5

Mirella POV

I'm sitting by the window, still in my wet clothing, when Phillip enters with his head down. I'm sleepy and it's becoming dark, but I'm not sure whether I want to go to bed yet.

"Miss." As I look up, I notice that he is reaching out his hand and it has a key. I grab the key to my home from him. "Please exit the building." I follow him out the door. I approach the open front door and see two black automobiles with three guys leaning on them and talking to each other. All three halt as I go outside, and two of them give me a straight look.

He doesn't.

"You all look wet," remarks one of them.

He's not as big as Ernest, but he still reminds me of the arrogant guy sitting next to me at the dinner table with his hair well combed back and a green shirt on. However, I haven't said anything to get you this wet, sweetheart. Is it only my appearance? A part of me should be repelled by his wink, but I'm not. There's something comfortable and cozy about him, and that's risky.

"No, I get dry just looking at you. As parched as the Sahara Desert I give him a return grin.

"I can see your nipples," he says, looking directly at my breasts.

"They appear nice." I tilt my head and ask him.

He laughs and tosses his head back this time. They really do. They really do. Please simply take off the remaining clothing so I can get a closer look.

"Roberto." Ernest speaks his name quickly and clearly. Roberto gives me another wink before cutting off his conversation and turning his back on me. Ernest comes over and strokes my hair, gently pulling a few strands and running his fingers through it before putting it back where it belongs. Then he bends in toward you. I get a whiff of whiskey and can smell his breath on my face. His black eyes flit over my face, carrying accents of amber sparkles.

"Go get what you can manage to carry." Attempt to flee. Ernest grins as he extends his hand to the back of my neck and gently tugs my hair, just enough to bring our noses together. "You won't be eating you for breakfast in a positive manner. Do you understand that you'll wish you had never fucking met me?

"I... I...,"

As he talks again, I stammer and essentially move my lips over his. "I nothing," he says. Tell me you comprehend. Our lips are in contact, yet it doesn't bother him. He doesn't try to kiss me; all he wants is for me to know that he is in charge that everything is up to him to decide.

I mentally chant.

Only one week has passed.

However, a few days have passed already.

"Understood. Can I do this again next week?"

He retreats, and the chilly air hits my face once again. Ernest stays silent and returns inside, leaving me and two of his guys waiting outside.

"Come on, my love, we don't have much longer tonight. We also need some action. 

Roberto slides into the passenger side of one of the vehicles and gives me a wink. Before he gets in the driver's seat and turns on the vehicle, the other man gives me a quick glance. As soon as I lock the rear door, they drive off. I get into the backseat. They never inquire about my residence or method of transportation. They clearly already know that. They talk about alcohol and music, but they don't elaborate on their identities or occupations.

On the way to the flat, I nearly nod off. I have to force myself to stop asking them to keep driving when I see the lights are on when we get there. I follow the two guys out of the automobile. As they up the steps to my green door—which I painted myself and believe looks so hip against all the other dowdy ones—I watch them go.

This apartment is amazing. Nothing in New York is ever really large, but it was ideal for us. I worked really hard to make it our home, and it's nice and comfortable with two bedrooms. I wonder what devils reside within now that I'm looking at it beneath the night sky.

I am all too familiar with one.

Roberto knocks loudly and directly on the door without messing about. My husband appears wrecked when he pushes open the door; it's as if he just returned home and chose to drink all that was available. I haven't seen him in a few hours. He looks from the guys to me, who's standing behind them.

With a beer bottle in one hand, he spits, "What are you doing here?"

"I must get my belongings."

When I try to enter, Roberto shifts aside, and Cole closes the door.

"Get over it, this isn't where you belong anymore."

"Cole, just let me get my stuff." You don't own anything in this place.

It sounds totally cruel as he laughs. It is, of course. You are mine as well. Bitch.

Screw it! I inhale deeply to control my rage. I'm dying to give him a dick punch. Rather, I take a few steps up and glance over his shoulder before pushing through the door and past him. As I do, he huffs. Cole has never struck me, and I never would have imagined that he would, but this last week has shown me a different side of the guy I used to know.

"Go on, bitch." He turns to face me, and when I turn to look, Roberto and his companion are just standing at the entrance, ignoring us.

I start to say something, but I ignore him and go straight up the stairs. My hands glide over the wooden rails, which I have clutched to many an occasion, particularly during difficult moments, but this time they are drawing me up toward my former bedroom and the location of my personal belongings. I immediately make my way to the closet, where I fill up the first bag I come across with all of my clothing and other necessities. I then go into the bathroom and shove all of it in there along with my jewelry collection, which is kept in a drawer. I look around for my phone, but I can't find it.

