Married to the Bad Boy Page 4

  The other men grab Vinny’s arms before he can do more damage, even though the boss looks as if he would like nothing better than to beat him to death.

  “Degenerate fuck. Do it again, and you’ll be fucking sorry.”

  He makes other furious moves toward Rafael, but the guys shove him back.

  “Vince, calm down.”

  They let him go and Vinny stands there for a moment, chest heaving. Then he runs a hand through his dark hair and walks away from Rafael, who picks himself off the floor and gives me a murderous look. I turn away from him, shaking, and almost jump when I feel Vinny’s hand on my shoulder.

  “Come, I’ll get you some meat for your ma.”

  Numb shock propels my feet forward, through the doors, and into the cafe. “Vince, I—he was telling the truth. He didn’t hit me.”

  Energetic, black eyes cut right through me. “You don’t have to lie to me. People don’t get bruises like that from falling down. You don’t have to stay with him, either.”

  Something in his voice compels me to drop the bullshit and just tell him the truth. Maybe it’s the faint anger I feel rustling in my chest. I don’t know if I want to accept help from the man who, well, murdered my father.

  You killed my dad.

  “If I leave, he’ll kill me. I don’t have anywhere else to go, anyway.”

  The clerk behind the counter hands me a large package of deli meat wrapped in paper and I take it. “Thanks, Vincent.”

  “Hey, wait—”

  My face already burns with the hopelessness of it all, and I shrug off his hand on my shoulder and head toward the icy storm outside, hoping that it’ll swallow me.

  * * *

  The door opens.

  It’s the worst sound in the world—a sound that fills me with terror, a sound that makes me want to scurry to the bathroom and lock the door. I dread it every day. Dread the moment his boots walk through the threshold, and even worse is the noise when he slams it shut because he’s always pissed these days.

  Just go away. Just leave me alone.

  But he won’t, especially after today.

  I sink into the leather couch, hoping that I’ll become invisible. I stare straight ahead into the burning TV screen. Maybe there’s something on it that will distract him from his rage. I try to think back to when the sight of his face made me feel warm instead of cold with fear. He was never like this when Dad was alive—never laid a hand on me. He would never have dared—Dad would have killed him. We used to talk about getting engaged.

  A painful twitch on my face makes me grimace.

  “Are you fuckin’ laughing?”

  I turn my head around painfully. His once-handsome face seems wasted away by rage. The leather jacket he wears makes him look like a cartoon villain, and I think for a moment how funny the whole thing is. Me, the boss’s daughter, stripped down to nothing but some whore for him to use and abuse. Whose own sister resents her for being the favorite, and won’t even save her from her abusive boyfriend.

  It’s not really that funny.

  “I’m not.”

  The shorter my responses are, the better.

  Don’t even look at him.

  “You humiliated me in front of the people I work with. Do you have any fucking idea how bad that is?”

  The sound of his footsteps makes me cringe, and then finally he stands in front of me, blocking the TV. I’m still paralyzed with memories from the past, refusing to confront the ugly present. He stoops down and makes me. He seizes my painful jaw, forcing it upward.

  “Look at me, you fucking cunt.”

  “I didn’t mean to, Raf. I swear to God, I was just there for deli meat.”

  He sneers at me. “And you needed to see Vincent for that? Fucking liar.”

  A heavy hand slaps the wound on my face, sending me flying. He laughs as I catch myself on the couch. A surge of poisonous rage runs through my veins that I’m unable to act on.

  Oh, what I would give to make the son of a bitch suffer like I have.

  Instead, I use the only tool left in my arsenal. Tears. They fall down my face freely, because it’s so easy to cry these days. Normally I’m dead to the world, twisting in agony inside.

  “Y-you used to be so sweet with me. I don’t understand why you’re like this.”

  His weight sinks into the couch and his hand curls around my shoulder, pulling me upright and into his chest, where I just feel cold. I shrink from his closeness. For a moment I think it worked. That maybe some tiny human part of him hears my distress and feels guilty.

