Page 40

Rhodes---Scars

The drive home is quiet, Amelia staring out the window as rain pelts against it. She’s been far too reserved since leaving the meeting and it makes me uneasy. We reach her house and she runs to the door, yanking the keys from her clutch before wrenching the door open.

I find her at the kitchen counter, staring out the window, Lennon rubbing along her calf. Her suit jacket is strewn on her couch. I see the moment her resolve fails, her shoulders slumping as her arms wrap themselves around her torso. It is as if she is trying—and failing—to hold herself together, willing the last shreds of her grip to not falter. I go still as I realize that she doesn’t feel safe enough in her own home to fall apart. It is the aftermath of that asshole outing her, of him forcing her to relive that darkness.

“ Kochanie .”

“Don’t. I’m not worthy of being called that,” she responds, her voice small.

Ah, but you are, pretty girl. “ Kochanie .” I move toward her, placing my arms over hers and resting my chin on her shoulder.

“I was going to tell you.” Tears fall, hitting my forearms as she shakes her head. “I swear, Rhodes. I wasn’t trying to hide it, I swear. I just, I just.”

I tighten my arms around her, hoping that it helps her calm down. She’s spiraling in her shame because of that mafia motherfucker.

“Baby, you don’t have to explain. You are okay, Amelia. We are okay,” I say as she turns in my arms, finding her eyes frantic.

“I didn’t have a choice.” Amelia wrenches herself from my hold, darting for our bedroom, her movements wild. I follow, keeping a distance so she has room to move. I find her at her dresser, the large oval mirror beside it giving me a view of Amelia scrambling through her underwear drawer. She’s looking for something, her face is contorted tightly in concentration…and in desperation. I stand in the middle of our room, waiting for her to find what it is she needs.

A whip of her hair, and her body whirls around to face me. In her hand is a small box, worn with time. Her hand trembles, tightening and loosening around the box, and I take a step toward her. Amelia places in my palm and she fidgets with her hands, shifting her weight in anxious patterns. I open it, my mind starting to spin.

Inside is a single ring, made for a man and engraved with a family crest. I would guess it is her family’s crest. But why a ring would have this much power over her, I’m not sure. I have never seen her wear it—not even when I watched her from afar.

“Who wore this? I lift my gaze to her, watching her carefully.

“Salvatore Conte.” Her breath hitches and something tells me it isn’t that simple. “Did you know that the Mafia brands every made man? Each Don has a signet ring with their crest. It is proof of ownership, covered by a show of loyalty. You earn your brand once it is determined that you are welcome into the fold.” Amelia’s eyes close as she continues, her voice subdued. “There is no ceremony, just your Don, his ring, and a flame. If you betray your Don, the brand is removed from your flesh, and if you are lucky, you’ll be exiled.” Her eyes lift to mine. “Death branded is not given to those who stray.”

I pull the ring from its resting place and hold it between my fingers. Amelia’s eyes fall to the piece of jewelry, her gaze darkening as she continues.

“That was my papa’s ring. I remember looking at it on his hand when I was younger, understanding the power it wielded. I knew the weight of it on his hand. I’d heard the screams from his office when a new person was branded—those moments were the only time it ever left his hand.”

The signet ring is heavy, a three leaf acorn adorning the face of it. I can see how it would be wielded as a brand, marring flesh as proof of possession. I lift my eyes to her face as she continues, her eyes locked on the glinting gold.

“Women are not afforded this so-called honor. My father never branded my mother because being his wife was enough to ensure her allegiance. I knew that while my father was cruel and demanded certain things from his men, I never imagined I would be subjected to the same treatment. I was his daughter, not his soldier.”

Amelia takes a shuddering breath, wiping the tears streaming down her face with shaking hands. She can’t bear to look at me. My gut swirls with anticipation, and I know in my bones I will be furious with what I hear next.

“When my papa died, I took over the helm.”

“I know you took over. You had said that in the hospital. It would make sense that this ring was given to you.”

“Given.” Her scoff fills the tense air.

Amelia moves to sit on our bed, staring out the window. I watch her, hoping the weight of my gaze will force her head to turn. She places her hands under her thighs, pulling her bottom lip among her teeth. I move toward her, but a subtle shake of her head has me stopping dead in my tracks. Her voice is small when she begins again.

“There were six of them.”

My heart plummets from my chest.

“Six men were at the table, and me. Papa’s Underboss, his Consigliere, and four other men. It wasn’t supposed to be that way. Assumption of power is always handled by the previous Don’s second—his Underboss—and the incoming Don. The other men have no say in the matter and they swear fealty. You aren’t loyal to the man, you are loyal to The Family.”

I feel the anger begin to burn. As badly as I don’t want her to continue, I need her to. I need to know, and once she is done hurting, I am going to replace every last piece of darkness tethered to her soul with love. Amelia Conte will be loved as she should have been all along.

Amelia’s eyes briefly meet mine, and she takes a deep breath before continuing.

"I was told I had to pay my dues. That anyone who wanted to lead needed to be proven worthy. Those men demanded I do just that.” Trepidation now fills those grey eyes. “It didn’t matter that I had already killed for their Don.” I don’t move my gaze from her, silently lending any strength I can to her, the look on her face is haunting. “I was grabbed by my arms and thrown on top of the wooden table. Five pairs of hands held me down.”

The ring box falls from my hand and I take two steps to her. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“I heard the ripping of fabric, felt the cool air touch my skin, as I fought with every bit of strength I had. But I was one woman against six powerful men. R-ro-rough hands lit paths of shame along my body.”

“Amelia.”

“I can still feel the way they took what wasn’t theirs to have.”

