Page 18 of Shattered King

Fiorella

“ S eriously? Tommy’s dead?” Elisa sounds distraught, but of course she does. “Does anyone else know?”

“Probably Dad and Uncle Corrado. I don’t know who else.”

“How did you find out?”

“Luca told me last night.” I hesitate, staring at myself bleakly in the mirror. Bags hang under my eyes. I barely slept. “He’s the one who did it.”

Elisa’s quiet for a moment. “That’s pretty fucked up.”

“I know.”

“How did it happen?”

I tell her what I know, which isn’t much. “He says he was defending himself. But I don’t know if I believe him.”

“I honestly can’t believe this. Tommy’s dead.” She sniffles like she’s fighting tears. “I didn’t even like him.”

“He was a total asshole.”

“Seriously. I used to fantasize about drowning him.”

“Really? You did?” My eyebrows raise and I can’t help but smile. “You wanted to hurt someone? I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“He was such a dick to me. I’m not that much of a pushover, you know.”

“I know that.” I lean against the bathroom counter and glance toward the bed. Luca’s side is empty. It’s been empty since before sunrise. He woke without saying anything, dressed, and disappeared. He hasn’t been back since, and I don’t know where he’s gone.

Probably out to kill more of my family.

“Is there going to be a funeral? Are you going to go? I guess that’s a stupid question. I mean, your husband killed him. Does this mean Uncle Corrado is going to war or something?”

I shake my head, even though she can’t see me. I open my mouth to answer, but a sudden, sick feeling comes over me. I get all clammy and nauseous as sweat rolls down my back.

My family’s falling apart. I can’t even go to my own cousin’s funeral because my husband murdered him. Trucks filled with drugs are burning in the street, and my father’s dying. Raf’s going to be Don. I’m married to a stranger. I don’t even know?—

“I have to go,” I croak and toss the phone aside.

I run to the toilet and barely make it in time to get sick.

Ugly bile burns my throat and my stomach contracts hard enough to hurt my ribs. I retch for way too long, but when it’s finally done, I collapse back against the wall, breathing hard and drenched in more sweat. The nausea’s gone as fast as it appeared, but I don’t understand what just happened.

Panic, probably. Fear over the thought of my family crumbling to pieces. I married Luca and sacrificed myself so that the Serrano Famiglia might survive, and now it seems like that wasn’t enough.

I don’t know what to do. I feel so helpless.

When I finally get to my feet and teeter over to grab my phone, I realize Elisa’s still on the other end. “You didn’t hang up?” I croak, running the water. I swish and spit some out.

“I heard you puking. Are you okay?”

“Fine. You know me. Tough as nails.”

She sounds concerned. “You don’t have to be, you know. You’re going through a lot. Some people tried to kill you, and there’s your marriage, and now Tommy?—”

“I’m fine, Elisa, I promise.” I hesitate, glancing at myself in the mirror. I’m definitely not fine . “Listen, I’ve been thinking. You know, about my plan.”

She’s quiet for a moment. When she speaks, her voice is very soft. “You still want to run away?”

“I’m going no matter what, but I need you to come too. They’ll try to marry you off next. You know that, right? I won’t let that happen to you.”

“Fio, this is crazy. Dad will just hunt us down.”

“Dad’s dying,” I snap at her and instantly regret it. I can picture her face cringing in sadness. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just, Dad’s going to be gone. Raf will be in charge, and he loves us, but?—”

“Raf’s not Dad,” she whispers.

“Dad babies you. He always has. But Raf won’t.” I don’t mention Dad using Elisa to blackmail me into this little marriage. “Give me a few more weeks. Maybe a month tops. Then we’re out of here.”

“This is crazy.”

“I know. I’ll come up with specifics. But we can do this, okay? We don’t have to live like this anymore.” I look at the bed again. At the rumpled half where Luca was sleeping. Where his warm, gorgeous body was the night before, as I was lying there listening to his slow, steady breathing.

“We’ll talk about it later. I should go.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“You’re sure you’re okay though? The whole puking thing?”

“Just stress. Honestly, I’m fine.”

“You’re such a shitty liar.”

“Love you.”

“You too.”