  His lips sear the swollen side of my face as he kisses it, leading a trail to my ear. “I was sweet with you because your daddy would have killed me if I laid a hand on you.” His teeth bite down hard on my earlobe, and I grit my teeth.

  Don’t cry out. Don’t let him win.

  “You’re not the boss’s daughter anymore. You’re nothing.”

  It shouldn’t hurt me to hear that from his worthless lips, but it does. It really does.

  “You’re fuckin’ lucky I let you stick around.”

  A small thrill rises in my chest. Why don’t you just leave me? I want to ask.

  “Why do you?”

  He plants another hot kiss on my neck, biting down hard enough to leave a bruise. This time I make a small squeak of pain and he lets me go, laughing. “I like being able to do whatever the fuck I want with you. Besides,” his voice drops down to a whisper, “I know about the money.”

  A sick, swooping sensation curls around my stomach as feeling disappears from my limbs.

  How could he know about that? Dad left it for me!

  I turn my face toward his, hoping that I can distract him. My arm wraps around his neck and I bury my hand in his short, bristly hair, leaning into his body as our lips touch. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He smiles against my lips.

  My body flies over the coffee table, his hand wrapped around my neck. A gasp leaves my throat as my back slams into the wood, knocking the breath from my lungs. Then his fingers bite into my neck, squeezing hard as my throat closes up.

  My lungs wheeze as he leans over my body, slowly crushing the life out of me. I can’t let this fucking asshole kill me like this—fuck him. My fingers rake over his face, nails digging into that furious visage. Maybe it’s because I’m losing oxygen, but his face looks deformed in the low light. His grin spreads a little too wide, his teeth pointed like tiny daggers. His eyes are completely black, and I wonder how I ever thought he was human. It’s like the darkness had the effect of throwing a lantern on his face, revealing every ugly scar he kept hidden.

  The fingers release my throat and I gasp for air, clutching at my skin and coughing. The vision disappears, and Raf sits up straight with a crooked smile that used to send butterflies flying in my stomach.

  “I know Jack hid money in his house, and I know that you know where it is. You’re going to take me to it.” He leans in, enjoying watching me squirm on the table as I try to get away from him. “Oh, and if you ever go to my boss again like that, I’ll kill you.”

  A flash of heat burns my skin. Weeks ago he wouldn’t have fucking dared to say that to me.

  Who’s the real coward?

  “No, maybe I’ll fucking kill you!”

  I shouldn’t have said it.

  Raf’s nostrils flare as he stands up suddenly, the abrupt shift of weight making the table creak.

  I really shouldn’t have said it.

  “You have balls, Elena, I’ll give you that, but it’s very unbecoming for a wise guy’s girlfriend.”

  I know that tone in his voice, and my teeth clench together as he balls his fists. I’m so fucking tired of being scared all the time.

  “Stand up and take your beating like a good little bitch.”

  Hating him, I stand to my feet, but I don’t remain standing for long. He grips my jaw in his massive hand and squeezes. Then he shoves me hard enough for my head to crack the plaster on the wall.
He howls in rage when he sees the damage.

  “Look at what you fucking did!”

  His boot slams into my side and I feel something inside me break—it’s not a physical thing, but a mental collapse. Heavy blows rain down my back. The pain radiates throughout my body, but it’s as if there’s a brick wall. I can’t feel it. It must be some sort of miracle, or I’m very close to being dead and I should really, really fight back.

  My neck slams against the wall and I suddenly feel an electrical shock of pain down my spine as he squeezes my throat, crushing my windpipe. A gust of his breath, stinking of alcohol, blows across my face.

  “Say it again, bitch. I fucking dare you.”

  My eyes slide to his and I fight the impulse to smile as my broken body screams with pain that I can only dimly feel. My ribs are probably fractured and I might have a slight concussion, but I don’t feel a fucking thing.

  This is the best you can do, you piece of human garbage?

  I want to say it again, just to prove to the asshole that he can’t wear me down. I’m Jack Vittorio’s daughter and, yeah, I might be a little bit of a spoiled bitch, but no one treats me like this.