I see the instant I lose her to the pain of her past. Her eyes remind me of the way she blank stares during a panic attack, and I move until I can kneel at her feet. If I have to pull her from the depths, I will.

“My legs were s-shoved open. I kicked so hard but they were stronger. I was weak, Ro. I couldn’t get them off.” A dark look crosses her face. “One pinned my shoulders to the same table my father had led from. Another pawed at my chest, the pain from his fingers only adding to the way it felt when Rafe thrust into me. I bucked against him and all there w-wa-was laughter.”

I want to ask who Rafe is, but honestly, it doesn’t matter. He’ll die regardless.

A single tear falls from her eyes, and her tongue darts to chase it. A slumping of her shoulders is the only clue I have to what comes next. I lightly run my hands along the back of her calves, hoping to ground her to me.

“It never stopped. Their fingertips bruised me, harshly and deeply. It was never ending. And no matter how I fought, no matter how loud I screamed, it didn’t matter. Thrust after thrust, they used me, until one man remained.” Amelia swallows hard, giving her head a shake as it drops.

“You don’t have to do this, kochanie . You don’t need to open this door, baby.” I am trying my best to save her from the pain, desperately giving her an out. She works her jaw, nostrils flaring with the deepest inhale.

“Santiago was my papa’s Underboss,” she says, tilting her head back to the ceiling, and I watch as the tears fall freely. “I considered him an uncle, Rhodes. The man helped raise me when my mom died.” I close my eyes, my stomach dropping at her words.

“By that point, I was exhausted. They’d fucked the fight out of me. I laid there while Santigo raped me. Gods, the malicious satisfaction in his eyes haunts me. I let him do that to me, Ro. I stopped fucking fighting. I fucking let them rape me because I felt an obligation to take over. That somehow, my choice would make my father proud.” Her breath quickens and I grasp her hands, running my thumb along their backs.

“Baby,” I whisper.

“When the men were finished taking what they were owed, Santiago reached for my father’s ring. I remember the flicker of a flame, and then nothing but white-hot pain on my sternum.”

They branded her.

“No sooner had that pain had ebbed, another flash of heat hit my ribs. My left hip. The soft part of my breast.” Amelia releases a breath, the weight of what she is giving me heavily reflected. Her face contorts as she yanks her hands from mine before picking at one black painted nail. I reach for them again, doing everything I can to soothe her, when all I want is to hunt the men who’d destroyed her.

“It wasn’t enough. I wasn’t broken yet, you see. There were only four brands and there are six Mafia families.”

My voice is soft as I ask a question I’m not sure I want the answer to.

“Where are the remaining two brands, kochanie ?” Her eyes drift to mine, and the hurt reflected back to me is heavily laced with shame.

Just get through this, pretty girl, and I’ll bring you back to the light, I swear.

“Um, Sa-Santiago pinned my knees to the table and had two of the men hold my hips. O-one brand burned above my p-p-p-pussy, right at my bikini line.” Amelia rolls her lips, ripping the delicate flesh as she continues. “A-a-nd just before I passed out from the pain, a flash of pain was at my groin. The searing of my flesh was nothing compared to the scream that ripped from my throat as my world went black.”

She moves to wipe her face and I beat her to it. My hands gently wipe the tears from her cheeks, those grey eyes clear and yet heavy with questions. My strong kochanie . Six brands, delivered by her father’s ring, then imprinted by his men who had sworn to protect her, were scattered on her beautiful body. Everything makes sense now. Her skittishness, the way her body would tense when I’d go to push her clothing away from her skin.

Her hesitation to be mine.

“What happened when you came to, Amelia?” I ask, morbid curiosity taming my need to eliminate those that’d hurt her.

“Duncan found me. He got me to Parker. As much as I wanted to be clean, I just wanted my best friend. I just wanted to sleep.” Her left eye twitches. “After a while, I came to accept what had happened.”

‘I’ll kill them for what they did to you, kochanie .”

A morose smile is at the corners of her lips, mixing with her tears. “But I also vowed to make the six men pay. So, while other Dons would spend their first year establishing loyalty and setting up house, I hunted. I retreated deep into The Fox, no longer allowing anyone to see Amelia Conte. One by one, I sliced the skin of those who thought I owed them my body. I saved Santiago for last.”

Of course you did, baby.

“And then, I shoved that ring into the back of my dresser. I will never wear it.” I glance at the signet laying on the carpet, and I want to bury it six feet under.

“Why do you keep it?”

“Because it reminds me of my duty. My obligation.”

My head tilts at the firmness in her voice. Amelia doesn’t have an obligation to anyone but herself. I run my hands along her thighs, a plan forming in my head.

“What do you need right now to make this bearable?” Amelia considers me carefully. I know she’s looking for rage or pity, but she will find neither. I will not let her see that side of me and pity is the last thing I feel when it comes to her.

“I just want to feel normal. I just want to be a girl who loves a man, and he loves her back.”

Pulling her into me, I wrap my arms around her. The tension leaves her body, causing her to slump forward. Moisture seeps through my shirt and I run my fingers along her spine as she breaks fully. A beat passes, before a sigh falls from her lips. I’m not sure if she meant for her admission of love to slip, but she cannot take that statement back. I will not allow her to.

“Here is what we are going to do. You, my kochanie , are going to go to the kitchen and grab a snack. I know you have baked goods in that kitchen somewhere.” Her eyebrow ticks upward in amusement. “I am going to run you a hot bath, lay out something for you to slip into.”

I place a gentle kiss on her cheekbone, then move to the other before giving some love to her eyelids and the tip of her nose. “I want you to go and soak. Take the time to breathe for me like the good girl you are.” I spin her, pushing her exquisite form toward the door.

“And after that, when you are ready, I want you to step back into our bedroom.”