Page 24 of Till Death Do Us Part

“It has been two weeks, Pippa,” Margo snaps, standing in the doorway with her hands pressed to her hips. Her eyes are narrowed into thin slits as she glares at me. She reminds me of my Papá in that moment, and my heart aches at the thought. “I understand that you’re homesick and miss your family. But you need to get up, go outside, go see New York. Go and live. You cannot hide away in this library, sinking into a deep depression. Is that what they would want for you?”

If only it were just that.

I ignore her, the same as I do every day when she seeks me out. There are no words, nothing I could use to explain to her what’s going on in my head. I can’t tell her that her boss, a man she has known since he was only a child—a man she adores as if he were her own son—sexually assaults me on a nightly basis.

She wouldn’t understand.

I’m not sure I do.

Is it sexual assault if the person you’re fucking is your wife?

Am I overreacting?

Am I supposed to accept that this is my life and let him continue to use my body however he sees fit?

These questions run through my mind every time he seeks me out in my bedroom. My gun and knife lay under my pillow, but I can’t bring myself to use them because is he in the wrong? Would I be the bad guy if I stopped him?

A lone tear spills over my lashes, but I swipe it away before Margo can notice. I pull in a shuddering breath, keeping my attention locked on the page before me. Her eyes are burning a hole in the side of my face, her frustration palpable while she watches me flip through the pages. I’m barely taking the words in, but I can’t look at her. She stands there for another long minute and then she huffs and storms away, leaving me in blissful silence.

The wine in my glass tastes bitter as I swallow it down. The fire roars in the background, lighting the room in burnt orange and red flames, heating everything, but I’m still cold. I wrap the blanket around myself tighter, curling my legs into my body while the book I’ve been trying to read falls to the floor with a light thud.

Closing my eyes, I drop my head onto my knees, letting the tears fall freely now that I am alone again. The thing with sadness, it comes in waves, and you never know when the next one will hit. A pit of despair looms constantly, threatening to drag me under, and I have no way of stopping it. There is little I can do but let it wash over me—consume me until I’m lost in a black hole. There is no escaping this life. No escaping the night and Antonio, or the nightmares that always follow. I am trapped here. A lost little girl with nowhere to go.

When my tears finally dry, I lift my head and stare out the window. The grounds are beautiful, truly. An array of flowers flourish in the centre of the large garden, thriving despite the cooling temperatures. A handful of Antonio’s men wander the property, weapons attached at their sides, guarding us.

There have been no more instances of Russian men finding me, though I haven’t left the mansion in over two weeks, so I suppose that is why. My gaze stalls on Leonardo stalking through the grass. Dressed in black jeans and a black fitted t-shirt, his long body moves gracefully, the gun in his hand limp at his side. He’s so at ease, so comfortable in his surroundings. I haven’t seen him since the day I was told he would be my bodyguard, and looking at him now, I’m glad for that.

He turns his head slowly, his gaze landing on the window, as though he can feel me watching him. I avert my eyes, quickly looking down so I don’t meet his eyes. There is something about him, something that pulls me in, while also telling me to run far away.

When I look back again, he is long gone, but for the rest of the day, the image of him refuses to leave my mind.

Felicity finds me in my bedroom later that evening, my hair still damp from my shower and dressed in a loose-fitting nightgown and sleep shorts. She takes one look at me before shaking her head in exasperation and letting out a great sigh.

“I’ve got my work cut out with you, it seems,” she mumbles, ambling over to the walk-in closet. My eyes remain glued on the spot she was standing, my mouth twisting downwards. This is the first time Felicity has entered my bedroom, beyond standing in the doorway to hand me a tray of food since I have hidden out in here for every mealtime.

She wanders back into my room, her hands full of hangers with a selection of gowns hanging from them. A mixture of reds and blacks stare back at me, all floor-length and far too formal for an evening at home. “What’s going on?”

“I’m here to be your fairy godmother and help you get ready for the ball,” she tells me, laying the dresses on my bed before moving over the vanity. “Do you have any make-up in here?”

“Not really.” I offer her a wry smile, pulling open the drawer that houses my mascara, lip gloss, and concealer. It’s not that I don’t like make-up, I do, mostly; I’m just not very good at doing it myself. “My sisters always did my make-up if we were going anywhere, so I never needed much.”

Felicity blows out a frustrated breath, her head cocked to the side as she watches me. She purses her lips, clicking her teeth. “Be right back. Take a seat, and don’t move.”

Without another word, she stalks out of my room, leaving me more confused than when she first arrived. My eyes stray to the clock, noting the hour. It’s almost eight p.m.; I can’t even fathom what Felicity could need with me at this time on a Saturday evening.

“You were supposed to sit down,” she grumbles at me in a whiny tone when she makes her way back over to me. This time, her hands are full of vanity bags and hair tools of all kinds. “Now, let’s get you sorted.”

She places the items on the vanity and pushes at my shoulders, guiding me onto the stool opposite the mirror. I move to face her, but she shakes her head and nudges me back to stare at my reflection. “Er, Felicity. What’s going on?”

“The charity event.” She stares at me expectantly, as if those three words will answer all my questions. My only response is a wrinkled nose and a light shrug. “It’s you and Antonio’s official coming out party, basically. You get to go and parade around in front of the top dogs of New York City and be showered in adoration and cheers while the men do under-the-table business and pretend to be good members of society.”

My eyes widen slightly at not only her words but how she speaks them. Very few people would speak so openly with such distaste about the Mafia. Her tone is cold and bitter to the ears. “You’re not a fan of them?”

“No, it’s not that.” She lets out a sigh, the sound wary and sad, before she shakes her head and smiles widely at me. “The men are good men, mostly. I just don’t necessarily agree with everything they do and how they get their power.”

“I didn’t realise you were privy to inside information. I can’t say I know anything about the work these men do.”

“Hang around long enough and you overhear many things you probably shouldn’t. Now, let me work some magic and get you ready.”

---