  My limbs tremble against the wall and an ache pounds through my ribs, spreading agony through my torso, but I don’t say a word. It’s okay to let my ego take a blow for now. He’ll get what’s coming to him.

  “I expect you to lead me to the cash tomorrow,” he says, his face finally smoothing over.

  His fingers unstick from my throat, and I collapse like a stone to the ground, crumpling into a heap at his feet. Rafael’s cold laughter brings another surge of fury to my heart, but I force myself to calm down.

  Don’t let him see.

  The fridge opens and I hear the clinking sound of bottles. Dread sinks my stomach as the telltale hiss of a bottle opening catches my attention. He’s going to get drunk and stupid again, if he isn’t already. I pick myself off the floor and limp toward the bathroom, hoping that he’ll stay in the living room and zone out in front of the television. A vision of myself confronting him with a weapon burns my mind.

  I’m going to die. Sooner or later, he’s going to kill me—whether by accident or on purpose. I could see him kicking me one too many times and breaking my neck.

  The bathroom door closes behind me and I twist the lock, wincing at the sudden beams of light overhead. The mirror reflects the image of a broken woman. Her dark-brown hair hangs like a nest around her face, which looks like a disaster. Swollen cheeks and blood in her left eye, whose eyelid is sunken over. Busted lip. I lift up my shirt, revealing a large, angry red mark on my abdomen.

  I don’t recognize the girl in the mirror. She looks like those women you feel sorry for—the ones who keep going back to their abusive partners, over and over again.

  When did it get this bad?

  There were little things. Signs. A disrespectful comment here and there. Then, finally, he hit me. He slapped me across the face when I disagreed with him about something. My dad was still alive then. He was overcome with remorse. Please don’t tell your dad! I remember well how he cried and blubbered like a baby. At the time, it touched me how strong his remorse was, and I decided to forgive him.

  Now I know that I was just a moron. He wasn’t fucking sorry. He was piss-scared that I was going to tell my dad, who would have gutted him, and he would have been absolutely right to do it.

  Any idiot could have seen through him, but I actually thought I loved him. He was the guy brave enough to ask me out, before asking my father for permission. In the beginning, he made me feel special.

  The horror in the mirror reflects only a few months of abuse. What do you think he’ll do in a few more? Coldness slowly freezes my veins like liquid nitrogen.

  If I went back to Vincent, maybe he’d be able to help.

  And maybe he wouldn’t.

  Raf told me he’d kill me if I went back to his boss. Christ, my own sister won’t even help me. How pathetic is that? What should I do?

  You need to get him before he gets you.

  Simply running away won’t work. Raf is psycho enough to follow me wherever I go. No, I need help.

  You have a hundred grand buried in the backyard at Mom’s house. Dad showed you where he buried it because he trusted you above everyone else.

  My insides freeze, my mouth suddenly dry. I’m horrified by the cold voice in my head, but it keeps talking.

  You could hire someone to take care of him. Someone who might understand your situation.

  Hire someone to kill Rafael? I swallow hard, studying the cuts and bruises on my face. Am I willing to walk down that road?

  This is life or death. Yours or his. Choose.

  Mine, I reply to the voice automatically. A twinge of guilt stirs in my chest at how quick my reply was. Going to the police is not an option. My dad went to the police, and look what they did to him.

  I shut my eyes and think hard, trying to remember any friends of Dad’s who might be able to help. Sometimes there would be visitors from out of town at the house. A man—the boss in Montreal—was close with my dad. He spoke with an Italian-French accent, and was always friendly to me.

  It’s a desperate move.

  I don’t really have anywhere else to go.

  * * *

  I don’t sleep all night. My body curls on the side of the bed, facing the blank wall. Everything inside me is like a coiled spring, ready to bounce the moment the coast is clear. In my head, I think about where everything is—my passport, the duffel bags, my clothes, shoes, and most importantly, the cash in the backyard.

  Rafael’s hand lies on my shoulder heavily. “Hey, what’s wrong with you?”

