Chapter 6

Marissa

I wake up an hour later on the couch in his office. Mr. Falaguerra is sitting at his desk reading some documents with a furrowed brow. I don’t move or make a sound to alert him that I am awake. Instead I observed him from under my lashes, trying my best to act asleep.

He is beautiful. His face set in a serious expression. On his straight nose sits a pair of black-rimmed reading glasses, giving him an aura of intelligence and professionalism. The sun is shining in through the window and reflecting in his shiny, perfectly styled, black hair. In the light I see a tint of dark brown mixed with black.

The perfectly fitted white button-up is a strong contrast to his golden skin. The top two buttons are undone and it gives him a more relaxed look. He looks like a businessman, not a mob-boss.

His eyes leave the paper to look over in my direction and my body tenses up. His facial expression doesn't change, but he removes his glasses and gets up from his chair. He makes his way over to me and perches on the edge of the couch in height off my upper body.

“I know that you are awake, my love.” His voice is soft as he caresses my cheek with his knuckles. “How long have you been watching me?” He grips my chin and angles my face towards his. I blink my eyes open to look up at him.

“Not long.” I whisper with a voice raspy from tears and sleep. I bite my lip as I feel the tears burning behind my eyes once again.

“There is no reason to cry anymore. I will always take care of you and make sure that you are safe.” His voice is warm and loving and his eyes show the possessive and obsessive love he already has for me.

“Who will keep me safe from you?” I whisper. I don’t know where the courage to ask such a question came from but I felt proud of myself that I found it.

He stiffens beside me, his eyes turning cold and his smile falls into a scowl. His grip on my chin hardened and he drew a deep breath to calm himself. “There is no need for you to be safe from me. You are mine and I take care of what is mine.” He growls out barely containing his anger and I flinch. He closes his eyes and takes another deep breath. “I will never lay a hand on you in anger. I do not beat women.”

He rises from the couch and reaches out his hand to me. “Come on now. We have a lot to do. You need a new wardrobe fit for the fiancée of Antonio Falaguerra.” I take his hand and he helps me up. Then he looks at me from top to toe. “But first you need to freshen up. Go to your room and I will collect you in twenty minutes.” I nod and make my way towards the door but he tugs my hand. I turn to him with my brow raised in question. “A kiss first.” He says and leans in to kiss my cheek. Then he turns back to his desk. I fight to keep my breathing leveled and the tears at bay as I leave the office.

In the hallway Luca is sitting on a chair with a newspaper in his hand. He looks up as I come out from the office. “I...Um...I’m just going to my room.” I say in a wavering voice and point at my door. Luca nods but doesn't go back to his paper. His eyes follow me as I awkwardly make my way to my room.

I slam the door and lean against it. My tears threaten to fall again but with deep breaths I manage to hold them in. There is no point in crying. Instead I have to figure out a plan to get away from this, from him.

I go into the bathroom and look into the mirror. The woman looking back at me in the mirror is pale with puffy, red-rimmed blue eyes. With my pale hair, pale brows and pale eyelashes I look like a ghost. I turn on the faucet and splash some cold water on my face and then I brush my hair.

The puffiness and the redness of my eyes have abated and I pinch my cheeks for some color. Good enough. There is a knock on my door and someone enters the room without an invitation.

“Are you ready?” His dark, smooth voice calls out and I take a last look in the mirror and sigh. Exiting the bathroom I see him standing regally in front of the closed door. His face lights up in an appreciative smile when he sees me. “You look beautiful, my love.” He extends a hand towards me. Hesitantly I put my hand in his and he tugs me against him. He wraps his arms around my waist and looks deep into my eyes. “You are the most beautiful woman in the world.”

He leans down to kiss me but I turn my face away from him. Roughly he grabs my chin and turns my face back to him. “You are mine!” He growls out, his eyes dark with anger. Then he gives me a firm kiss on my lips. I stand stiff in his arms, holding my breath and waiting for him to be done. When he breaks the kiss he smiles at me. He seems pleased about the kiss even if I don’t reciprocate. 

With my hand in his he leads me down to the front door where a luxurious black car is waiting for us. I slide in as far as I can get, hoping to have some space between me and him but he slides in as close as he can. Reaching over me he fastened my seatbelt and soon we’re off. The driveway from the mansion to the gates is long. I can see a tennis court, a greenhouse is situated a far way to the right and there seems to be a pond as well. The gate is large and heavily guarded with both cameras and guards with weapons. There is a high wall circling around the premises with barbed wire at the top.

The drive to Chicago takes about an hour. Mr. Falaguerra works on the laptop that he used last night. At one time he answered the phone, but he spoke a forigin language so I couldn’t make out what that was about. I sneak a few glances at his laptop but the words and numbers there make no sense to me.

The mall we stop at is not one I have been to before, but that is not surprising at all. Every shop is immaculate and luxurious. Every item looks as if they cost more than my whole wardrobe at home.

He takes me through almost every store, buying beautiful dresses for parties, casual clothes, underwear to go with every outfit, shoes, bags and jewelry. I am silent most of the time and only answer his questions with one word replies unless I have to say more. I try to decline some of the things he wants to buy. Especially the expensive jewelry and then there is the fact that I don’t need all those shoes and purses, but he refuses to listen to me.

Eventually we take a much needed break to eat lunch at an expensive restaurant. “Is there anything more that you need? Something you like to spend your time doing?” He asks me as we wait for the food to arrive.

“No.” He sighs at my short answer.

“Marissa. You can have anything you want. Books, art supplies. Anything.”

“I want to go home to my parents.” I give him an angry glare. “I don’t want any of the expensive things you buy me. All I want is to go back home.”

“Enough!” His voice is full of anger and only raised a few decibels but the effect is as if he would have yelled at the top of his lungs. He doesn’t need to raise his voice to have anyone submit to him. I shrink back in my chair in fear. “You belong to me! The only place you are to call home is where I am.” Tears form in my eyes and he sighs. 

He stands from his chair that is opposite of mine and comes over to me. He crouches next to my chair and takes my hand in his. “I am sorry that I raised my voice at you. I didn’t mean to make you cry. You mean everything to me and I will do my best to always see a smile on your lips.” Now his voice is calm, smooth and comforting but his words and tone have my stomach churning with unease. He believes all these things that he says to me, that much is obvious. But he doesn’t seem to understand that what he’s doing is hurting me so much more.

His hand comes up to cup my cheek and he dries my tears with his thumb. Then as quickly as his tender side appeared it disappeared and was replaced with his usual imperious self. “Dry your tears. The food will be here any moment.”

I do my best to stop any more tears from falling. When the food arrives he eats with eagerness but I mostly push the food around on the plate. Of course he reprimands me for that and I have to force myself to eat a little. He tries to once again find out what I want to have as a pass-time but when I refuse to answer he gives up and leads me back to the car.

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