Page 22 of Dangerous Vengeance

13

NATALIE

Matty has a soft side and he’s showing it. After the comment I made I deserve to be punished, but he didn’t… He couldn’t. Why? He restrained himself that time. Was it because I wasn’t fighting him so much? Was it because he’s grown some maleficent erotic attachment to me? Whatever it is, I’m not sure I want it to end. I enjoy the back and forth, though tonight I was a bit scared of him when he first came in.

He's different though. I never thought men in his line of business had feelings or a sentimental side. Not until I met him. And maybe he is just an anomaly, an outlier amongst the others, but I know he’s not supposed to be this way. He shows me mercy when his siblings demand swift justice. I threatened their name, their business, their reputation, but he uses himself as a barrier between me and them.

Why?

I climb out of bed and tiptoe to the door. When I turn the knob, I know he hasn’t locked it. It wasn’t just my imagination. He really left me in an unlocked room, despite the bars on the window, despite me having already attempted escape twice. I don’t know why he did, but the thought of escape doesn’t even cross my mind.

I find myself grinning, biting a single fingernail, as if there is much left to chew there. He’s beginning to trust me, and I’m beginning to find that I have feelings for him. Real feelings. Which is why I didn’t fight him tonight. He was upset, and it wasn’t a macho display to make me cower and pretend to be submissive to him. There was a truth in his eyes tonight, anger and pain about something so real it shook him. Matty was afraid of his brother.

I dress in the t-shirt and shorts, wondering if he is just testing me. Does he want me to try to escape again? Fight him the way I have every time we’ve had sex before, just so he can get off again? But why? Why not just tell me what he wants and trust that I’ll be his little slut anytime? What changed? And why now?

Hugging my arms over my stomach, I let myself out of the room. I’ve seen this all before a few times now. It's not new, but this time I take a moment to soak it in. Every door is ornately carved, every archway the same. The marble tiles are cold on my toes, and I slowly descend the stairs. I see the front door, but that’s not where I’m headed. I want to find him. Just being near him feels like the right thing.

The lights are low, only a few of them shining into the foyer. I see a door ajar, as if he’s left it open just to invite me in. I walk that direction. The pentagram pattern in the tile under the behemoth chandelier catches my eye. I never noticed it the other few times I was in this room. It’s laid out with gold flecked marble, framed in with thin black marble tiles. It’s interesting. I wonder if it came with the house or if he had it put in that way.

I move on toward the room with the light and see that it’s empty, but something in the room calls to me, coaxing me to come inside. So, I push the door open and make my way in. It looks like an office, large but comfortable. A tall cabinet sits on one wall, a bookshelf on another. There’s a desk along the far end, a pair of sofas facing each other with a table between them closest to me. It looks inviting. The warm hues of browns and golds speak to me.

Sconces on the wall emit a soft light, while another chandelier overhead remains dark. It has the feel of an old diner near closing time. The only thing missing is the music playing. I pad into the room deeper, and I notice the expensive rug beneath the table and sofas. Matty has spared no expense for this room. It must be his favorite place in the house; I could see how it would be mine.

I let my hand pass over the back of the leather couch as I walk. It smells musky in here, like cigars and whiskey. And it’s warm too. It might be the only room in the house that has heat on already. I like that; it makes it feel much more homey to me. And when I notice a family portrait on the wall I stop and take it in.

There are five boys there, close in age, and a man and woman. I easily recognize Matty. In this photo he has to be around ten. He hasn’t changed a bit since then, except to grow manlier. And his father—wow, does he look exactly like the man, though I can see the resemblance in his mother’s face too, and pain. It fills her eyes, hauntingly. Her gaze is hollow, void of the life that most family pictures emit. I wonder if Matty’s story was true, that she was ravaged and in so much emotional torment that she took her own life. This image of her certainly depicts one of pain.

I pull my eyes away from the portrait and look at the shelves of books. Several large albums there draw my attention. If a picture is worth a thousand words, then those albums may give me stories of times past that would fill in the gaps for me, tell me about the Matty of yesterday, the one who existed before pain came, before he grew into this business and the life of organized crime. The one I want to search out, to be near to.