  I hope that he can’t see my face in the dark, because if he did, he’d be offended by the disgust curling my lip. “I’m in pain.”

  It’s not untrue. My whole fucking body aches, especially my head. The two aspirin I took didn’t make a fucking dent.

  The bed shifts with his weight and the pressure on my shoulder increases so that I lie flat on my back. A moan shakes from my lips as the pounding ache in my abdomen doubles. He hangs over me in a black t-shirt, the alcohol finally purged from his bloodshot eyes. His face bends lower and I flinch from his closeness. He pauses.

  “I’m sorry, babe. I shouldn’t have laid a hand on you—should never.” He stops for a moment to swallow. “I love you.”

  The words sound so empty. Once, I believed them.

  How many times must we go through this? The beatings, the apologies, the gradual buildup, the beatings.

  I knew the moment that fuckface hit me that he was no good, but I couldn’t leave him. It was the first time he left a bruise. When it happened, I stayed at my mom’s house. He marched over there with flowers and sweet-talked my mother into agreeing with him that I should “give him another chance” and then I really had no choice but to follow him back to his apartment.

  “I love you, too.”

  His fingers lightly stroke my cheek. “You just make me so pissed off sometimes.”

  Fuck you.

  “I’m sorry.” I hate myself for apologizing to him, but it’s necessary.

  Kill or be killed.

  “I forgive you.”

  Fuck your forgiveness.

  He says it with a slight smile on his face, and I try not to make my smile a grimace. God, I’m so pissed off that I’m praying he doesn’t notice anything. I hope he’s too blinded by his own arrogance to notice that I hate his fucking guts.

  “Elena, I love you.” He repeats it again as his lips fall on my bruised ones. I turn my head away with a cry of pain, but he continues kissing me in that passionate, possessive way that used to thrill me.

  Everything he does hurts me. His weight presses into mine, and he’s either oblivious to my injuries or doesn’t care. His cock grinds into my thigh, painfully digging into me like yet another weapon he uses against me.

  Oh God, no. Not now. I can’t handle this.

  My thoughts get more an
d more hysterical as he gropes his way down my body, and then his cell phone vibrates on the nightstand. He lifts his head, stopping for a moment. It rattles noisily on the wood.

  “Fucking hell.”

  I swallow my sigh of relief as he rolls off me and snatches the phone, pressing it to his ear. “Yeah? All right, I’ll be there.”

  Profound relief almost makes me throw up right then and there. Raf tosses the phone back on the table and rips back the covers, swearing.

  “Fucking Nicky always has the worst timing.” He stands up and pulls a suit from the closet, quickly getting dressed as I pull the covers back over myself, feigning sleep.

  When he shrugs on his jacket, he moves to my side of the bed and leans over, kissing my cheek.

  “I’ll be back for supper.”

  Good. Gives me plenty time to escape.

  “Make something nice for dinner, something with meat. See you later, hon.”

  I take a good look at him as he turns around, whistling a merry tune. As his shoes flash around the corner, I realize that I’m not sorry to see the back of him.

  Hopefully, I’ll never see you again.

  * * *

  Elena, where are you?

  I found the empty drawers. Where the FUCK are you? What makes you think you can just leave me?

  CALL ME BACK RIGHT FKING NOW YOU STUPID BITCH!

  How about I visit ur mother? I bet she’ll tell me where you are…

  Sickened, I click on all the texts and hit the delete button. The vague threat toward my mother has me worried, but I hope that Vincent keeps an eye out for her. She won’t hesitate to complain to him if Rafael gives her any shit.

  It took me hours to dig up the carefully wrapped rolls of hundred-dollar bills in the backyard and then replace all the dirt. I did it right under my mom’s nose, which probably bothers me the most. There wasn’t enough time to say goodbye.

  It’s for her own good. If she knew where I’d gone, she would tell him, and then I’d be dead. The flashing blue light illuminating the depths of my purse sends another wave of sickness through my body. I end the call, but it’s no use. He just calls again. Voice mail after voice mail pops onto the screen, until finally I shut the damn thing off and settle into my seat.