Page 26 of Tainted Princess
CHAPTER SEVEN
Enzo
Where the fuck was she?
I paced the room, my feet taking me from one end of the small hotel suite to the other and back again, while my anger boiled. It was nearly six am and she was nowhere to be found.
It was fuckin’ ridiculous. Francesca—my wife—was gone, and I didn’t even know her fuckin’ phone number to try and track her down. I couldn’t exactly call anyone in the Family. How pathetic would I look? Not even married twelve hours and already she’d left me.
She better not have fuckin’ left me.
Although, I wasn’t sure that was really a problem in the eyes of the Commission. After all, I’d done my part. Married the girl just as they’d asked. I’d gotten my appointment as aCapo, and that was all there was to it. Nowhere in the agreement did anyone mention us actually staying together. I mean, sure, it was probably implied, but should she not come back, I could argue the fact that specifics were never mentioned.
But that didn’t stop my chest from getting tight when I thought that she might actually be gone.
Because I had no idea what to do about Francesca.
When I had first laid eyes on her, slamming open the door of the church and making a grand entrance, she looked like a little doll. Her huge dress—a frothy white monstrosity with sleeves, for crying out loud—and her fancy hairdo so out of place considering the absurdity of our circumstances. I took one look at her and dismissed her completely as another of the simpering airheads I was used to seeing at the clubs; all dressed up for no reason whatsoever, overdone and outrageous and completely uninteresting once you peeled away the layers of makeup and hairspray. I expected her to saunter her way to the alter, demanding everyone pay her all the attention she felt she deserved.
But a second later, the little thing had marched up the aisle like a soldier heading into battle, squaring up against the toughest men in Manhattan and demanding that things get underway. She was fiery under all that satin; I could see it even though she tried to hide it. I could imagine the other men in her life didn’t appreciate a confident and independent woman, but for just a brief second, that’s exactly what Francesca was. As I watched her throughout our brief ceremony, I could see she was also strong. Determined, yet at times still vulnerable.
She was a complete contradiction, and I found that enticing as fuck.
Then we got in the car and she shut down completely, making me think I had imagined the fighting spirit I saw in her eyes. But she stayed the course, following me dutifully to the bedroom, knowing what was expected of her and prepared to do what was necessary.
I had almost wished she’d have thrown me a little attitude, enough to let me know she was more than just the pretty doll she presented on the outside. But sure enough, as I unzipped her dress, watching as goosebumps formed across her creamy skin, she once again became the docile little lamb. And when she put her hand on my chest, staring at me with wide eyes, I knew she was just like all the others.
All the women who threw themselves at me, batting their eyelashes and licking their lips, thinking that their looks alone were enough to hold my interest. It was exhausting, and I was tired of it.
Living in Las Vegas, there was no shortage of beautiful women. They came and went every week, strutting into my clubs looking for a good time, and I had been glad to show them one. But after a while, the repetitiveness of it all was so dull, I could hardly stomach it. The same inane conversations, the same boring answers. None of it interested me.
I had hoped, for just a second, that seeing the fire in Francesca’s eyes meant she would be more than a pretty package. But just as my father had suggested, she was bred to be a good Mafia wife, and that meant asking no questions.
But looking into her eyes, knowing she wanted me to kiss her, I was torn. Because this womanwasdifferent, no matter what I thought about it. She was my wife, and unlike the majority of women I had been with, she would not be leaving town at the end of the week.
And Ihadwanted to kiss her. I didn’t understand it, but her wide eyes, a hazel so bright they looked almost golden in the dim light of the bedroom, they seemed so sad when I told her we wouldn’t be getting her knocked up. And for a split second, I could picture it, her round with child,mychild. The vision was so strong I couldn’t bear to look at her, to see the disappointment in her eyes.
So, like the bastard I was, I flipped her over, putting her face down over the bed, and I took her virginity like a fuckin’ savage. I wanted to go slow, I had even started by warming her up, getting her off and trying to make it as comfortable as I could. But the second I slid inside her,my wife, knowing that I was the only man who had ever been there, something in me snapped. It was a heady feeling, having all that purity, that goodness, to myself. I suddenly regretted the condom, wanting to mark her, to let every other fucker who looked at her know that she was mine, and there was nothing they could do to change that.
It was primal, this need to own her, and I was shocked by the ferocity of the feeling. So much so, that when we were done, and I saw her sitting there on the bed, her white lingerie making her look like the innocent she was, I had no choice but to leave. She looked so lost, unsure of what came next, and to be honest, so was I. The post coital cuddle had never been on the menu for me. I was definitely more of a drive-thru guy; get what you’re after and get out.
But with Francesca, I felt regret at the way things had gone. I was disgusted with myself, taking her the way I did, not even having the balls to kiss her.
I left like a coward because I couldn’t face the things she was making me feel.
So, could I really blame her for being gone? No.
That didn't mean I was fuckin’ happy about it.
I continued my pacing, just about ready to finally bite the bullet and call Don Carlo to admit what had happened, when I heard the electronic lock of the hotel room door disengage. Turing to face the door, I stared as Francesca entered the room, looking completely different than she had last night, her plain pants and sweater combination making her appear younger than she was, her face free of makeup and her hair in a messy knot on the back of her head.
She froze when she saw me, her eyes wide as she took in my appearance. I still wore the suit from yesterday, though it was decidedly worse for wear now. When I had left the suite, I had only made it as far as the closest bar, sitting in a booth with a bottle of tequila and my confusing thoughts until the bouncer had thrown me out at closing time. Stumbling my way back to the hotel, I was prepared to sleep on the couch, looking in to see how Francesca was doing. When I saw the bed exactly as we had left it, slightly rumpled but otherwise intact, and her wedding dress still in a pile on the floor, I sobered up pretty fuckin’ quick, stalking around the suite and trying to figure out my next move.
That had been hours ago, and now here she was, looking fresh as a fuckin’ daisy, all vibrant and light.
Fuck that.
“Where the fuck have you been?” I spat, my anger beating out my worry to rise to the top of the emotional mountain in my brain.