I take an album and curl up on one of the sofas. Flipping through it I am surprised that I feel deeply connected to him. Each picture in this book has at least one familiar face, matching the portrait on the wall. I don’t know who is who, but I know their names because of my research. I begin to wonder which brother is Dominic, the eldest and the one who will take over the family when Alexsi, their father, dies. I know he’s on hospice because my source told me it won’t be long now and that the time to strike is when they’re weakened by his departure.

I don’t think I want that anymore, to strike that is. Matty doesn’t seem hell bent on my destruction. He seems to understand why I’m doing what I’m doing. Why I researched his family and why I need to get justice for Hal—or vengeance, either one is fine with me. He seems to understand that I need to find Hal’s killer.

I turn another page and see a newspaper clipping. It’s an article about the woman whose face is in the image on the wall. I begin reading, wondering what it’s about. In this photo she looks happy, but the article is anything but. It details the circumstances of her suicide and Matty wasn’t kidding. The article tells all, about her rape and the suicide note she left, but it stops short of sharing the actual content of the letter. He must have been devastated. I feel tears welling up on his behalf, aching for this to have never happened to him or his mother.

I close the book and sigh, not able to look at another picture. My heart can’t take it right now. It hits too close to home. It wasn’t that long ago that Hal was taken, and I am feeling more connected to this family than I care to admit. I never did find hard evidence that it was Matty’s family that killed Hal, though I still strongly suspect it. Part of me wonders if it was one of his brothers. I shudder to think that it was him, that I’ve fucked the man who murdered my uncle in cold blood. I have to force that thought away before it takes root because I’m falling for him.

Leaning my head back on the couch I close my eyes. If he wanted to kill me he would have. And maybe in the beginning he kept me alive because he thought I would be useful, or because he feared I may have built a safety net around myself that might crash in on him if I vanished. But now? Weeks later? He had no reason to be kind to me, to offer me a way out if I helped him get the research. He had no reason to trust that I wouldn’t have made copies or sent them to myself or someone else. Saved them on hard drives hidden in other places. He had no reason to believe I wouldn’t return to my job and rebuild a case against him.

“What are you doing in here?”

Matty’s voice startles me, and I jump. I straighten and look at him with wide eyes. He’s standing in the doorway holding a plate of food. Sex makes me hungry sometimes too, but I don’t say that. I can’t speak, not even to mutter out an excuse. I sit with my legs curled and the album on my lap, staring at him frightfully as he barges in and sets the plate down.

“This is my private office,” he snaps as he stomps over to me. I don't have time to react. I didn’t think he would be angry. I thought this was an invitation.

“I wasn’t trying to escape,” I whimper as he grabs me by the hair and pulls me off the sofa. The album crashes to the floor and I stumble forward as he drags me toward the door.

“What the fuck were you doing? Snooping in here? Trying to get more information about my family?” He’s angry and I guess I understand why. I didn’t know he would think I was trying to dig up dirt.

“No, Matty, please. Let me explain. Ouch!” I wince as he shoves me hard into the foyer and my knees smack the marble. “Oh fuck…”

“Get up!” His booming voice startles me yet again. I stand as quickly as I can but he’s there on top of me too soon. I lose my balance and start to fall, and he grabs me by the waist and tosses me over his shoulder.

“Matty, please. I thought you left the door open so I could come down and sit with you. I didn’t know—”

“Shut up!” he hisses and smacks my ass, but it’s not a playful slap like the ones earlier. And his tone isn’t seductive and hungry. He’s hurt. It’s like he really was testing me, and he’s discovered that I’m not acting the way he thought I would. I cling to his body as he bounds up the stairs. It shakes me so hard it hurts my neck. I whimper but he doesn't seem to hear, or if he does, he doesn’t care.

He storms into my room and drops me on my bed, and I whip my hair out of my face. “Stop it! Just stop!” I scream and he stands over me with his chest heaving. “I came down there to sit with you. I could have left. I could have walked right out that front door, but I didn’t. I didn’t run off. I told you I’d help you get the fucking laptop, and I will. I fuck will!” Maybe screaming at him is a mistake, but I don’t care.

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