Page 3 of Made to Sin

The temperature in the room dived as the words slipped from my swollen lips, the sole source of heat coming from Marco. My husband’s face turned beet red, and, the next thing I knew, a heavy fist came in contact with my face.

I flew onto the dresser and landed against the unmalleable wood. Pain radiated from my face down to my spine, corrupting a broken scream from me.

Regrettably, I forgot about the consequences of my words. He was a don, and while I may not have known the full implications of what it meant, I knew I had to respect him. My virginity was his. Letting another man steal what was his was a grave insult to the boss.

“You whores are all the same, aren’t you? Opening your legs for anyone and anything. Do you know the kind of disrespect you committed? I would have killed you if not for all the money I fucking spent on you.”

I sobbed freely, his words entering one ear and leaving out the other. The only thing that stuck was “whore.” It felt like a brokenrecord, repeating in my mind. How far from the truth it was, yet it ruined my marriage before there was a chance to begin.

“I’m sorry,” I croaked out.

“You’re sorry? You’re sorry for being a fucking whore? Get out, or I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”

“Wait, you don’t understand,” I exasperated.

“Get out, or I’ll kill you,” he repeated.

I didn’t move. I knew if I left, I was saying goodbye to my marriage, and there was no such thing as a divorce in the Underworld. If my husband hated me, there would always be other women for him. The thought broke my tender heart, and I was going to do whatever I could to save the shred of our love.

“Please, Marco.”

My disobedience caused him to become physical again. I flinched as he walked toward me, grabbing my arm to pull me out of the room. A sharp sting racked through my body from his aggression, but I had no will to protest. The pain in my chest ached more.

Marco dumped me on the outside of his bedroom door before slamming it shut and throwing a tantrum on the other side. I wanted to tell him the truth, but instead, I listened to the broken cries of the furniture he was trashing.

I didn’t know how long it took for Maria to find me, but eventually, she led me to an unused room. I chose the farthest one.

Assuming my husband was unfaithful was one thing, hearing it was another.

—

Since that night, it became a daily occurrence for my husband to flaunt women in front of me. They all saw his romantic side, while I received his abusive tendencies.

The memory brought a fresh wave of anger I had for my younger self. The brain had the unique function of protecting itself from trauma, so the hopeless romantic girl became jaded.

I had endured five years of living in this hell, so sue me for finding ecstasy in any way I could. It was easier to find at the end of an imported white powder than in his deceased soul.

At least one thing went according to my wishes, Marco never sought me out after that night unless he needed a punching bag or arm candy for events. He was so boastful about having a pretty, young wife, but paradoxically, he was the person who drained the beauty from me.

Bastard.

Still, it was quite humorous how a husband and wife never even had a proper dinner alone together.

SINCETHESHOWERDIDN’THELPmake me any more sober, Maria decided she would get me ready herself.

Even if it was out of pity, she and my driver, Arnold, were the only ones in this place who were nice to me. The other servants either gave me weird looks or were too scared to sympathize.

“There,meu bem, you are like brand new,” Maria stated. Her Portuguese accent curled the sentence, making it more persuasive than either of us actually believed.

I scoffed. “No amount of makeup will make me brand new.”

The purple markings from my husband’s abuse were threatening to peek out from under the layers of concealer as we spoke. Nothing attracted attention like a giant bruise in the middle of my face.

“Don’t say that,” she scolded while adding another coat of the liquid product.

Makeup aside, I guess she did a good job of trying to make me appear brand new. My long brown hair was pulled into a sleek ponytail to reveal the lace detailing on the back of the silk gown I wore. Maria told me the green dress matched my eyes and brought out my prominent cheekbones.

I couldn’t care less about whatever that meant. I would be delighted to wear a trash bag next to Marco. It would show theworld how badly he treated his wife.

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