Page 41 of Beautiful Devil

Unzipping my dress, I'd taken off the expensive silk lingerie the woman who'd dressed me had insisted I wear. After removing the clips and babies breath out of my hair, I'd stepped into the shower to let the steady powerful stream of hot water roll over my face-and before I knew it, I'd begun crying again.

Fresh from my shower and all cried out, I’d climbed back into the queen-sized bed I had unfortunately become all too familiar with and drifted into an uneasy sleep.

Upon waking with a pounding headache, puffy red eyes and back in my leggings and baggy t-shirt combo, I lie in silence for a couple of minutes before I hear the key unlocking the door. I don’t move, expecting to see Maria walking in with dinner. Anger surges through my body when I see Fabrizio waltz in instead. He stands at the foot of the bed, both hands in his black dress pants, causing the memory of what happened earlier to incite nausea and heartbreak. I hold back my tears, willing myself to stay strong in front of this man.

The rage is coursing through me, and I can feel the venom that's bubbling up my throat and coating my words as I manage to say, “What do you want?”

For a brief second, I think I see him flinch at the tone of my voice, but when I narrow my eyes to focus on him, I know that definitely is not that case. This is the man who forced me to marry him mere hours ago. For what benefit to him, I’m still unclear – all I know for certain is that it has nothing to do with the sacrament of marriage. I’d be surprised if a man like him even knows the word.

* * *

FABRIZIO

I know Gia hates me. If I hadn't stood outside her door earlier after I locked her in and listened to her cry, then I’d know it now as I walk into her room and see just how red and puffy her eyes are.

I fucking hate myself for making her feel like this, for making her hate me like she does. I have to keep myself in check, though, because all I really want to do is run toward her. To hold and comfort her and kill anyone who ever hurts a single hair on her head. Ironic, because right now, that person isme. Even if I am trying to keep her safe, I’m still hurting her in the process.

I decide the best method of approach is to try and ease the tension, so I exhale a heavy breath and take a seat at the end of the bed. She sits up and moves so that her back is up against the headboard with the duvet pulled up just under her chin.

I rest my elbows on my knees and hang my head as I utter the words that I know will make her hate me even more.

“You’re my wife now, and as my wife, you will sleep in my bed.” I can't look at her, knowing how much of a bastard I’m being.

I feel the tension in the room kick up a notch. When a couple of minutes have passed, I inhale deeply and try to somewhat grow a set of balls to look at her…and immediately wish I hadn’t. From the way her face is twisting, I’m confident once again that she’ll never forgive me.

“Just how fucking deranged are you? We may be married, but let me make one thing clear: this marriage is on paper ONLY. I will never be your wife – or anything else – in any other sense.”

I know she’s right. Whatever sliver of hope I may have had before this moment has evaporated into thin air.

“Maybe I should have taken my fucking chances with Dante. At least being dead would get me the fuck out of here and away fromyou.”

Before I’m fully aware of my actions, I’m on my feet, reaching over the bed and grabbing Gia by the arm, throwing her over my shoulder. She’s kicking, screaming and landing punches to my back as I barrel out of her room and straight into mine next door, slamming the door closed with my foot before tossing her down on my super king-sized bed. Before she can say a word, I’m hovering over the top of her, getting right in her face.

“Let's get one thing straight here,gattina. You are my wife on paper. Therefore, you are my wife in every other sense of the word. It doesn't matter what you say. YOU. ARE. MINE.” I stand upright and march over to my large en-suite bathroom, locking myself inside before I go back out there, get down on my knees, and tear off every item of clothing she’s wearing with my teeth, fucking her six ways to Sunday.

Walking over to my vanity, I place my hands on the counter and hang my head. For fuck’s sake, how can I be wrapped in her scent when I held her for all of thirty seconds? She’s on the other side of the door. In my room.

Our room?

That’s an issue for another day. Right now, I’m rock-hard and the last thing I need, but the only thing I want, is to sink myself deep into my wife’s pussy. I need to release this tension, and I need to get away from Gia.

Exiting the bathroom, I don’t even glance in her direction. I almost reach the door when her voice hits me from behind.

“Where are you going?”

“Out. Don’t wait up.”

I’m mentally already at Secrets before it hits me that I’m married. And one thing I do take seriously in my world is the promises I make.

“Fuck!” I punch the wall in the hallway and make my way to my office instead.

Swinging the door open, I head over to the bar and pour myself two fingers of whiskey. As soon as I slam the empty glass down, I’m pouring myself another and shooting that back too.

I’m still facing the bar when I feel Marco standing behind me, and instead of waiting to see if he’s going to say something, I pour us each a shot. Grabbing both glasses in my hand, I turn around and hand one to him. After a couple minutes, he breaks the silence.

“Well, that’s got to be the shortest wedding night in history.”

I don’t say anything. Instead, I make myself another drink – this time half the glass – and sip it, savoring every burn as it slides down my throat. I know he has more to say, and I need to blow off some steam one way or another. Since I can’t do that by losing myself in my wife or one of the girls at Secrets, I’m hoping Marco will keep talking until he pisses me off enough where I can pound my fist in his face. Thankfully, his next sentence does it.

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