Page 9 of My Mafia Captor

N: I’m not hiding. I live here

Me: And you should be living with me

N: But I don’t know you

Me: You are never going to get to know me if you don’t even try

I don’t know if it was because she just had nothing else to say or if she didn’t like that I had a point she couldn’t argue, but she stopped texting me after that. I kept checking my phone to see if she would respond, but as the day drew to a close, there still wasn’t anything from her. I wanted to push her and tell her just to move in already. I wanted her to do what she was told. But I had a feeling that the harder I pushed, the more she would push back, and then we wouldn’t get anywhere.

I needed help getting through to her, and the only person I knew for sure who had experience with difficult women was my best friend, Seth. I would have to call him when I was done with work for the day. Maybe he had an idea of how to deal with this situation because I was out of my league, and I didn’t want to make it any worse.

My father’s words kept going through my head. “You have to make it work.”

I was trying, and hopefully that counted for something because I had a horrible feeling that I was about to fuck this up.

Chapter 6

Natalia

Ihaddecidedtoput all my frustration and depression into painting.

I stayed in my room most of the day and worked on canvas after canvas, painting whatever I was feeling at that moment. I had finished a picture of a woman screaming, thousands of bees flying out of her mouth. That one had taken me a long time, but it had to be one of my all-time favorite paintings. That was one thing to be said for art; it was always best when created with lots of strong emotions. I could practically hear the buzzing roar of bees when I looked at the painting, and it made me happy to know all my anger wasn’t going to waste.

I hung it up in the hallway outside my room just so my dad could experience my anger in a more positive way.

I still wasn’t talking to him, but when he wasn’t home, I came out, did the dishes, and cooked food that I would separate into meals and put in the fridge for him. I even went to the grocery store to restock the cupboards. It all had to be done because, if not, my father would starve, I was sure of it. Either that or he would live off of fast food, which might be worse than starving.

When I was outside, I ignored everyone. When I was at home, I ignored messages and emails. I only answered my best friends—Donte, Logan, and Kiwi. I hadn’t told them yet about what had been going on, only that I was going through some stuff, and I didn’t want to talk to anyone about it yet. Donte insisted on coming over and taking me to a movie or something, but I told him not to come. Kiwi threatened to kidnap me anyway. We communicated in a group text most of the time.

Looking up from my newest canvas for the first time in a few hours, I saw I had two texts I hadn’t read yet, both of which were from Kiwi saying that I was missing an awesome lunch date between the three of them.

Underneath the group chat was the only other text I had answered in the past few days. Jimmy, from the previous day. I glared at it.

Initially, I hadn’t wanted to answer his demand to move in with him, but he had been so insistent, I had to check to see if it was actually him and not just spam. Of course it was him. My husband. Gah, I hated the sound of it.

He wanted me to move in with him because he wanted to make this “work”. How could we possibly make this work? It was a farce. A sorry excuse of a protection plan created by our fathers. This wasn’t a marriage; it was an agreement. I was perfectly happy at keeping him, and everyone else for that matter, at arm’s length. I could put my paintings up on the internet and make money that way, selling them from my bedroom. I didn’t ever have to leave the house again if I didn’t want to, and right now, I really didn’t want to.

I was trying to come to terms with the situation, but I still wasn’t happy about it.

I had answered him, and even though he was demanding and cold, he had a point. My concern about this whole thing was that he was a stranger. He wouldn’t be a stranger anymore if we got to know each other, and I couldn’t do that from my bedroom. Not very well, anyway. Jimmy and I could text back and forth, but there was only so much communication that was good through text. It left too much room for interpretation, and if you didn’t know the person you were texting, that could lead to a lot of misunderstanding.

It would be better if I moved in with him. It made sense. I couldn’t even argue the emotion after his last point, which was why I had just stopped responding. I didn’t want him to make sense. I wanted him to be the bad guy still.

He wasn’t, though, and it really wasn’t fair for me to keep being mad at him. He might have known about it before I had, but the deal was struck between our parents. That wasn’t his fault. He was a victim too.

But that didn’t mean I was ready to admit it and give in to Jimmy’s wishes.

There was a knock at the front door which broke my train of thought. I waited to hear if Daddy would get the door, but then I realized he was gone. I had heard him mention to someone on the phone that he had some deal he needed to work on.

Reluctantly, I got up and left my room to go open the door. I knew it wasn’t my friends because they had sent along a photo of them getting sushi—their way of making me jealous and enticing me into joining them. I loved sushi.

It was a young man in a suit that was slightly too big for him. He held a bouquet of white and yellow roses in one hand and held a letter in the other. When I opened the door, he plastered a smile onto his face.

“Mrs. Morelli?” he asked. I almost said no, but then remembered that was my name now. I nodded, fearing that if I opened my mouth, I would start yelling at him or something and unleashing my unhappiness about my current situation. He handed me the items saying, “Have a great day!”

I closed the door with my foot and brought the flowers into the kitchen, laying them on the table. They were so unique I couldn’t help but fall in love with them. The white roses had speckles of yellow throughout them making them look like they had been painted. They were gorgeous.

I searched through the cabinets for a vase and finally found one at the back of the highest shelf. I had to stand on a chair to get it down, but it was worth it. When the flowers were all arranged, I opened the letter and was surprised to see that it was handwritten. Inside, there was also a key. It tumbled out onto the table when I opened the letter.

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