We hang up. I splash water in my face. I have no clue why I got so sick, but it seems to have passed at least. I close my eyes and can feel Luca’s hands on my body, his hard cock like iron against my back, the soft grunts of pleasure as he made me come, the dripping need in his eyes as he watched me lick my own pussy from his fingers.

Why did I have to marry a man like him?

Pleasure one second. Pain the next.

Last night was a mistake. The safety I felt with him was just an illusion. I know Luca, and he’s as bad as they all are.

I won’t screw up again.

I’m bored off my tits by noon.

Elisa’s good at lounging. She can throw on super soft sweats and a big sweatshirt and play video games all day. I once watched her read a book—an actual physical book—for like ten hours straight.

I can sit still for ten minutes, tops.

That’s why I spend so much time in the garage.

I can lose myself in the physical work of fixing up the Spider.

I dumped so many hours into cars over the years, learning the hard way how they worked.

Dad’s guys helped out and taught me some stuff, but mostly I kept to myself.

I wanted to fail. That made the successes so much sweeter.

Easy isn’t worth a damn. I’ve always needed a challenge. Comfortable just feels like I’m wasting my time.

Elisa is cottagecore. She’s soft and easy.

While I’m all dark academia. I need to be bleak, black, and hard as hell.

Because the struggle makes the end result worth it.

I try to find projects around the house. There are a few doors that don’t close right. That eats up all of an hour. I clean the kitchen out of sheer desperation and consider moving on to the toilets, but I don’t want to give Luca the satisfaction of having a maid waiting for him at home.

Screw that guy.

But I’m a pathetic dingbat because when I hear him come through the front door around three that afternoon, I get a little surge of excitement. I don’t particularly want to see him—but maybe a good old-fashioned argument will break up some of the monotony.

He comes into the living room and dumps a heavy toolbox onto the kitchen counter.

I stare, and it takes a few seconds until I realize I recognize those dark blue dinged-up handles and the little vinyl record sticker on the back.

“Is that mine?” I ask, incredulous.

“Picked it up from the garage.” He tilts his head, considering me. “How’d you sleep last night?”

“Like crap.” I take a step toward my toolbox. My hands itch to feel the weight of the wrench again. But I make myself stop. “Why did you bring this here?”

“I have a surprise for you.” He moves toward the front door. “Come on. Bring that with you.”

“Hold on.” But he’s already gone. Cursing, I lift the toolbox in both hands, lugging it along. It’s heavy as fuck. Normally, I leave this stupid thing on the bench. It bangs against my thigh as I limp after him. “Wait a second!”

Luca pauses outside on the stoop. He’s wearing an expensive suit, and his hair’s combed back. I hate it, but the guy’s absolutely exquisite.

For a vicious, selfish gangster, anyway.

“It’s not far.” He presses his lips together again, trying not to laugh. I hate it when he makes that face. But it’s also stupidly handsome, and that only makes it worse. “You need help?”

“Fuck off,” I mutter, nodding at him. “Go on, take me to this surprise.” I’m so bored I’m willing to play his game.

He walks across the street straight toward an empty lot.

It looks like it’s been abandoned for a while, but someone must’ve mowed it recently.

I could’ve sworn it was overgrown and a total mess the last time I noticed it, but now there’s a big white tent toward the back with thick canvas walls.

Luca heads straight for it and shoves the entry flap aside.

“Are you about to dismember me?” I ask him, hesitating before I follow.

“I would’ve done that in the comfort of my own home.” He shrugs slightly. “I’ve got all the tools and materials in the basement.”

“I don’t doubt that, psycho,” I mutter and step into the tent after him.

There’s a workbench on the left. It’s barebones but functional. Another bench is on the right with more tools lined up. I recognize them from the garage. More of my stuff. And right in the middle, like the sun on a cloudy day, like a river flowing through the desert, like real salvation, is my car.

I drop the toolbox out of sheer surprise, and it lands right on my foot.

“Oh, fuck!” I howl in pain, hopping up and down. It hurts like hell. I’m pretty sure my pinky toe is smashed to tiny bits. I whimper, kicking my leg, trying not to start sobbing.

Luca grabs me and lifts me up. He puts me down on the hood of the Spider before I can tell him not to.

“Let me see it,” he says, knocking away my hands when I try to stop him.

Gingerly, he takes off my slippers and frowns at the red welt, already bruising.

