lips. “I thought I did, but I don’t. I want to be with him. I want to be his wife.”

“You hardly know this man.”

I disagree, I think I know him better than I knew Ray. I know he won’t hurt me. I know he would protect me even if it meantgiving his life for mine, and although his moral compass not only doesn’t point north, it is non-existent, and I really don’t care.

“I don’t think there is anything you can say that will deter me,” I admit, and she throws her hands in the air in defeat.

I didn’t expect her to understand because Giselle has always been someone who relies heavily on her moral compass to know right from wrong. She genuinely doesn’t have a bad bone in her body. Meanwhilst, here I stand, feeling the darkness within me fester, growing with every passing second, now awakened from its slumber.

“How’s Dad?” I ask.

“You know him, sticks to himself mostly. I haven’t heard from him since we moved out. Only when he needs money.”

This isn’t new. He’s always been this way, ever since I could remember. He’d gamble away all his money or drink it. There is no in-between for him. Even though I don’t want to, I feel a strange nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach, urging me to check up on him. He hasn’t ever been on his own—he’s always had Giselle or me living in the same house, doing the groceries and everything else.

“Should I check on him?” I ask.

Giselle shrugs. “If you want to.” She begins preparing a bottle. “I know things haven’t been smooth between you two, especially since Mum died, but he’s still your father.”

I hate that.

That phrase is the most harmful phrase to ever exist in this century. Considering someone as family just because they’re blood, no matter their wrong-doings or their toxic behaviour towards you, disgusts me, and I never agreed with the notion.

“He may be blood, G, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s still a piece of shit.” I remark.

She purses her lips and sighs, clearly not agreeing with me.

We spend the rest of the afternoon together with my nephew as I silently think about how I can prove my feelings to Ezra.

My breath stalls as I reach for the familiar rusty doorknob on my childhood home. I still have the key, so I help myself inside. As soon as I step foot inside, I regret my decision of coming back here because the memories I’ve tried so hard to subdue come crawling back again.

“What do you want?” My father’s deep voice comes from the lounge room, and I walk in to see him sprawled on the sofa. Beer cans litter the coffee table which looks like it hasn’t been wiped down since Giselle and I left.

“Just checking in on you.” I look around the room. Not much has changed since I’ve been here, beside the floor now being littered with pizza boxes.

“I don’t need you to check in.”

---