"Hand me the ring." Without giving it any more consideration, I reach down to remove the ring he proposed to me with off my finger. Years of wearing it have left an impression on my skin, so if things were different, I may simply weep.

"Grab it." As I reach to give it to him, he grabs my wrist and pulls me in his direction.

Speaking, Cole has an alcoholic breath fragrance. "I'll take you anytime I want, remember that."

I try to push off his chest, but his fingers cling to my wrist more tightly.

"Cole, let go of my wrist." When he drops it, he does so and pushes me back.

"He intends to murder you," he murmurs. That's his action. Ernest is a bad man. He gives me a smirk.

"Who is this guy?" I hope he will inform me when I ask.

After all, Ernest is the reason I find myself in this situation.

He murmurs, "He's the one they run from." He would be the real-life equivalent of the bogeyman. That's what happens, I suppose, when you inherit your family's notoriously sleazy cunt company. Mafia fucking it. He gives a headshake.

How the hell about it?

I pick up my luggage that I dropped on the floor.

"You struck a bargain with the Mafia?" I inquire, attempting to fathom his ignorance with incredulity. "Just how stupid are you?" I shake my head and return to our closet, where the top shelf has an antique box containing family valuables. Cole grabs it out of my hands as I go to grab it. "Return it."

No, sorry. I want to sell them in order to settle my debt.

"Everything in the place is yours. Give me my grandparents' belongings now, Cole.

With a proud sway of his head, he resembles a mischievous child realizing they've triumphed.

I try to grab the box as I leap at him, but he laughs at me. I leap once again, but he hits me in the mouth this time, backhanding me to the ground. My split lip has a metallic tang to it that I can taste.

"Return it!" I yell at him, scrambling to my feet in time to finally be able to break his legs severely.

"No," he yells back at me, his jaws flinging spittle out like a savage dog.

I sense someone is following us at that point, and we both turn to find Roberto standing there.

He stares at my lip, then at Cole, back to me. With a nonchalant tone, he adds, "Give it to her, now."

Cole yells, "You can't come in here telling me what the fuck to give my wife."

Roberto doesn't seem to be moved by what he says, so he takes a revolver out of his back pocket and puts it next to his leg without lifting it to show him that he is prepared to use it if necessary. "Right now." His tone suggests that this is the final warning, which is something he probably doesn't say very often.

Cole tosses the box at me, and I excitedly pick it up before heading out the door with my luggage in tow.

"Mirella, don't come back."

I spin around to give him a look. "I wouldn't risk it." Roberto gestures for me to get by him as I grin, the split in my lip hurting. I slip out of the bedroom, taking care not to touch the pistol as I peek down at it. The second man is waiting at the front entrance with his phone pressed to his ear as I walk downstairs. When I get there, he gets off the phone and gets taller. 

Although he has Ernest's honey brown hair and Ernest's eyes in common, there is something distinct about him—perhaps even a gentler quality. This is ridiculous given that these guys are almost certainly all killers.

I give him my free hand and introduce myself as a Mirella while juggling my belongings in the other. He shakes his head, looking at it as if he can't believe I just done that.

In a harsh voice, he declares, "I know who you are."

I feel things slide, so I quickly bring my hand back to my side and straighten up my stuff.

"May I inquire what your name is?" I can't seem to get anybody to tell me their names. It seems a little strange. Only because Roberto has no shame do I know his.

"You can inquire," he answers.

"However, I assume you won't tell me?" I ask him a question, and we both turn to see Roberto coming back down the steps.

Jake is here. He is the brother of the boss. After grinning at Jake, Roberto turns to face me. Is it all you're after? Before we go, we are to help you get everything you want from this place. 

He looks into the living room TV. "I'm able to handle that." He gestures at the concerned television.

It was the day after our second miscarriage that I recall purchasing it.

I did not want to go, but he did. Naturally, however, I accompanied him. even if I ought to have remained in bed. He chose it, took it home, and spent the whole weekend staring at it as if I didn't even exist.

There were a ton of signs.

There were so many clear signs that something was wrong.

What went wrong with me?

Alternatively, what's wrong with me?

"I have everything I need." I secure my stuff more firmly and go out the door.

"Your phone is with him. Were you aware of that? When I hear Cole's voice, I turn around to face him. I observed you searching for it. It isn't present. He accepted it.

I turn to Roberto to get his opinion, but he doesn't respond.

"I understand," I answer. Cole doesn't have to be aware that I'm missing it.

Cole gives us a sly smile and a shake of his head, then advances toward us. He raises his hand, snatches the door's edge, and smashes it in my face.

Asshole.