01 | MALEVOLENCE

MALEVOLENCE— THE QUALITY of causing or wanting to cause harm or evil.

The man with dark hair, whiskey eyes, and a face sculpted so perfectly that it surpasses the beauty of Greek gods, stares at me, malevolence dripping from his gaze.

"How's married life, fratello?" Alessio's deep, rich voice dripping with an Italian accent cuts the silence lingering in this room. (brother)

A few tiny pieces of food fall from Gianni's mouth as he laughs loudly, his laughter echoing through the empty dining room. "More amazing than I thought it would be." He leans forward on the table and points towards me, "Mio moglie is just so obedient and caring that I feel like I'm in heaven on this Earth." (My wife)

Sending a small smile in Gianni's way, I sip the champagne in my hand giving undivided attention to the dangerous man sitting at the opposite end of this round table.

With his broad body structure, muscles bulging under the material of his high-end suit, slicked-back dark hair, and such high cheekbones that can be a cause of envy for all male models across the world— he can easily qualify as the dark, handsome villain that captures everyone's heart no matter his questionable morals or actions.

My heart skips a fraction of a beat when his eyes meet mine, "And what about you, Nicole?"

Before I can reply, Gianni speaks up, "She's enjoying it as much as I am."

"I asked her. Not you," his tone has a menacing edge to it and I visibly shudder for a reason unknown.

Gianni drops his eyes to his plate, clearly embarrassed, and silence falls over the dining room again.

"Answer me." Not a question, but a demand.

"I-It's terrific?" My unsure answer adds to his dry amusement, the slightly tilted corner of his pink lips tells me loud and clear that he sees past my facade.

"How has business been going?" Gianni questions and soon his voice fills up the void. I pity Gianni because he's trying to validate himself in front of Alessio by boasting about the dealings he's been doing for the past months and when Alessio tells him that there's a rat among the Russo family who's interfering with the money — the sweat beads forming on Gianni's forehead are hard to miss.

Once in a while whiskey eyes meet mine and embarrassment courses through my veins hastily, maybe it was because of the night that is carved in my soul where he had me in positions I never thought existed or the words of encouragement for that left his mouth of which I'm reminded again and again as he opens his mouth once in a while to reply to my husband, maybe it was because of the grey-haired, triple size of a husband who is sitting beside me with his hand on my thigh that's way too close to my private parts.

I believe it's the latter.

Steeling my spine, and removing Gianni's hand, I get up.

"I need to go to the restroom," I tell no one in particular.

"Upstairs, on the far left," Alessio replies and without sparing a single glance to any of them, I hurry away, it is when I'm far away from the dining room, sprinting up the stairs with the clicking sounds of my heels echoing with every step— I allow myself to take deep breaths for calming my nerves which are all over the place.

Alessio's house isn't just a house— it's a mansion. High cathedral-like pillars, sky-high ceilings, and complete utter darkness make it difficult to see anything. Walking through his large corridor my eyes latch onto several paintings on the wall, equally horrific but beautiful.

Coming to a stop outside a wooden door, I push it open hoping that it is the bathroom. After getting in and giving myself a little pep-talk while staring in the bathroom mirror

"I take it, running is your thing."

A voice emerges from the darkness and trails down my spine and a loud shriek left my mouth. The tension I came to relieve from my bones, thickens further and settles deeply in every atom of my body.

A single speck of light coming from a small round window above girdles a few inches in front and electricity cackles in the air as Alessio steps under it.

Every coherent working object in my body fails me as the man who reeks of whiskey and sin pins me down with his glare. It is almost hypnotic the way pure moonlight caresses his skin, from the trail of hair to the dip of his shoulders.

"I wasn't running." I sound small. Shaky. So out of breath.

"I don't tolerate liars." My nerves crawl their way up to my chest and then squeeze my throat, firmly as he takes a step in my direction. "But I very much like it when people run from me."

"You want to know why?" he raises an eyebrow at me and my heart settles in my stomach, as he takes a step towards me.

"Because when they run, I chase. And the chase gives me power and satisfaction. Most importantly when I see the hope dying from their eyes as they realize there is no escaping me."

Words fail me completely because with each word he inched closer to me and now his body was just centimeters away.

"I wasn't running, Mr. Russo," I whisper. Why? I am not sure.

"Alessio. My name is Alessio but I'm sure you know it because you were screaming it on top of your lungs when you were under me."

Oh, God.

"I don't want to talk about that night," I rush out my words, in a low tone praying to The One above to not let Gianni be close.

My reply has the corner of his lips tilting up. "Yeah?" He wraps his hand around the back of my neck and pulls me flush against him, eliminating the distance between us that was the one thing that was helping me not break. "Why shouldn't we talk about it? Because you hated that night or loved it so much that it makes you lose your senses?"

Wines never were one of my proclivities but it didn't take a fool to notice that his voice is like the oldest and most exquisite of them, the way it rolls down your tongue, deep in your stomach, leaving an inferno in its wake, making sure that every atom in your body is aware of it's arrival.

"I-I have to go, my husband is waiting." Pressing the weight on the word husband, I remind him I'm married and not the unmarried girl who was under him a few months ago.

"Your husband," the way his tone turns venomous by that word doesn't go unnoticed by me. "Is busy."

"With what?"

"Answer my question first." The demand in his tone is clear and I exhale hastily.

"I-I," loved, "hated that night."

My reply changes nothing in his carefree demeanor— my body is still pressed against his with his hand wrapped around my neck.

"What part?" I can't do this anymore, I thought to myself. Gazing up in his eyes, I realize that he won't let it go till he's made a mess out of me.

"Nicole!" Pure, unfiltered panic settles in my heart as I hear Gianni's voice from up close. Placing my hands on Alessio's chest, I try pushing him off but this man of steel doesn't budges.

"Please!" I beg. "Get off me, Gianni's gonna see."

"Does he knows?" Anxiety simmers deep inside me as Alessio doesn't move away from me and I hear footsteps coming toward us.

If Gianni finds out, then he's not going to be happy—and the things he does when he's not happy leave me extremely sore for days.

"No! And please don't tell him!" I close my eyes, fisting his black shirt in my hands. If I was out of breath a few seconds ago, now oxygen was scarce in my whole body as Alessio presses his hard body impossibly closer to me. Every atom in my body came alive under his touch, my wild heartbeat, and the up and down of my breasts didn't go unnoticed by him.

My reply triggers something in him because an undecipherable look passes his eyes and then it's gone along with him being pressed against me.

"Sweetheart, what took you so long?" Gianni asks, walking up to me. Wrapping a possessive hand around my waist he looks questioningly at Alessio.

"I was just looking at these paintings," I smile up at him but that doesn't reassures him. Oh, God. I hope he did not see me being pressed against Alessio or us talking about things I don't want him to know about.

"This up close with him?" Anger seeps in his tone and complete dread washes over me.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

He'll hurt me when we reach home.

"Close?" Alessio speaks up putting his hands in his pockets and regarding my husband with a dark look simmering in his eyes. "Looks like you're mellowing with age, Gianni."

I wrap my hand around Gianni's arms and turn towards him with a small smile, "You know how much I love paintings. So Mr. Russo was just showing me his collection."

A beat passes by and I see a vein ticking in Gianni's forehead and I realize that my neck is in deep problems.