Page 15 of Wicked Games of Desire

“You’ve outdone yourself, Maddox.” Ricky’s voice slices through the heavy silence. My attention shifts to the other boys, remembering they’re still in the room. Ricky cuts into his Veal Marsala, taking a second bite. He’s stacked garlic bread high on his plate, accompanying what looks like rigatoni pasta and marinara sauce.

Maddox made this food? It looks gourmet, like the meals my father’s chef made for us. No part of me can fathom that Maddox has culinary skills. I can, however, imagine him using knives, but that would be more to slice through the flesh of his enemies.

“Lana?” Maddox asks, preparing to scoop some of the delicious-smelling food onto my empty plate.

On autopilot I hold out my plate. “Just a little, please,” I say with more attitude than I should to the man serving me food. But I’m still mighty pissed about the shower incident and him insisting onusing that name like he knows something. I look him over, my eyes narrowing. Does he know something? I’m sure by now they would have found my car parked in the woods and my wallet and phone that I left in there. Is his fucking nickname a dig at me and the secret identity I was using to hide from them? He’s not as clever as he thinks if it is.

He loads up my plate, then hands it to me, a menacing smirk on his face. He doesn’t give a fuck what I say, he just does whatever the hell he likes. And makes sure he’s smug as shit about it. Asshole.

“Thank you,” I sass, placing the plate back in front of me. It looks incredible, and I can’t believe that Maddox could be the chef to create all of this, but I guess all I currently know about him is that he takes pleasure in making me uncomfortable and he’s a thug who kills people.

Normally I would be all in for homecooked Italian food, but I am overcome with uncomfortable nausea, surrounded by these guys, especially Alessandro. Things between us ended terribly, and I haven’t seen him since because my papa wouldn’t allow it. It makes this situation awkward.

I never expected to see him again. Not that I didn’t want to, I did, but I just never thought it would be possible, with his high profile and my papa shipping me off.

A million questions race through my mind, making my head spin. Was he really a friend of my father’s? Was he there the night they got killed? Was everything I knew about this man just some ploy?

Alessandro cracks open a bottle of bubbly and fills four glasses. I glance at him curiously. He hands me a glass, our hands brushing slightly, forcing me to suck in a deep breath. He knows the effect he has on me. The attraction that used to swirl between us still lingers, a dangerous and intoxicating force that both excites and now terrifies me. “A toast,” he announces, tapping his glass with a knife.

The others both stop eating and give him their full attention. Seems like he is king shit around here. The tension in the room intensifies if that is even possible, shared looks passing between the three of them. Why do I feel like the only one not in on the joke?

Our eyes lock, his dark gaze meeting mine as the side of his mouth twitches into a menacing smirk. “To my beautiful fiancée, I’m glad you’re finally home under my roof where you belong.” His callous smile fills me with terror, and I know that was his exact intention.

My wild eyes shoot straight to him in question. “F-fiancée,” I stutter, my voice trembling out.

His grin widens. “Yes, princess, you will soon be my wife,” he says with absolute certainty as he sips from his champagne flute.

For a second, I blink back at him, not sure how to react. The other two are deadly quiet, but I know they were fully aware of this bullshit. I glance to Ricky for help I know isn’t coming. His eyes show no remorse. These three are playing some fucked-up game that I haven’t been clued in on, and I’m not standing for it.

I place my glass down as calmly as I can with trembling hands. My chair scrapes on the marble floor, sending a shrill screech into the dead silence. Fumbling with my crutches, I stumble back, pain radiating through my leg, but I don’t care. I need to distance myself from them.

Three sets of eyes come to me in question. Alessandro polishes off his glass then places it down heavily.

“I don’t know what kind of fucked-up shit is going on here, but I’m no one’s wife.” My unsteady legs tremble, making me come off less confident than I am about this. I grab at the table for stability while I get my crutches sorted, my shaky hands unable to work fast enough in such panic.

“Sit down, Harley,” Alessandro shouts, his deep commanding voice like thunder, causing the table to shake as it vibrates off the walls.

My eyes rise to meet his, anger coming off me in waves, my fists clenched so tightly my knuckles turn white, ready to strike out at the injustice. He glares back, his breathing ragged like a rabid dog on the edge of losing it and going right for the jugular. Both of us are silently refusing to back down. But I’m not doing what he tells me to. He has no authority over me. Yeah, that domineering shit used to be fun in the bedroom when we were playing around, but he has to know, he can’t force me to do anything I don’t want to.

I won’t marry him, no matter what he says.

When my papa walked in on us together, he lost his shit. I’d never seen him so furious. Being locked away from society for most of my life may have been the reason for my seemingly good behavior. The boarding school he sent me to after my mother’s death was an all-girls’ institution overseen by nuns. Alessandro was the first man to give me any snippet of attention, and I couldn’t resist his charms. Angered by the situation, my papa promptly made arrangements for me to be booked on the earliest flight out of town, off to college two weeks earlier than I’d planned. Alessandro didn’t try to find me or fight for what we had. I was left with a broken heart, feeling alone and confused. That night was the last time I saw him.

And now he expects me to just accept that I’m marrying him. Is this the 1950s? I don’t fucking think so.

The other two remain quiet, and the tension is so palpable that I can feel it in the air. Bitter, suffocating.

Alessandro’s chair scrapes along the marble floor, sending a shiver down my spine. His heavy footsteps echo through the silence as he closes the gap between us. Using his bulky frame to tower over me, he exudes power and a dominance that affects me on so many levels. I forgot how massive he was. I lift my chin defiantly, trying not to show how rattled he makes me. He might have these two followinghis instructions, but I won’t be some little yes girl, sitting pretty by his side. He knows me, and he of all people should know my rebellious spirit won’t allow that.

His dark eyes intensify, and I can tell he’s about to fly off the handle. “You might have had your daddy wrapped around your little finger, princess, but while you’re in my house, you do as I say. SIT DOWN AND FINISH YOUR MEAL!”

The mere mention of my papa unleashes a torrent of emotions: grief, anger, betrayal. I’m shocked thathewould even bring him into the conversation. It’s blatantly clear he had something to do with his murder. He was his friend, a business associate for years. “We can easily solve that problem. I’m not staying here,” I spit back, not ready to back down. He won’t control me.

He cracks his neck, and when his hand suddenly lands on my shoulder, I flinch against my will. As he leans closer, his fingers sink into my skin. A flutter ignites within me, being so close to him after so long. The sheer dominance his body has over mine. “Sit down.” His voice is low and dark, threatening.

My body reacts on instinct, sitting down under his intimidating gaze, but inside, I’m fuming with anger and a darkness comes over me. He just joined his buddies on my list of people to eliminate from this earth. And the sooner I work out how, the better.

I grip my steak knife in my fist, wishing I wasn’t so weak right now. Part of me wonders if his guard shooting me wasn’t a ploy to trap me here. My meal blurs in front of me. I’m fucking trapped, no one will tell me what’s really going on, and there’s no way out. But there is one thing I know for sure, I’m not the same girl he could charm two years ago. And I will not put up with this shit. I’m no one’s wife. No one’s possession.

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