“Well, shit. That’s not how I wanted this to go. ”

“It’s fine. I’m totally fine, okay?”

“You should see a doctor. We can make sure these aren’t broken.”

“So what if they are? They’re toes. Tape them together, and we’ll move on.”

“Not good enough. What if they don’t heal right? Let me get some ice and call my guy?—”

“Cut it out.” I slip off the hood, gently pushing him back. “I’m fine , I’m totally fine.” Then I turn to stare at the Spider.

The tears in my eyes are half joy and half agony.

My foot really, really hurts.

But that’s my car. My baby. My pride.

Basically, my whole life.

“What do you think?” he asks softly, giving me a little space.

I clear my throat. I have a lot of thoughts, but I don’t trust myself to say them out loud. Slowly, I move around his exterior, running my fingers along his side. He’s so perfect it hurts my soul. But there’s so much work still to be done.

“I thought I wasn’t allowed outside.” I glance back at my husband. He strokes a thumb down his cheek.

“I’m making an exception.”

“Is this your way of apologizing for murdering my cousin?”

He shakes his head. “I’m not sorry about that.”

“You probably should be.”

“But I’m not. Anyone that gets in my way, threatens my wife, and hurts my business will suffer the same consequences.” He gestures lightly at the car. “This is just to make you happy.”

I have to turn my back on him as emotions war in my chest. When has anyone ever done something like this for me? I honestly can’t think of it. He must’ve spent all morning cleaning out this lot, setting up the perfect tent, bringing in the tools, towing the car, all for me.

Even though it’s not what he wants, but something he knew I’d love.

“This is really good,” I say at last, wiping my eyes. I’m not crying. Nope, not at all. I’m not the kind of girl that does tears of joy or whatever. “I was dying of boredom in there.”

He laughs gently and pats the tools on his left. “There are some rules. I have cameras set up all over, including a couple inside here. You aren’t allowed to disable them. I need to be able to check on you.”

“I don’t love the idea of you spying on me.”

“Consider it a security system. You’re also not allowed out here without telling me first. I have to be nearby, or at least I have to send someone to watch, just in case.”

I take a deep breath and blow it out. A lot of my stunned gratitude is beginning to fade. “This sounds complicated.”

“Call it a compromise instead. I’m trying to give you something you want. In exchange, I need you to follow some simple rules.” His voice softens, and the looks he gives me melt all my bones. “I need you to obey, Fiorella, so we can both get what we want.”

Well, shit. I’m not sure if he wants my safety—or my body naked, soaking wet, and ready to be ravaged.

Probably both.

“Okay, fine,” I say, forcing myself to look away. “I accept your terms.”

“I knew you would. You’re a good girl, Fiorella. Even though you pretend like you’re harder than iron.”

“Don’t push your luck, asshole.” I glare at him, cheeks burning. “Now, do I get to spend some time with my one true love?” I pat the roof lovingly.

He glares at the car. “Didn’t know I could feel jealous of a fucking inanimate object.”

“Oh, you should be jealous, alright. Something about the feel of this engine purring, the stick shift between my legs—” I wrap my arms around myself and shiver with fake delight.

His expression darkens. “Don’t fuck with me, princess. You push me, and I’ll do more than spank you.”

“Right in front of my car? You wouldn’t dare.”

“I’ll fill your pussy to breaking against the hood if you keep trying to make me jealous.”

My eyes go wide. Holy shit…

I have to turn away because the thought of him fucking me near this car just about makes my knees shake with desire.

“That dirty talk crap isn’t going to work on me,” I grumble, averting my gaze.

Because it’s absolutely working.

“Just so long as we’re clear. I’ll get you some ice for that foot, then I’ll leave you to it. But I’ll be nearby if you need me.”

He walks to the flap. I open my mouth and call out before I can stop myself. “Luca, hold on.” He looks back, frowning. “Thank you for this. I know you didn’t want to.”

He nods once. “Despite what you might think, I do want you to be happy.”

Then he’s gone. I’m left alone with my car, emotions deeply conflicted.

My husband killed my cousin. He’s controlling, possessive, overly jealous, and a mafia bastard.

And yet he did all this for me.

I feel another layer of armor strip away, and I’m starting to worry I might not escape before I’m left totally bare.